Yesterday, I headed to the DMV to renew my driver's license. I was seriously crossing my fingers that I had enough appropriate documents to do so because I still cannot find the folder of our legal documents. Anyway, I arrived, and checked in at the front desk. The front desk then filters you either to the "Take-A-Number" line or the "Express" Line.
The Express Line is about the biggest joke ever, because it is slow as molasses, and almost always out the door of the building, which means that I have to stand by the crazy lady who has been protesting the DMV for the past eight years (no joke) because she failed the vision portion of the driving test, and she feels that the state is taking away her civil liberties and infringing on her personal rights by not letting her drive even though she cannot see. Basically, the Express Lane = Bad.
So, the lady at the front desk tells me that I have to wait in the dreaded express lane, and then also adds, "Cute baby. She looks like a preemie. How early was she born?"
"Oh, she's not a preemie. She's just small."
"No, I'm pretty sure she was a preemie. You must have your dates wrong."
"Nope. If anything she was overdue. She's just small, but she's perfectly healthy."
I then proceeded to the Express Lane, where I waited for the next two hours. Once I got to the DMV representative, she said, "Your baby is so cute! How old is she?"
"Oh thank you, she's almost seven months."
"How much does she weigh?"
"Just twelve pounds two ounces--she's a petite one."
"Oh, my daughter was like that too. We had to do all sorts of tests because having an underweight baby puts them at all sorts of risks for having a genetic disease. Have you done the DNA screen yet?"
"No, her pediatrician isn't really concerned because her dad didn't pass the 15 pound mark until after he was a year old, and she's active and eating well."
"You really need to do the DNA screening. I know it's expensive, but you need to know if she has a genetic disease."
"Thanks for the advice," I responded as calmly as possible.
I sat down to wait for the dreaded photo, stewing a bit at the things people say to new moms about their babies. Then, I saw another new mom approach the desk with a baby in tow. Along the way, a couple people asked her how old her baby was (5 months) and how much he weighs (17 pounds). Their comments to her ranged from "What a chunk!" to "You need to stop feeding him as much" to "I hope he's not this overweight his entire life". I watched the mom smile pleasantly, duck out of each conversation, and roll her eyes.
I felt such solidarity with her! I mean, I don't wish any mom be told that their kiddo is anything less than perfect, but it was nice to hear that it isn't just me....and that if Lizzy were on the opposite end of the weight spectrum, people would say things that are just as ridiculous. Silly comments have just become a part of my world as a mom, and knowing that I'm not alone makes it just a little bit easier to handle!
And now, a message from Lizzy: nmidfry8i xe vcnobufkjburmlkffewyi tbxwd yui7
If you aren't a native speaker of Lizzy language, that roughly translates to "I will never blink...or sleep!"