Hey there people-who-read-Mom’s-blog! It’s me, wonder baby. And I’m here because I have a few things to get off my chest about my adoption, and Mom was going to say them for me but c’mon, dudes! I may not yet have the fine motor skills to type, but why should I let her put words in my mouth? (Moms are annoying.) I made her take dictation.
So let me tell you what’s been going on. First of all, we had our last of four post-placement visits last week from a social worker, and she sucked ass. (Yes, I use the words suck and ass, get over it. I’ve been sucking since I was born and I was also born with an ass, so BITE me.) Actually, the lady was okay. She kept calling me beautiful, and anybody who calls me beautiful is okay in my book. (Although she didn’t know my name when she first came, and called my mom and dad “Elizabeth and Arnold.” Which was hysterical enough to almost make the whole thing worth it, but it does say something about her competence.) Really, though, it’s the whole system that sucks. Mom and Dad had to pay $1,500 for this lady to come into our home and ask questions about how I was doing, and how they were doing. Keep in mind, this is $1,500 they could have spent on toys! And dresses! And bows! And FORMULA! Editor’s note: Or wine and good cheese.)
And the real kicker is, when Mom asked whether a baby was ever taken away due to post-placement visits, she said that never happens. NEVER! That really the visits are to just A) offer support, because many adoptive parents feel a sort of post-adoption depression, and B) to give tips about baby rearing, and address any issues like developmental delays, trouble sleeping, or not eating enough. Which I have to interrupt and say, not eating enough???? Have you met me? I’m 22 pounds and in the 99th percentile. I would eat until my head popped off if I was given that option, and die a headless but happy girl. As for the tips, my momma has been wanting a baby for-like-EVER, so she’s read pretty much every book and webpage out there. I’m sure most adoptive moms do the same thing, so is the little bit of advice she can give in a half hour going to be anything Mom and Dad haven’t heard? I think not.
As far as A…How in the heck could I cause depression? I am wonder-baby, I make anybody who sees me want to dance on the rooftops. They seem to not know who they’re dealing with. So why not let the adoptive parents decide whether any “help” they can give is worth the sacrifice of $1,500 of toys (and wine and cheese)?
And that’s not even the worst of it. Here’s the other thing I want to talk about. A couple of weeks ago, I was forced to go to the fingerprinting office. This was scary. I spent quite a few nail-biting minutes here in this ugly waiting room.
Now in the end they didn’t actually fingerprint me so it turns out I was worried for nothing, but my parents have been fingerprinted seven times each in order to adopt me!!! Seven times!!! Each of those times costs $120 (of my toy-money), so what’s up with this? Why can’t they keep the fingerprint records in their system and just look them up every time they need an update? On top of that, since my parents have never committed a crime in their lives–
(Editor’s note: Although I was never caught, and so my fingerprints are not on record, I stole chocolate coins when I was six, because I wasn’t allowed sweets of any kind, and it was the only way I could get them.)
You did???? My mom is a criminal! That makes me kind of cool, vicariously.
Crime is not cool.
*rolls eyes* Anyway, since they’ve only committed one crime, what are the chances they might suddenly become criminals now? I don’t give them TIME to become criminals! They’re not sleeping enough to have the energy for it, and have lost so many brain cells they’re not smart enough to. So why do they need another set, plus their fourth child abuse check and third local clearance? Can you say, bureaucracy? (I can’t say it yet, but can you?)
Okay, I’m finished venting. Next month it’ll all be over. We’ll have a court date in October (more bureaucracy), and then I’ll be officially-officially who I already am, my mom and dad’s daughter. I absolutely can’t wait. Now, to make up for all this ranting, I will show you two of my mom’s favorite photos of all time, which prove I know exactly who my daddy is even if THOSE PEOPLE aren’t sure yet. Bye, and I’ll see you in another six years, when I can actually type myself, because dictation is hard when you haven’t mastered the use of your tongue and have a zero word vocabulary.