OmegaMom

One last glance at MSNBC, to see what’s goin’ on in the Big Wide World Out There.

One headline that caught my attention: Is Angelina Jolie Expecting? Digression: I’m not much of a celebrity-watcher, but La Jolie is followed in adoption circles due to her stated desire to have a child from every country…

One photo caption that sent me ballistic: “Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, accompanied by Jolie’s children, arrive at Narita Airport in suburban Tokyo on Nov. 27. Could the couple have another child of their own on the way?” (Emphasis mine.)

Goddamn.

I am just so tired of the “child of their own” bullshit. What, did we just borrow OmegaDotter? Is she a library book that we’re expected to return as soon as the loan period is over? When I kick the bucket at age 90+, will my obituary list my 50-year-old daughter as my “adopted daughter”?

Grrr.

I know those who haven’t adopted will think this is picayune, petty PC-ish-ness. But these attitudes, coupled with the attitudes that adoptees are inevitably Bad Seeds, castoffs from bad families, just make me growl.

On the Big Chinese Adoption Email List (APC), three current hot topics are:

• What 2 and 3 year olds call farting. (Subtext: 2 and 3 year olds are obsessed with bodily functions. Girl or boy. Be prepared for booger, snot, and fart jokes. Be equally prepared for a husband who not only indulges such jokes, but joyously and wholeheartedly joins in and comes up with new lyrics to old songs featuring such bodily functions.*)
• The ol’ perennial “should you or should you not incorporate Chinese culture into your family life once you adopt from China?”. (Subtext: “My daughter is going to be American! I don’t want to force any differences upon her!” Counter-subtext: “Your daughter may be American, but everyone who sees her will see ‘Asian’ first and foremost.” For an Asian-American’s take on this, check out Johnny’s “Checking the ‘Asian’ Box” post.)
• White Pride T-shirts and what they signify. (Subtext: Folks who wear White Pride T-shirts are asking others to think of them as racist jerks. This has devolved into a discussion between two of the most garrulous posters on APC. Check out The Grouchy Ladybug for a snarkily hilarious take on how the discussion has played out.)

* Mr. OmegaMom’s contribution to such hilarity has been “Mom’s FAVORITE Song!”:

There’s a booger in my nose
And it’s green, And it’s green.
It’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen, ever seen.
There’s a booger in my nose
And there’s poop between my toes.
There’s a booger in my nose
And it’s green.

Needless to say, this prompts roars of laughter from OmegaDotter. OmegaMom is NOT amused. Much.

So the Omegas went on a field trip yesterday evening: to the ER.

OmegaDotter, who tends to run high fevers, exceeded her own stellar febrile performance and pegged 105.9F. After her dose of Ibuprofen.

OmegaMom, who doesn’t give a fever of 104+ much thought anymore, just stuffs the cheeild full of Tylenol or Ibuprofen, immediately hollered to OmegaDad, requesting help with dumping OmegaDotter into the bathtub to see if it would kick-start the meds.

OmegaDotter, who normally bounces and plays and has a grand ol’ time in the bathtub with various ducks, Willies (killer whales) and zebras, just sat in the middle of the tub, shivered, and whimpered.

Off to the ER we went.

Five hours and many medical pats on the head later, we got home.

While in the ER, our dotter treated the various medical staff to her best imitation of a banshee crossed with a very strong octopus. The ER doctor (Mr. OmegaMom asked me in an aside, “Since when do they allow pretty 14-year-old girls to be doctors???”), kept patting OmegaMom on the knee and saying, “My husband calls it ‘Baby Rodeo’. She’s not strange–lots of little kids do this. You’re doing fine. If she’s this active with a high fever, This Is Good.”

Mr. OmegaMom decided that we need to videotape any ER visits in the future, so we can discourage horny 17-year-old males when the time comes…”Why, yes, son, this is what she is really like…is there a problem?” He thinks it might be better than a shotgun. I just kept expecting OmegaDotter’s head to start whirling on her neck and her to grate out, “REDRUM! REDRUM!”

ER observations: The ER was full of various flu victims and their families. Then there was the gal who Mr. OmegaMom and I suspect had been beaten by her boyfriend, and the nice (young!) police officer who was taking her particulars…this made us very sad. There was the hispanic family who put telenovelas on on the TV (Mr. OmegaMom’s comment on the soaps: “Big-haired men kissing big-lipped women.”). There was the guy in the cubicle next to ours, who had apparently been punched in the head; the doctor and nursing staff were trying to persuade him to have a CAT scan (”Sir, it’s just like a long x-ray–a machine rotates around you for five minutes and you’re done.” “How much is this gonna cost? I can’t afford any of these things!”).

And OmegaDotter constantly asking, “Can we go home? I want to go HOME!”, with the last words rising up into a screech.

All is better, for the nonce. I am home with dotter. We slept until 10. Mr. OmegaMom somehow found the titanium spine to wake up after a mere 2.5 hours of sleep and drag his ass into work.

This parenting stuff is tough.