D DAY

We went to our lawyer again. I was never expecting any good news since I have never received good news from the man who has been my lawyer for eight years and yet I still get tired of the bad news heaped on me every time I see him. I almost want to sit on his office and put my hands to my ears and go “lalalalalalalalala” and avoid listening to what he has to say. But I can’t so I sit there and get ear raped with his words every time I go.

To summarize what he said, there is nothing to do but wait. He wasn’t joking when he said that the office of the WPB branch, where my case now rests, was a difficult one. He gave us three choices: (1) wait and see when they will feel like giving me an interview; (2) sue them for taking longer than the law allows them reviewing my case and giving me an interview or (3) re-file my I-130 with the Miami office which is apparently faster and more efficient.

He also said that if we sued we would win the case and get an interview and then I would lose any hope of remaining here because out of spite they would deny the request. My other choice of filing the paperwork again at the other office is not a choice really since it would entail us coughing up another $5,000 and losing the $5,000 we already spent on having the case in West Palm Beach.

In other words we really have no other choice but to wait. To see and hope that when and if they grant us an interview I won’t be detained like the woman I saw yesterday at my lawyer’s office who got her interview date just to trick her into showing up and then detaining, her just for giggles and to have her walk around with an ankle bracelet to monitor her movements as if she was some sort of dangerous pedophile that needs to be kept on a tight leash. Of course we immigrants are the real danger of this country. Let the pedophiles and sexual predators roam free and “register” and have us illegal immigrants tagged like animals. Makes total sense.

I really wonder what the point of that device is in this case. We are talking about a woman who has, like me, been open about where she lives, has no criminal records and is waiting for her marriage to be verified as real, but while they don’t give her an answer about her case she has to walk around like some shamed whore in a Hawthorne novel with that glaring device at her foot labeling her a criminal.

In the middle of my sympathetic indignation all I could think about was that if it happened to me I wouldn’t be able to wear shorts or skirts, dresses or skinny jeans. I also thought about being sent to Krome and wearing an orange jumpsuit. I was, however, reassured when my lawyer told me they actually made them wear blue.

As I sat there, seething with impotence and wanting to wail, tear my hair, tear my lawyer’s hair, apologize to my husband, I saw him (my lawyer) maybe for the first time really looking at me, and when I said “there is always Canada” he tilted his head to the side and with what seemed to be compassion he told me “You made the decision to stay, you can’t quit now, it’ll happen”. Part of me was slightly reassured about his words of encouragement and then I realized he is just hoping I hire him to get my citizenship if my shit ever goes through.

I really have no hope any longer. I have but only one champion and that is Dear Husband and he is, as I am, powerless against the system. We have to be humble and patient, we are asking for a favor, is what our lawyer said and every fiber in my being rebelled against the idea of being humble and being patient. Why should I be humble? I am smart and I am (according to the letter applying for my change of status) an asset to my community so why in the fucking world would I be humble? Why should I have to beg? There is nothing I want enough to beg for.

While we drove back home, low in spirits and angry I looked at the cars driving by and felt so damn powerless it was as if I was being physically held down. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t talk, I could do nothing but stare at the passing cars trying to tell myself that maybe the passengers of those cars had it worse than me.

So we are deciding what to do by April 28, 2012. That day, D DAY is my ten year anniversary of coming to the U.S. That day we are leaving this country to search for the future that the land of opportunity refuses to give me. We are at the moment looking for a country that will take us.

I told DH that I was sorry that he probably should’ve married some white girl who would’ve popped some children already and made his parents grandparents again. He said “Stop it. I know what I was getting into...Besides white girls have no ass”

I laughed. In the middle of my anguish, in the middle of all that frustrating rage I laughed. Because I have THE greatest husband on the face of the earth who can make me laugh when I feel like utter undeserving shit.

And I don’t give a flying mother fucking fuck whether the INS recognizes it or not.

BABY FEVER

My ovaries are silent. For some reason I feel the need to apologize to my mom, my uncle, my aunt, my grandma and all those family members who constantly ask for me to get pregnant and ask why am I postponing the inevitable, as if pregnancy and motherhood was a fate I cannot escape from.

My sister in law is back in her hometown for a short visit to her brother who just had a baby with his wife. She and her husband took their two adorable babies to meet their new cousin and my father in law (the proud grandpa) took a picture of the children all together. Selfishly the first thought that popped into my mind when I saw them all lined up was the fact that there wasn’t one of DH’s there among the line of babies. Like there was a glaring genetic gap.

My in laws are, thankfully, not the pressuring kind. My family however makes up for that tenfold.

I know they didn’t put the picture on Facebook thinking of the grandchild they didn’t have from their first born who happens to be my DH, they were just enjoying the grandchildren they DO have. But I couldn’t help but wonder if part of them wished there was another there that was half their beloved oldest child and half the Hispanic chick their son married.

I feel a tad guilty that my mom has no child to bounce on her knee and she so desperately wants one… my sister is useless on the mommy front (you know you are) and even though she is six years older than me and married for far longer than I have, she still has no plans of gracing my mom with a squealing, pooping, puking, screaming bundle of joy.

I guess I feel responsible because even though is both DH and my decision on if and when we have children I am still the one that gets asked. I would be the one doing all the work of growing the thing so of course they ask me when I am going to allow his sperm to fertilize my eggs. I catch my mom looking at my belly as if willing it to grow, creepy. And if she texts me one more picture of a caramel skinned baby with green eyes with the caption “this could be yours” I shall perish.

What if I never feel like having children? The thought scares me a little bit more than actually wanting them in the future. There is nothing about children that appeals to me. I adore the babies in my family my niece and nephew who I met already and the brand spanking new nephew who I haven’t had the pleasure to hold. Other children however leave me cold. I hate walking by that area in the mall filled with plastic fruits and huge fake cupcakes that the little terrors climb on an off of while screaming their little heads off. I hate going to restaurants and hearing a baby scream. I know is natural, I know rationally they aren’t doing anything wrong but all I want to do is vanish them all (except for those I am related to) to some area of the world where they can stay until they turn 21. Teenagers in my book aren’t any better.

When did I become so intolerant? I have no clue. And everyone tells me “you’ll feel different about your own” but isn’t it a good idea to at least like the little creatures in general before popping one out? I look at random children and babies and feel nothing. Show me kittens or puppies and I melt in a puddle.

I have told DH several times that I would be the perfect mother if I got pregnant and had a litter of kittens. He didn’t look too happy about that.

I feel nothing but terror at the thought of losing myself, of not being me anymore but “mommy” of not being a woman anymore but a mom first and foremost. That loss of my identity and acquisition of a new one makes me shiver with apprehension.

I don’t want to wake up at seven am to feed a baby; I don’t want the forever responsibility of another human being. I want to read whenever I want to read or go shopping when I want to, or work out when I want to, or take a nap when I feel like it. I don’t want to lose that because my whole schedule would then revolve around the needs of another. Feeding it and putting it to sleep, giving it a bath, then feeding it again. And then school, and baby parties, and sleepovers and hockey or soccer, baseball or peewee football. When do parents get to do what THEY want to do?

Do I sound selfish? That’s because I am, I am selfish of my time, my enjoyments and my life.

“Oh but kids bring a whole new set of happiness and enjoyments and love” They say. “You’ll change” they say. “Your priorities will change and you won’t care” they say. But I DO care now, and I don’t want to change my life. I am happy with life as it is (present legal problems notwithstanding). Enjoying my husband and our time together, going and doing whatever we want on our time table, without asking anyone if we should or should not, without having to take anything into consideration but ourselves. That’s a freedom I am not keen on relinquishing.

So in the meantime I will spoil my niece and nephews rotten and enjoy their smarts and their smiles, their delicious baby smell, their precious faces and the questions that only children ask and those quirks that start popping out when their personalities develop. I do love them dearly and I do feel all the melting in a puddle when I see them but so far just being an aunt is satisfying.

My ovaries are silent, there is no clock ticking. And I’m alright with that.

I AM PETTY ENOUGH TO ENJOY THIS

The feelings currently swirling in my heart might not make me the best person on earth, but I have never claimed (and I dare you to quote me if I have) that I am a nice sweet person. This morning, while I tried to find out if the city I live in is going to spend $485,000 in a patriot memorial whose original budget was $80,000, I ran into the news that over the weekend, Anthony Mangione, the head of ICE (Immigration and Custom Enforcement) had FBI agents searching his house because of child pornography allegedly stored in his home computer.

http://www.palmbeachpost.com/news/child-porn-investigators-search-home-and-office-of-1393121.html

You know ICE, that agency that is seen in the news banging down house doors and spiriting away Hispanic people from their very homes, or raiding meat packing companies, or tomato picking farms, or the corner of Wal-Mart where they stand waiting for some day work. That agency that holds, oh such a warm place in my heart, that agency’s Miami Branch has a head of department accused of holding child pornography. The head of department who according to the article has “aggressively targeted child pornography” and spoken against predators.

Ah, and I feel a sweet little tickle spreading like sweet nectar over my chest…sigh.

I am not completely heartless and horrible, however, and I truly wish there was another alleged crime that he had committed; it makes me feel kind of guilty that I am enjoying this. I wish he would’ve been accused of cheating taxes, or hiring undocumented workers to clean his house and babysit his children (the sweet irony) or some other victimless crime. But I am too frustrated with the system and ICE, as long as I remain in limbo waiting for my process to complete, represents everything I fear and there is no room in my heart for feelings of compassion for an agency whose main object is to chase me and those like me out of this country.

I am afraid I feel like I feel every time there is some self-righteous right wing nut that ends up propositioning for gay sex in a bathroom, or discovered with his mistress when he spouts so much about the importance and sanctity of marriage. It just so damn poetic it makes me want to cry a little.

So while Florida seems to be cracking down on those undocumented workers whose only crime was to be here undocumented and work their asses off to help their families (not only the ones here but also the ones from their country of origin) the agency that handles all the cracking has an alleged pedophile at its head.

Nothing has been proven, and Mr. Mangiano, who by the way is the son of Italian and Portuguese immigrants, (go figure), is considered under the eyes of the eyes of the law innocent until proven contrary. Therefore I will say no more. But while this whole deal is being solved I have but one thought in my head:

Swift poetic justice taste divine.