Ryan had the absolute pleasure of meeting "mall Santa" yesterday. It was an impromptu visit with Santa. We had planned to go this weekend with Josh, but I was at the mall with some girlfriends yesterday and one of them was taking her daughter to see Santa, Ryan was dressed in somewhat Christmasy attire, we were waiting in line with them anyway, and Josh said go for it. Soooo we did.
The result:
I felt pretty bad for poor Santa. The second I put her on his lap, she completely lost it. I let it go on for oh....7 seconds or so before I questioned whether she was going to do her holding breath/passing out routine (which hasn't happened again since early October) and decided that Ryan passing out on Santa was definitely NOT the memory I wanted to create for the day. No need to make headlines on the 5 o'clock news, "Child Sees Santa and Passes Out From Fear," so I quickly saved her. I'm convinced seeing Santa Claus is a form of toddler torture because I assure you she was not the only one screaming in the 15 or so minutes we were there. Mean Mommies of the world unite!
I once said in a post that I'd never want to be a pediatric dentist, well you can add being Santa to that list as well. I mean besides the obvious having to be a man, be fat, and have facial hair part, he has to deal with screaming, snotty nose kids all day. Poor old man. He really was a sweet Santa but Ryan couldn't get past the big white beard and red coat I guess. Maybe next year? When she's 2 and a half? Hmmm maybe not.
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