Have teeth, will travel

Getting your child a passport is undeniably a pain in the arse. Yeah, yeah, yeah - I get it - we live in a whole new post 9/11 world. Identity creation and proving one's citizenry is a tricky thing. That still doesn't help me here.

So a good friend and I have been leaping through all the required hoops to get our sons their passports for - get this - trips to the freaking Carribean. Remember when traveling to the Carribean simply required showing your pearly white American teeth....maaaybe flashing a driver's license? Bah. No more. Now apparently the land of pina coladas and margaritas is on lock down to everyone including my highly suspicious son complete with angelic baby curls and big blue eyes. Everyone knows 9 months olds are renown smugglers and terrorists.

I will say that if anyone in security so much as suggests that they need to touch him I'm pulling my insane momma bear routine. Back away from the new mom, folks. Back away.

But I guess its for the best, the real intention of it all is probably to prove that he's ours and not some kidnapped cherub from the Dominican. I digress.

So after filling out what seemed like the longest form in history AND getting a freaking notarized explanation of why only ONE parent could be present for the formal application (umm, because daddy makes the pay-pah?) we are closing in on the final piece of the puzzle: the passport photos.

Wouldn't you know the moment we arrive at our local CVS my dear son breaks into a fever, becomes the most ornery child on the planet and I swear is pushing teeth out like there is no tomorrow. He freaks at the mere sight of the overly enthusiastic photo girl, and proceeds to lose it even more when she dare whips out her camera. The situation became so dire that we decided that moment might not be the best time for this milestone. Perhaps tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes and we are right back where we left off. Freaking out, squinty and crying surely does not meet the US standards for acceptable photos. I try everything - I walk with him around the store, I give him the previously thought "never fail" zwieback toast. Nada. I become the mother whom everyone looks at, "What is she doing to that poor child?"

Trying to take him out of the country, that's all. Christ.

Finally, I slowly make my way back to the photo desk while trying to distract Henry so he should not realize it. I give the signal to the girl, quickly toss him up in front of the white background and SNAP. The result is the saddest passport photo in the history of passport photos. The poor child looks like he's being held hostage or just ate a lemon.

I thank the kind passport lady profusely for helping us through the required task. We then make our way to the post office to complete the epic adventure. Paperwork in, mission accomplished.

However, it doesn't end there. My good friend, whom I mentioned earlier goes to the same CVS later that day to get her son's photo taken. Apparently the same "kind" passport lady was so amused at the influx of baby passport photos that she shows off Henry as, most likely, an example of what you do NOT want your photo to look like. My friend was amused to see Henry up on the photo screen for all the town to see.

Did I mention that photo stays with us for five years?
At the very least, we are bound to amuse some depressed customs official.