Trust Me, I'm A Good Mom. Now Give Me A Baby
We can pay our respective doctors fifty smackers each to fill out a medical questionnaire (four questions) to tell the government we aren't crazy, dying or addicted to any harmful substances.
We can forward copies of our marriage and birth certificates and have criminal reference checks done. No problem.
I'll even clean the house and pretend I don't let the dog (or the kids) drink out of the toilet when they come for a home inspection.
What we weren't prepared for were the silly ass questions of the self-assessment report. Or how freaking long it would take to finish the f#*&ing thing.
For example, How would you describe yourself?
As a over-worked, under-paid, tattooed and pierced
How would others describe you?
I don't know, when I've asked people to describe me, they've hoofed it to another room in two shakes of a lamb's tail. What does that say?
Do you use any street drugs?
Why yes. I'm cracked out on some whack Meth as I write this. (Seriously, if I used street drugs, would I really be interested in divulging my addiction to a government agency so they could swoop in and take my remaining two kids instead of handing over another?)
What was your education experience like as a student?
Well, beyond being known as the Carpenter's dream (flat as a board and never been nailed), when I wasn't being stuffed into a locker or being pointed at and the object of whispered giggles, I was busy being in the drama club and running for dear life on the track team. Me and my invisible friend really enjoyed standing at the side of the gym watching the cool kids dance and stick their tongues down each other's throat. But that was okay, because as I aged, I realized I was too cool for the cool kids and shunned them all, reveling in my status as a geeky loner. Yes, I showed them all.
What is your current employment and do you enjoy your job?
Indentured servitude to an unappreciative flock while being a full-time, unpaid babysitter for my seven month old nephew. And why yes, I love cleaning up pee, folding unending piles of laundry, wiping shitty bums of babies who don't belong to me, and serving lovingly cooked, balanced meals to children who shrivel up their noses and ask if they can have ketchup with it. I live for this job, why else would I be asking for you to give me yet another one?
How were you raised and disciplined as a child?
I was set loose in the wilderness to forage for nuts and berries. When I filled my bucket I followed my bread crumb trail back to my home to share with my siblings. When I didn't fill my bucket to the top, my father would march me outside, make me pick a willow switch, watch while he carved it and then suffer the indignity of having him use it on my backside.
All in all, it was a lovely childhood, thanks for asking.
What qualities do you most appreciate about your partner?
Well, I love how handsome he is, but mostly I love the fact that he leaves me for long periods of time to do as I please while he busts his ass to provide me with money to spend freely upon myself. And he never complains when I spend it on more shoes, or to put yet another hole in my body.
How do you resolve stress in your relationship?
I yell, nag and curse. If that doesn't work, I withhold sex. Works pretty well.
Describe, in detail, the kind of child your family would like to adopt.
One that never talks back, remains cute as a button, never needs to be fed and can change his/her own ass. If that's not available, I'll simply take the most messed up kid you've got; the one no one else wants.
What are your reasons for wanting to adopt?
Well, quite frankly, the idea of growing fat, becoming nauseous, constantly needing to pee and then subsequently squeezing a watermelon-sized infant out of my va-jay-jay just doesn't hold the appeal it once did. That and I'm looking for someone to take the place of my now deceased son, so that the work production in my child labor-run factory is increased. Isn't that everyone's reason?
So you see, dear internet, the real problem here. I have a smart mouth and an obvious desire to use it. So as I'm writing my answers in our little booklet, my husband is madly erasing and trying to politely re-write what I've wrote.
This is going to be a long process. And I'm going to have to buy a bigger eraser for my husband.