More rain and more bureaucracy

It's still raining. I've taken to wearing my waterproof American hiking shoes every day. And every time I put them on, a word my mom used to use for heavy sturdy weatherproof shoes flows through my mind: clodhoppers. I don't know why, but that word is so funny to me. And really, it's so apt for what they do, as I hop from one overgrown soggy patch of grass to another, wild wet islands in a sea of mud, and all the windblown leaves of the pirul peppercorn tree sticking to my soles are little liferafts gone adrift and crashed ashore. Ok so that's kind of an over-the-top analogy but hey, my brain is kind of waterlogged and I'm tripping out on words like "clodhopper." So cut me some creative slack!

We went into Mexico City to the Embassy again today. Now that we have the baby's passport, we had to go apply for his social security card and a notarized permission for me to travel alone with the baby. Today, we were much more direct about getting there, navigating the roads, parking, handing out coins to beggars and fire eaters, drinking our expensive Starbucks caramel macchiatos, going through security, kind of like we're pros now. I already knew not to try to take in my switchblade, I mean my swiss army knife, and my baby food and my water bottle through security. The lady in front of us didn't though, so we had to wait forever while her 4 little kids quickly slung back the churros she'd just bought in the street and she tried to figure out what to do with 4 full sippy cups. My only illicit article was the gum the guard found in my purse - we either had to toss them or chew them, so we chewed them. Everything went pretty smoothly inside even though there were way more people in each waiting room we waited in. Surprisingly there seemed to be less guards today, like they called in sick or something. The same meanfaced Marine was still pacing around like a highschool hall monitor, though, making sure we didn't linger for longer than a second in any one place, making sure we had our hall pass (for real!). Another weird thing about the U.S. Embassy is that most of the workers are Mexicans, and they're nice enough to the "obvious" Americans like me, but they are rude as all get-out to the Mexican visitors, which comprise probably 95% of the visitors to the place. Its like the Mexican workers are on an extra high horse and using all their imaginary consular power to lord over their fellow Mexicans. I've been trying to figure out why there are so many Mexicans visiting the embassy, but I guess they're people who had kids born in the States before they were deported, or elderly people who were legalized there before they retired back to Mexico. The social security office was full of old widows trying to collect their dead husbands' pension funds.

Once we finished with the Americans, I changed the baby's diaper in the trunk of the car. Diaper changing away from home makes me panic - I just never know where to do it and diaper changing tables are virtually nonexistent here in Mexico. And with the baby seat occupying the middle of the back seat of the car, there is no room to stretch baby out flat and get his pants off without him smashing his head up against some hard surface. So I realized the trunk of the car was perfect, if a bit mafioso-ish, but I guess as long as I don't keep him in there and drive off, it's okay. He didn't seem to mind, checking out the car jack and the tools we have back there. With a clean diaper, we were off to see the Mexicans, to get his Mexican passport.

That was way more chaotic. For one thing, we traded in parking at the secure Sheraton garage with the Americans for a 20 peso payoff to a freelance parking attendant who banged on the hood of our car and stopped traffic on a major boulevard for us to back into a miniature spot between trashcans and trash that smelled of urine from dog, cat, and human alike. After the whole parking negotiations, we dodged across 4 lanes of traffic to a series of government buildings painted mint green, staved off a horde of freelance passport photographers and notaries selling their services on the sidewalk, and hunted down the passport office just to find out that they just instituted a new policy where you need an appointment to apply for a passport. So back to the car. We did stop at a photo place and for 25 pesos got 4 funny passport photos of Marco looking like a little bruiser drunk from the pub. At least the Mexican passport will only be for a year, unlike his American passport that is for 5 years and has a picture of him looking very serious as he topples off to one side of his bar stool. So we came home and I made an appointment which is for Friday.