My son became an American today. Well, he has always been an American. And we won’t get his new passport for three weeks.
But, still, today all four of us trekked down to the U.S. embassy and submitted reams of paper to register Baby B as an American citizen.
I’ve been stressed out about it for weeks, since we delayed the appointment. I had to prove that I have lived in the US for more than five years (with transcripts and proof of employment and the like). I had to list every single trip outside the United States. (That list went on for more than two pages. “This is a work of art,” said the embassy guy.) I had to get a 15-month-old to sit for passport pictures (Our first attempt in a photo booth is high comedy – one shot is just of my hair, another is of him looking down at me on the floor and laughing).
And it went on, ending with me using our printer to make copies for more than an hour.
Then we waited for weeks, until all four of us could go together. The anticipation stressed me our. There was no reason to reject him, but still … you never know with bureaucracy.
Then we went today and we were out in an hour after everyone was very nice and we got to cut all the lines (as American citizens). It still seemed like more than an hour, with NK crawling in agonized boredom across the floor in front of the visa applicants, with Baby B climbing on top of her and hitting her in the head with a water bottle, with the jerk who tried to cut in line, forcing me into subtle use of sharp elbows.
But there we were, back in the rain,
With three Americans (in spirit) instead of two!