highs and lows

We got Nate's fancy new carseat yesterday. For safety purposes, most carseats now have to be installed in the car by a trained professional who knows the big secret behind how to properly tighten safety belts around different carseats. The store we bought the new seat at has a guy on staff (Mark, I believe) who can do this for us, so even though we bought the seat last week we had to go back yesterday so Mark could fasten the seat into the car. The sales people were all relatively friendly, especially with Nate, but Mark didn't get the memo that he was working at a kids' store and should at least say hello to people. Despite my spaciness (which has hung around even though Nate sleeps pretty well now) I deduced that Mark was the guy who came out of the back of the store, grabbed my carseat, and walked out to the parking lot. I am so clever.

So we pack the old infant seat in the trunk and I attempt to put Nate in his Corvette of carseats and he is not happy at all. He's sqirming and arching his back and screaming. And screaming. And screaming. And because it's the first time we've used the seat and I wasn't quite as clever as I initially thought, all the straps and hooks needed to be adjusted to fit Nate, so now I'm trying to thread, loosen, and tighten straps while Nate's trying to claw his way out of the car. So he screams all the way home, thoroughly enjoying his new ride. (We did make a quick trip today and he was much happier, so hopefully he'll get used to it. Not only because it's safe, but because it cost $250.)

We put our new ride in the middle seat because this is usually the safest place in the car, but now I can't really see well out the back window because I'm short. So although Nate's in what we determined to be the safest seat around, he is perhaps less safe because I can't see where I'm going (or coming from, to be more exact). So I may go back and have it moved over to a side seat if my side mirrors aren't cutting it for me after a few more days.

A day in the life of a baby is filled with emotional extremes. He's kind of like a little teenager who can't talk. But at least he's got a good excuse, since his day filled with a combination of exciting new experiences and frustrations. A teenager, on the other hand, is just filled with hormones. Anyway, the screaming fit in the car was then followed by what Nate seems to find the funniest thing ever - our dogs. In true teenaged fashion, I have been finding them quite annoying, but he thinks they are better than Elmo (or Dora. I hear she's quite popular too). Here's a peak: