Fostering In Brooklyn

Flight attendant: Is there a doctor onboard?

(The ghost of my) Dad: *nudging me* that should've been you

Me: Not now Dad

(The ghost of my) Dad: Not asking for a therapeutic Clown to help, are they?

Me: Dad, there's a medical emergency happening right now and I’m on vacation and don’t have my nose, fake mustache and/or fart maker.

(The ghost of my) Dad: Go and see if you can bring some humanity and some much needed distraction to the overly mechanized and Kafka-esque experience that being in a hospital is.

Me: Ooof. You’ve a point there Ghost of my Dad. (rolling up his sleeve, he gets up and asks the flight attendant for a biodegradable straw). THIS will buy us at LEAST half an hour.

Also me (turning to the camera): And while you’re reading, maybe donate to a nonprofit like Healthy Humor (cue video of doctor getting toilet papered and kid/caregivers doubling over in laughter) on #givingtuesday because of how much of this countries resources go towards Big Pharma instead of towards the arts. Also, give a lot so that the Ghost of my Dad can stop worrying about me.

to the WIC gods that Target doesn’t make me go back 3 times for a different brand/size/kind of bean/cereal/milk/bread

1. Rhyming with lotsa hard words (like in Bear Snores On)

2. Has a moral that honors/doesn’t try to simplify complexity.

3. Books without animals.

4. Maaaaaaaybe books about adoption? Every book I’ve seen on the subject just doesn’t apply to adoption from foster care.

5. Books about bicycles/public transport/human-powered-fun would be GREAT, instead of glorifying/humanizing steel death machines.

Each suggestion doesn’t have to tick off all of these, obvi....

Thank you!

Below are books we love for reference...

For instance, this morning, he was bouncing in the bouncy swing, a bouncy swing that he’s probably too big for. Well. Actually, now we definitely know he’s to big for it. He crashed to the floor and bonked his butt and....(drumroll!!!!!) I. DIDNT. CHECK. FOR. A. BRUISE!!!! I made sure he was okay, OF COURSE. And OF COURSE I held him for dear life. And, OF COURSE I felt bad that I hadn’t checked the weight limit in a while on a thing he’s been using once a week for the past two and a half years. BBBBUUTTTT, I didn’t pull his pants down to look for a bruise right away - a bruise that would’ve meant, regardless of if he was ok or not, an extra trip to a doctor during a week filled with home regularly scheduled home visits, visitations with birth family, etc.. A bruise that would’ve involved the state because OF COURSE it should. Unfortunately, kids get abused in all the kinds of families. Later in the day, btw, I DID search for, and did not find, a bruise.

Let me explain the feeling another way. As a hospital clown I’ve had the opportunity to work at an awesome camp for kids with life threatening illnesses. A camp that’s dressed up like a camp, but is outfitted with a pretty intense medical facility and staff and the highest adult to kid ratio that I’ve EVER seen (and I’ve worked with kids everywhere). Yes, it’s a camp, but the campers have some serious stuff going on.One day a neat thing happened at that camp. Don’t worry, this will eventually lead back to Ahmed’s butt bonking/adoption revelation. One day, instead of being called in to clown with a kid who’d been isolated for days or for a kid who had to leave camp bc their situation was too much to manage, we got called in because a kid. lost. a. tooth. Besides indulging a proclivity for performing drag, it was SO awesome to dress up like the tooth-fairy and go bumble/celebrate A. NORMAL. MEDICAL. THING. GOING. ON. Instead of some big traumatic thing, they, and the adults around them got to yank out a tooth and give them a ​tchotchke under their pillow. Hopefully by now you’re picking up what I’m putting down. For those that haven’t yet: It felt so fucking good to hold Ahmed this morning and hold him tight and just know that his butt hurt bc I failed him, as HIS parent; ruining his life not as his state-placed foster parent but as his regular ‘old flawed poppy (that's what he calls me, btw). The responsibility is going to form into a dark cloud someday, I’m sure, but for now, it feels heavenly.

Also: I finally posted to FB after a 2.5 yr fast and was slammed with 300+ likes/111 comments. Posting to FB has made all this feel real, yes, but it was something else that happened at work that explains why. Last week we’d just left a 7 year old girl's room. We'd knocked it outta the park and I was getting attached to this girl (who also had cancer, btw) and her mom (who was always at her side and was taking lots of pictures). Afterwards my clown partner says, “you should go back and give them one of our social media cards.” Our hospital clown program has little business cards for folks to tag us in their social media posts. So I go back in and playfully say something like, “tag! Your it! Tag us back!” and offer the mom the card. The mom immediately goes from after-clown sparkle to dejected and says, “we haven’t been on social media for years” and gestures around the room. I flush with embarrassment and identification. OF COURSE they don’t post their cancer shit on social media. Why would they? For 2.5 years, our family harbored tiny humans and all of the complex feelings/issues that came with raising them. All of your weighing in, even with good wishes would have just made even harder. In trauma-land, it’s survival. Processing via social media takes level of energy.

My good friend started saying that instead of adoption day. After 2 1/2 years of having him, THIS is a new level of Gotcha.

Speaking of: the State, through the judge, thought it important to remind us of the deep responsibility of adopting this child. That this act of adoption is legally binding and forever and etc etc, AS IF we hadn’t been crossing three boroughs to show up every three months for the last 918 days. AS IF, that judge and the system hadn’t mis-represented when Bonky came into care, thus extending his case by at least 6 months.

I’d wait 918 more days for this kid, he’s worth every second, AND it would be nice to get a thank you or some sort of acknowledgment of how tough impermanency/foster-care is.

Anyhow. It’s what it is, I just needed to vent a second.

And does it feel different? Hell yes. In every way. Can I articulate any of the feelings? Hell no.

We’ve been warned that the adopting on Tuesday’s gonna take five minutes.

At least they have the decency to put a swift end to 918 days of impermanency. 918 days of attaching fast & hard (we were pre-adoptive foster parents — we knew this outcome was likely); 918 days of preparing ourselves for to let go for reunification (we were FOSTER parents first); 918 days of bending our lives, work & family balance towards this wide eyed mischievous love-bug and away from gigs that don’t pay and hanging out with friends. And loosening ideas of what family is/isn’t — watching as biology, identity, care and love both matters and doesn’t.

The biggest irony: as Tuesday approaches I’m antsy-there’s a part of me that doesn’t think I’m ready. Like pregnant people before their kid is delivered, I am unsure if I can handle the responsibility. Wait, after 918 days of full diapers, vomit and lost sleep, I’m feeling not ready?! Well, he’s entering a three years old going on teenager “I CAN DO IT” phase. And I’m seeing the (potentially) hard years of boundary pushing and adoption questions/feelings. It’s as if he’s knows the papers are about to be signed and he’s upping his game to make sure we’re sure we’re sure.

I make it sound like I’m reluctant. I’m not. I’ve been waiting 918 days for this — and I love that kid more than I’ve loved anyone. The kind of love that usually summons fear: what if I die early like my adoptive dad? What if he comes to resent/feel big hurt from his adoption? What if the world does bad things to him? Every parent feels these things no?

...for court. With the kids in tow bc our CW isn’t our CW anymore (no goodbye, no heads up, no nothing) and this was the only time the agency could see them.

Three+ hours on a subway.

Then when we get there, the new CW plays peekaboo briefly and the CW sup asks a few questions. Big kids not allowed in the courtroom we’re told super last minute — but I can bring him down to the children’s center (I certainly don’t want to hang out with a loud rambunctious toddler in the waiting area all full of stressed out biological and foster families), so i go down and I’m not allowed to hang out. I HAVE to drop him off and leave. (?!?!)

I get upstairs andcourt’s over by then (goal for kid #2 is now slated to be changed to adoption). I go back downstairs to the children’s center and kid #1 has been in the office crying the whole 4 minutes. Great. I feel even shittier.

On the way out he asks to see his Momma. I say she didn’t show up, sorry.

His adoption date is slated for 1.5 months from now. His sisters TPR could be within the year. Finish line is fast approaching and I’m SO ready for it to be done.

I haven’t been writing much bc the cases are kinda on autopilot towards adoption. But every time there’s something to get done, it’s been like today. Super stressful on us and the kid(s). 2+ years of This and I’m a little checked out and a lot ambivalent.

With the adoption coming up I hope I snap the fuck out of it. And quick.

Oh. And I’ve had to take a dump alllll day, since setting foot out the door like 5 hours ago.

UPDATE:

After sitting a little with my feelings, (and after taking that dump), something else about today:

How.

Fucking.

Lucky.

We.

Are.

We are facing permanency. And soon.

....and in the same breath, also the trauma of them losing their first family. I’ve always told friends who ask that this whole process is trauma-land-USA. And maybe that’s also why I’m a little checked out/ambivalent. Don’t want to really face the complexity head on.