The Baby
in Giggles on March 24, 2022
Hands down, this is one of my most FAVORITE pictures of my youngest kiddo. Doesn’t that little pouty lip just break your heart?
I vividly remember the day this picture was taken. Our church used to do a pictorial directory for her members. I thought this was an ingenious plan. My family and I attend a rather large church, so names are easily misplaced, but faces…well faces are unforgettable.
Along with taking a mug shot for the church office, participating in this project offered up the perfect opportunity for families to snag an updated portrait. The initial photo for the church was, of course, complimentary. The packages that followed—not so much.
But, as a young mom with three little ones underfoot, I was only going to attempt a family photo session ONCE. We sat dutifully for the family photo. Everyone was mostly smiles, and the photographer managed a quick picture that we were all happy with.
Unfortunately, that’s when the wheels fell off of our bus.
As you can see from this photo, Elliott was less than a year old. That means, Emma was less than two, and Ethan was less than three. Take a minute to let such seemingly small numbers manifest into such potentially large amounts of chaos and calamity. I’ll wait.
The photographer and his assistant, were incredibly confident when we began our session. Their confidence (and enthusiasm) faded exponentially after the whole family pose. They politely asked Jeff and I if we would like individual pictures of the children. Of course we said yes. The kids were clean, matching and appeared to be on their best behavior.
Hmmmm.
Looks are very deceiving…
Ethan, being the oldest, was up to bat first. He sat and smiled, and gave the photo team a false sense of security that the remaining two Louis children would be yet, two more delights to photograph. However, behind the crystal clear blue eyes, angelic-round-cheeked smile, and hidden under a mop of blonde hair, lay the plotting mind of a devious little pretender, otherwise known as a “TODDLER”.
With an undertaking as large as scheduling an entire congregation of roughly fifteen hundred families, appointments inevitably bunched up together. While our particular session seemed to run smoothly and timely, previous participants had not been so lucky. In other words, the photographer was running a bit late. As Ethan was posing dutifully (and deceptively) for the camera, the appointment after us, arrived a bit early.
It was our Senior Pastor, and his wife.
Can you see where this might have the potential to go awry?
When Ethan’s photo shoot was over, he cheerfully jumped down from the table. While Jeff and I exchanged pleasantries with the Noacks, Ethan took a running start at his little sister, who was wobbling in the general direction of the camera.
With one, swift move, he turned—in mid-stride—and shoved his little sister between her shoulder blades.
In less than a heartbeat, Emma face-planted at the feet of our Pastor, and let out a WAIL of pain that I can still hear, some twenty years later.
I had Elliott on my hip, but instinctively reached for Emma, all the while allowing absolutely blistering words directed at Ethan to free flow from my mouth. As I yanked Emma up off the ground, I haphazardly tossed Elliott at Jeff. This was most unwelcome for both parties.
Jeff wasn’t a fan of babies…
Elliott wasn’t a fan of anyone who was not me.
Ethan skipped away.
Emma broke her fall with her nose, which instantly blacked both of her eyes.
I wished the floor would swallow us all, and my Pastor and his wife (once they realized Emma wasn’t badly hurt)…
Tried unsuccessfully, to cover their sniggers.
I rounded on Ethan, demanding an answer for his impression of a WWE fighter. His two and half year old response?
“I dunno. It looked like fun.”
Jesus take the wheel.
As Jeff and I switched crying children, my Pastor’s wife nudged me, and assured me things would get easier. I just shrugged, looked up at my Pastor, and asked him if was completely sure that Ethan’s baptism had actually “taken”.
Meanwhile, the photographer was still waiting to see if we wanted anymore pictures. I plopped Elliott on the table, and said “Hurry.”
Hence, the picture with the pouty lip.
Now, I told you all of that to tell you this: All kiddos do unthinkable things…especially at the most inconvenient and/or inappropriate times and places. So, Mama, take a breath. We’ve all been there.
In every family with more than one child, each kiddo will have their own personality and own modus operandi for doing things. This will drive you nuts.
In our family, Ethan has always been independent. He has always done things his own way, and with very little fanfare.
Emma has always been (and will always be) a bit more dramatic. She is also an incredible Daddy’s Girl.
Elliott.
Well, the baby of any family has traits and characteristics indicative of being the last child. They tend to cling a bit more. They tend to act a certain way to get a parent’s attention. And, through the years, I’ve noticed with both my own baby boy, and countless others, that they tend to be Momma’s Boys.
My Ellie, is all of those things.
Many of you may read this, and think I’m a terrible parent and general all-around horrible person for praising such a traumatic picture and hailing it as a top contender for my favorites. I disagree.
In the moment that picture was taken, I knew Elliott needed me…just me. No strings. No conditions. No real qualifications. He simply needed my arms to feel safe and secure. Deep in the recesses of my mind and in the bottom of my heart, I knew that there would come a day, when he didn’t.
I knew through my entire pregnancy with Elliott, that there would unequivocally be no others after him. Everything I experienced during those forty weeks (thirty-seven, actually), I would never feel again.
The first time I saw two pink lines would be the last time those lines appeared for me. The first time I heard his heartbeat would be the last first time for the pause and subsequent jolt of hearing horses gallop through the monitor’s speaker. The first time I felt him flutter would be the last flutter. The first time he pushed his perfect little foot against me, would be the last first time I would count five toes that were on the inside of me. The day I delivered him was the last time I would ever have the opportunity to bring a new life into this world…it was also the last time anyone would know what my heartbeat sounds like from the inside of me.
Experiencing all of those “firsts and lasts” bound us together in an inexplicable way.
In my eyes, all children are miracles. All children are gifts…especially my own. I love each one of my children equally, but differently. I have a special bond with each of them that is as unique as they are.
But, the baby…
There’s something about the baby that cannot be measured by words.
So, if you have a baby, or you ARE the baby, understand that connection surpasses all scientific knowledge and all human understanding. You both have been given a gift. Treasure it.
