Days before my departure for Guatemala to bring our daughter home, we have just found out about a new DNA requirement — effective today — that was made public yesterday through the passing out of fliers in front of the Embassy in Guatemala. A potentially devastating new requirement that could add months to our homecoming, the news distributed like a half-off coupon for shoes or a 2-for-1 hot dog sale.
I am angry.
I am confused and unsteady.
I am ready to kidnap my own child.
I am nauseated and on the verge of losing yet another breakfast because of the mercurial and capriciously erected barricades set up by the US government and keeping me from my daughter.
I am ready to move to Canada or some other country that is less swayed by political pressure and more driven by social services, beer and a love of ice wine and maple syrup.
I am forced to wait until Friday to find out how this will affect us, and to find out if it means another week, another month, or another season. Until then, I will eat chocolate old fashioned donuts, offset by extra hours of Pilates and hill walking and strenuous hugging of the child that I DO have at home. And I will both pray for and curse the US government in hopes that one or the other will bring my child home sooner, or at least give me a direction to focus my energy and avoid breaking anything in my home.
If you have a child, go hug him or her or them. And take a moment to ponder the wisdom of D-lister Jaime Pressly who said in a recent interview that people who adopt are vain or lazy. What I would not give to trade this endless wait for 5 minutes of procreation, nine months of minor discomfort and a pregnancy glow, followed by 24 hours of labor and the pronouncement: it's a girl.
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