After our initial excitement over our (future) Chinese daughter last week we had a reality check. What about, we wondered, all the children in the UK that needed a family? Last week was National Adoption week and what a week it was. Three children, who should have been protected, were killed (allegedly) by a parent. The story of baby P in particular horrifies us all. Not just that it happened - but the fact that the dirt-hungry News moguls continue to use this tragic story as a way to sell papers – this is paper porn of the worst kind. It reminds me of the endless coverage devoted to the McCann case. At least then there was still some hope that someone somewhere might find that child and return her home. This is a misery memoir. In which nobody got to grow up.
I make a strong coffee and call a very nice social worker at the local council. And that’s where the lovely morning begins to go a bit wrong because I find out, what I had long suspected. The waiting lists for domestic adopters are full of white couples. And the children waiting for families are non-white. And, of course, the Adoption Services WILL NOT place a child of black or mixed race origin with a white family. This the primary complaint about the system we have in this country for domestic adoption, and is the main reason so many couples go overseas to adopt.
It’s a rum old world we live in. When you can adopt a child from pretty much anywhere in the world, who not only doesn’t share your colour, but your language, culture and weather system. All you need is a private jet and a shed-load of cash and you’re in like Jolie. We’re never going to afford to do a Jolie-Pitt, so we’re going to pursue this domestic conundrum. And stop reading the papers until they can find something nice to write about. A surfing Squirrel would work for me.
Thursday 2 July 2009
Slow boats to China
Thanks to continued interruptions from the men in my life it takes almost two weeks to even partially grasp our options for adopting from overseas. We are focussing our efforts in particular on either India, or China (both countries that are known for having high numbers of girls available to adopt).
While the boys play ‘jumping tunnels’ upstairs on the marital bed, I learn that we don’t fit the adoption criteria for India because we are not Hindus. By any stretch of the imagination. We could still apply for a child though, but would only be granted guardianship. Something else to research it seems. Converting does cross my mind. For about as long as it takes me to consider why Eastenders Bradley works in the city and still seems to live with Dot.
The good news is that we can maintain our 24-7 non-religious outlook on life (Christmas presents and Easter eggs aside) and still apply to adopt from China. China is the most popular country from which to adopt kids for us Brits, after the UK of course. It’s the Arsenal of the inter-country adoption league table. Yes – there is one. Having spent the best part of this summer (actually - was there one?), glued to the coverage of the Beijing Olympics, I already feel like I’ve dipped my toes into this alien culture. So total immersion into all things Chinese is the next step. And we have plenty of time to do this because at present the waiting time for a child from China is around 3 years. A fashionista mate remarks that this is around the same as the wait for a Hermes Kelly bag. What a world.
While the boys play ‘jumping tunnels’ upstairs on the marital bed, I learn that we don’t fit the adoption criteria for India because we are not Hindus. By any stretch of the imagination. We could still apply for a child though, but would only be granted guardianship. Something else to research it seems. Converting does cross my mind. For about as long as it takes me to consider why Eastenders Bradley works in the city and still seems to live with Dot.
The good news is that we can maintain our 24-7 non-religious outlook on life (Christmas presents and Easter eggs aside) and still apply to adopt from China. China is the most popular country from which to adopt kids for us Brits, after the UK of course. It’s the Arsenal of the inter-country adoption league table. Yes – there is one. Having spent the best part of this summer (actually - was there one?), glued to the coverage of the Beijing Olympics, I already feel like I’ve dipped my toes into this alien culture. So total immersion into all things Chinese is the next step. And we have plenty of time to do this because at present the waiting time for a child from China is around 3 years. A fashionista mate remarks that this is around the same as the wait for a Hermes Kelly bag. What a world.
Miracle boy (MB) is now toddling, it’s an exact re-run of Neil Armstrong on the moon, with dribbles. Consequently, our house is transformed into Big Mother House, and each lurching step is recorded for future posterity (and girlfriends). MB responds to his own personal paparazzi with a very new, and very annoying, ear-piercing squeal. Perhaps he’ll end up in Musical theatre? I imagine this is the first step on his road to communicating and hope my hearing is still vaguely intact when he eventually graduates to words.
In light of the impending Inter-country Adoption Info day, I spend an entire weekend, online, researching our options. I’m interrupted half way through a particularly sinister American blog, on adopting siblings from China, with a call from Granny Farrow who asks whether I can send my maternity clothes down to the Breeders who, let us not forget are producing the Next Big Thing. Unlike me. I stall for time. At the moment, I feel far too territorial to let my much-loved over-priced tents and draperies go anywhere. I spend the next two hours inexplicably bidding for a Boden fleece for MB on EBay. Shopping is strangely therapeutic and despite the fact that I miss out on the lot, it has had the desired effect. And I sort through the maternity gear with no further gripes.
When I resume my research, Mr Farrow and MB help by bouncing on the furniture together. I’m suddenly struck by the thought that I already have two kids, is there enough room for another one? Mr Farrow will have to grow up. And that’s final.
In light of the impending Inter-country Adoption Info day, I spend an entire weekend, online, researching our options. I’m interrupted half way through a particularly sinister American blog, on adopting siblings from China, with a call from Granny Farrow who asks whether I can send my maternity clothes down to the Breeders who, let us not forget are producing the Next Big Thing. Unlike me. I stall for time. At the moment, I feel far too territorial to let my much-loved over-priced tents and draperies go anywhere. I spend the next two hours inexplicably bidding for a Boden fleece for MB on EBay. Shopping is strangely therapeutic and despite the fact that I miss out on the lot, it has had the desired effect. And I sort through the maternity gear with no further gripes.
When I resume my research, Mr Farrow and MB help by bouncing on the furniture together. I’m suddenly struck by the thought that I already have two kids, is there enough room for another one? Mr Farrow will have to grow up. And that’s final.
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