I glanced in the rearview mirror.
"Do you like rock and roll, sweetie?"
Bea gave me a big nod and replied, "Yeah!"
Right on, baby.
We were on our way to get Bea a flu vaccination and me a pertussis (Tdap) vaccination. Mama and Bryce had already gone earlier in the day without much of a hitch except for a fussy baby (which she was all day yesterday).
We arrived at the county building (don't get me started on the cost of our private family healthcare insurance and paying for shots out-of-pocket in the doctor's office) without a hitch ourselves, but as soon as we went inside to the front desk, the trouble started.
We were at the first front desk slot nearest the automatic sliding glass doors, and because my "big daddiness" was too close to the floor sensor, the door kept opening and closing.
And freaking her out; the fearful crying started immediately.
So that led to an immediate Yo Gabba Gabba video on my iPhone, which soothed the savage Bea'st.
I filled out a little paperwork and then we had to wait for a few minutes. I sat Bea next to me one of the waiting room chairs, her eyes glued to Gabba-land.
The receptionist called me over and I went hesitantly, wondering if I should leave her sitting there, which was only five feet away.
So I did, glancing back every other second while the receptionist asked me a few questions.
In one of the seconds in between, while I was looking away, there came a collective gasp from behind me and some "Oh, no's". It's the kind of sound you hear at a sporting event when one of the players gets hurt on the field.
I turned quickly to witness Bea finish sliding off the chair onto the floor.
I grabbed her and held her and checked her for wounds, but all seemed intact.
Including my iPhone. Hey, baby first, then gadgetry. No worries.
We went outside to get some air and then came back in. I had Bea sit on my lap. She was still shaken up but recovering, while Devo played on the Yo Gabba Gabba super music friends show.
We had been there for no more than 10 minutes.
The slick sweat of daddy guilt broke out on my forehead and the back of my neck.
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers were right about the waiting. Every few minutes, Bea would let out a weepy cry.
"Kevin and Beatrice? This way please."
The actual act of receiving the vaccinations -- the flu mist for Bea and the shot for me -- was a little anti-climatic, although she still cried right before, during and right after the spray.
Three chocolate chips and a new video later, recovery. I paid the cashier and we were off to the park to play.
Thirty-two minutes in all.
Because that's how we roll.
The ball's over here, sweetie.