The DMV is never, ever fun but going with a five week old baby adds a whole new level of unfun.
Our car arrived last night after I waited all day. This meant we could go back to fricking Home Depot (ahhh... has it really been 6 weeks since I saw you last, old friend?) and order our doors at a dumb late hour last night. Huzzah.
Beck, it turns out, DESPISES his car seat when he has to be strapped in and put in the car. He does occasionally stop screaming long enough to whimper quietly in confusion and frustration. But mostly he screams. He screams so much that his whole redheaded body turns bright tomato colored and he sweats. Oh, does he sweat.
So he was a sweaty mess when we arrived at the DMV today, an errand I couldn't put off because the car is here and needs to be registered properly so we don't start getting tickets we can't afford. I tried to let him cool off a bit before sticking him in the Ergo. I thought about the stroller but was nervous about people possibly coming up and touching him - this is the first time we have been in such a crowded place. In hindsight, I might have done the stroller and just fended off any onlookers. As it was, a truly obnoxious little girl came over and tried to stick her hand in the Ergo on my chest so she could touch the baby. I grabbed her little hand and sent her away.
I am normally very patient and amused by such places as the DMV, enjoying the people of so many varying backgrounds and religions and ethnicities coming together for one strange singular purpose. I am normally obscenely tolerant and liberal. Suddenly that has changed.
The fugitive behind me, for example ("Man, what are they going to do? I'm just not going to show up for that
motherfuckin court date. What are they going to do, man? Put me in for
three months? Hell, I'll do the motherfuckin three months. I'm not
showin up, man."), would normally have been colorful and entertaining. Today, with my 5 week old strapped to me, I kept trying to be sure I was not standing anywhere near the area where he might be breathing and I continually covered Beck's head with the hood of the Ergo.
Until I couldn't anymore because the poor dear was just so. fricking. hot. I started to get super, super paranoid. Books talk about SIDS and overheating. I was convinced he was dead every time he stopped moving. I poked him to make him grunt or move. Then I paced and shimmied and swayed to make him stop crying.
An hour in line to get my number and 20 minutes to be called. We got it done.
Then he screamed all the way home. He was downright pale when I brought him inside, stripped him and fed him for as long as he could stand it. His color came right back and calmed me down. Thank heavens. It was starting to get a little scary.
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