The photo shoot

Last week, I took Charlotte to the photo shoot of my profile subject and his family. Since I found out that we'd have access mere hours before the appointed time, I had no choice but to take my daughter to work. I figured we'd only be given a few minutes, and during the photo shoot, I'd wear Charlotte so that she would hardly be noticed, except for being super cute and maybe sleeping so peacefully as the cameras clicked away. We'd be out of there within an hour, home for her nap time, and all would be well. And then God laughed.

We arrived at 10 am sharp and met the photographer who, to constant amusement throughout the morning, actually looked quite a bit like she could be my twin. The subject of my profile has a secretary who also has a secretary. The first fortress guarder met us and ushered us to the waiting room area which had in its center a square, granite coffee table which probably has never had coffee set upon it but which had wickedly scary corners and, on one end, a large plaster bust of a tiger. This was to be Charlotte's plaything for a large portion of the waiting time. Did I mention that the waiting room was on the second floor with open areas overlooking a 25-foot drop and stony tile floors? Not the ideal place for a crawler.

We were there to take pictures of the man and his family. But neither the man nor his family was anywhere in sight. Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Thirty. The frosty secretary started to crack as Charlotte's wails echoed off the glass, wood, tile and everything but carpet in this palatial office. She approached us, not with the news that we'd soon be meeting the man and his family, but with one of those small, stuffed cows that have pathetically and desperately painted a sign that reads "Eat More Chickn." This did not do the trick. Charlotte wanted one thing, and one thing only. So we headed to the car, the only place to nurse in this cold, harsh world of ours.

In the car, I considered quitting and going home. Charlotte grew quiet and calm. I welled up, thought "What am I doing?" Then regrouped. We went back into the offices. Back up the stairs. The photographer was still waiting, her camera at her feet. We started to kvetch in whispers about the nerve of this establishment and its leader. The ridiculous turns this story has taken. "Don't leave," the photographer, a star who shot during Katrina, said. "I don't know anything about this family. I am going in blind. I need your senses." So we stayed, and Charlotte kept creeping along the scary coffee table and I kept praying.

Then, the family arrived. the nine-year-old and the five-year-old headed straight for Charlotte. "She's so cute," they said. "How old is she?" Soon, the subject's wife was holding Charlotte. Then he arrived and started telling me to "ENJOY THESSSE TIMESSSS." (He has a booming voice and a strong midwestern twang).

In the end, we got some beautiful photos and great details for the story. I am figuring out how much I love this work and how much my children bring to the whole picture. Thanks, Charlotte!