I went to a tattoo parlor yesterday.
We decided on a whim it would be fun to get matching tattoos of Annabelle's face on our arms so off we went.
If only it had been that exciting. Christopher wanted to get another tattoo and nothing says family bonding like parading into the tattoo place with a baby in a car seat so we all went. It was a baby free establishment (exactly as I predicted it would be) so AB and I went to the store while Christopher got it done. It's probably just as well I wasn't involved. I would have flip-flopped between covering my eyes, moaning in sympathetic pain and inquiring about the cleanliness of the tools. I did take a picture of Christopher and the tattoo guy through the window before I left. I wanted photographic evidence in case any nonsense happened in our absence. It's a miracle Christopher survived any of his previous tattoo experiences without me there to supervise.
Earlier in the day we went to see Santa. Normally I'd do such things after Thanksgiving but I thought I'd beat the crowds and go early. The rest of the town had the same idea. The line to see Mr. Claus was approximately 954 feet long. We told Annabelle we'd go back another day but half an hour later Mr. Claus was sitting there with no one on his lap so I all but threw her on him. You'd think I actually did throw her for all the crying and screaming. She stopped crying to play with the bell for all of .6 seconds before looking at him and realizing he wasn't her mother. I think it was the beard that clued her in.
An old man at church this morning asked if my dainty little lady is a girl or boy. Annabelle couldn't believe it. She said next time she needs to wear a bigger bow so there's no confusion.