Tuesday, October 7, 2014

The Update: Advance Parole, Immigration, Formula, and Daycare

Stay strong, they say, as I do things I had never intended had I ever become a mother.

And here I am, a mother, with Ash taste-testing some formula I purchased at Target while shopping for his daycare goodies (bed sheets, blankets, bibs, food) for his first day of impromptu daycare tomorrow. For now, he'll be attending daycare with other younguns every Tuesday and Wednesday, so I can get what little work I have to get done done and search for other jobs and interview for those jobs, and if, b'ezrat HaShem, I get one of those jobs we'll talk about full-time daycare.

I lament that I'm trying him out on formula, but this kid is crazy about solid food and seems to only feed at night and in the early morning hours, which means the mommy cow is low on supplies, and, paired with the fact that I've been home basically every day for the past however many months, means we have zero provisions for Ash in the freezer or fridge.

He's chugging the stuff. I'm insufficient. But you know what? It's fine. I'm fine.

I never wanted to put Ash in daycare. I always told myself that if I did have a kid I'd be a stay-at-home mom, or at least a mom who worked from home and was able to manage with a kid.


I've also been sleep training Ash while his tatty is gone, because that's what happens when you make one parent responsible for getting the little one to sleep. I am miserable at getting Ash to sleep, so sleep training it is. Luckily, he's taking to it. A few minutes of tears, and he's out. Usually. It's the napping that's suffering, which is why it's 5:36 p.m. and he's asleep. (I guarantee he'll wake up again in about an hour.)

So Mr. T is out of the country indefinitely, thanks to an immigration law that says it takes forever once you start green card processing to get your travel documents, and if you don't have your travel documents, you're stuck in this country. Parent dies? Sorry, unless the right USCIS agent tells you to go to a local office to get an emergency "advance parole" document, you're up a creek. Unless, of course, you go ahead and leave the country anyway, in which case you screw yourself to the point of not being able to re-enter the USA. So that's where we are. I've emailed state senators, I've emailed local representatives. I've talked to a handful of lawyers. Everyone says the same thing:

Why did he leave? Did he know what he was doing when he left? That was a really stupid move. You guys really screwed up. Sorry, there's nothing that can be done. The law is the law. He'll have to transfer his case to the UK or Israel and wait 8-12 months for consular processing. Yes, that means he won't be able to see his son. Yes, that means he'll miss his son's first birthday. Sorry.

So there we are. The result was an emergency visit to the local daycare, an explanation of logistics, finances, and realities. We'll see how I do. We'll see how Ash does.

I keep telling myself that HaShem doesn't hand us anything that we can't handle. I'm starting to believe that this is a test of strength, commitment, and responsibility. Am I up to the challenge? I have to be. For Ash. Everything's for the Shmoogedy Boo. His happiness and well being are my utmost concern, and ultimately those things are dependent on my own sanity, happiness, and health.

Where will this road take us? Who knows. But I must continue to let HaShem guide me and lead me, however obscure and confusing the journey is.