The DMV

When we first moved to Texas I was reluctant to go to the DMV. Grace was 13 months old, and I was avoiding the whole "license change" excursion like the plague. Weeks went by and I couldn't avoid it anymore. I drove around for 20 minutes in the shopping center that claimed to house the DMV. Everything was in Korean and I thought for sure I was in the wrong place. Finally, finally, I found it. Already annoyed and aggravated I had a feeling this little excursion wasn't going to be my favorite. I filled out the necessary paper work and stood in line for 45 minutes. I was a ball of sweat stressing about Grace and whether or not she was misbehaving. Finally it was my turn. I handed over my old license, passport, and proof of address. They took my picture, did not smile back when I smiled at them, and gave me a piece of paper to "check the information for correctness." I scanned briefly and noticed that they had my middle name wrong. I pointed out the error. To which I was told that they use the information from my passport and my passport had my old middle name. I said, but my previous license issued by the state of California had my correct middle name, response "That doesn't matter." I was beyond frustrated annoyed and my sweat glands were in overdrive so I said "Screw it." and I left. I could fix it later.

I felt like a felon, or something, having 75% of my information under one name and 25% of it in the other. My credit cards and license didn't match, although it was merely a letter difference, and I thought for sure someone would think I was stealing an identity or trying to get away with something shady. Time ticked forward and before I knew it a year had gone by. I really needed to get this thing taken care of. I gathered all of the necessary government issued paperwork, and then some. I had a bag filled with proof of my identity and I finally built up enough courage to brave the DMV again. Two things went very wrong that day: 1.) I got lost and wound up at the wrong place on my first attempt, only to realize that I didn't even have my paperwork with me even if I had gone to the right place, and 2.) I had gotten pregnant weeks earlier and the hormones were a ragin'.

After a quick drive back home, and a re-route to the correct location I walked into the DMV, to my astonishment there was barely anyone in there. I told my "issue" to the woman at the desk so she could give me the appropriate waiting number. After some confusing banter we finally got on the same page. "My name is wrong on my license. But I have my marriage certificate and Social Security card to prove that my middle name needs to be changed." Lady: "Well, we only base our information off of your passport." Me: "My passport was issued two years before I was married, and it hasn't expired. So here is my marriage certificate." Lady: "That doesn't matter." Me: "But my name was correct on my California issued license." Lady: "We do things differently in the state of Texas. In order to get your name changed on your license you have to get your passport changed." Me: "How can I change my passport if my driver's license says the wrong name?!" I was so done. I told the lady I would deal with it, grabbed Grace's hand and promptly walked outside where I burst into tears. No, not tears, I started sobbing. The heaving kind where you're gulping in air. I called Aaron and sobbed. I knew I was being overly hormonal and totally ridiculous but the sobs came in between words like "They are so mean" sob....sniffle....gulp in air...."I hate the DMV" more sobs....wipe nose...more air gulps. Aaron "It's okay sweetie, we'll figure this out." Once the sobbing died down I desperately wanted to drive to my sisters house and mope, but I chose the Monday after she moved away to go the the DMV. So, instead, Grace and I drove to In-N-Out and had ourselves a burger filled pity party.

I put everything ID related on the back burner, my mental stability was just not having it. Finally, Aaron and I got the necessary paperwork filled out and sent into the Passport office. My name would be correct (finally) in the eyes of the state of Texas. Six weeks later I had that sucker in my hands and all I needed to do was go to the blasted DMV. 

Attempt #1: FAIL- I walked up to the DMV, saw hoards of people standing outside, took one look at the amount of people inside, then turned around and went home.

With less than 4 weeks until this baby is due, I didn't want there to be any unnecessary complications with the baby's birth certificate, or hospital registration. It was now or never. Aaron told me that he heard the best days to go are Tuesdays and Thursdays. Thursday was a particularly rainy day and I convinced myself "No one goes to the DMV when it's raining." I had my passport and paperwork collected and ready to go. I took time packing snacks. I downloaded two kids shows and packed earbuds for Grace. I went at 10:00am, this would be cake.

I balanced my purse, paperwork, umbrella, and Grace through the rain and stepped confidently into that dang DMV. It. Was. Packed. I talked to the front desk and they printed out my number. They were so nice and said "I hope this won't be another nightmare-ish experience for you." I smiled (yes, I smiled while at the DMV) and looked for a seat. 

A beam of light came down on the one seat that was available. I almost cried at the sight of it, and seated next to the open seat were two Grandpas, two of the nicest men on the planet. Grace sat on my lap (or what is left of my lap), and watched her shows. I was going to make it through this experience, I could do it. So we sat, and sat, and sat, and the numbers called weren't anywhere near our number. People came and people went, and it got more and more crowded. Grace and I made two separate bathroom breaks. She watched her shows a few times, she played near my feet, and I could tell she was starting to get antsy. 2 hours and 15 minutes later they called our number. We stood for a few minutes at our station. Name change: check, Address change: check, New picture: check (unfortunately my face at 8 months pregnant is forever solidified on my license). Fee paid. Thank you's spoken. And we were free. Arrived at 10:18am, left at 12:39pm, 2 hours 21 minutes total, and I didn't cry once.

It felt like a weight had been lifted, and my mere survival without any trace of mental breakdowns had me on cloud nine. This time we headed to In-N-Out for a celebration lunch, no pity parties here.

With everything now tied up nicely with a silver bow, I hope I never, ever have to go to the DMV again. Is that too much to ask?