My 13-month-old daughter had her first picture with Santa this evening. I'm not going to call it traumatic, but it was definitely less than pleasant. The look on her face as she realized she was alone with this bearded man was priceless. She looked toward me for help and when the response was not to rescue her more panic set in. She's looking back at him and then me and at that moment, I believe the "Stewie Griffin moment" hit her as she contemplated my death.
In Santa's defense, he was well composed the entire time. I don't know if I could handle the insane range of emotions the wide variety of children display in this quintessential moment in a child's life. The neurotic parents are one thing, but the kid in front of us had a mental breakdown before he even made it to the big guy's lap.
Her Great Grandfather also has a Santa Beard. In fact while living on a North Carolina beach he frequently was accosted by children asking if Santa was on vacation like they were. Grandpa also smells like pipe smoke, so the combination of the two keep my baby very uneasy around him.