Baby Ate It

It was easy when pregnant, to blame the missing liter of ice-cream,
that my husband would moodily accuse me of hogging, on the fact that
the baby was hungry.

It was also easy to blame the somewhat crumby evidence, of absent bags
of potato chips, pretzels, chocolate, fries, and just about every other
form of junk food, that would masquerade briefly into our cupboards, on
exactly the same reason; "But honey, the baby ate it!!"

However, something happened a short while ago, that made this a little
less easier to believe.

I am originally from England, now living in the States. Having married
an American (It seems that the English weather, doesn't go down too
well, with an American countenance), it means that I, sorry we, have to
go through the whole visa process, in order to allow me to live
legally, and work legally over here. (This happens both ways around
incidentally, in case anyone was thinking about just upping and leaving
to another country.) A lengthy process, involving medical tests,
interviews, tons of paperwork, and a LOT of money.

Recently I received a letter from the INS (Immigration and
Naturalization Services), informing us of THE BIGGIE. After 2 years of
waiting, it was time for the interview, the tooth-brush-test, the
make-or-break, where both my husband and I are called in for
interrogation, and are apparently placed in separate rooms, where we
are asked anything from 'What color is your spouse's toothbrush?' to
"Does your spouse like to change the sheets after sex?' And if you've
seen the movie Green-card, let's include the obligatory 'What's their
favorite ice-cream?' Then based on the results of this test, you are
either granted permanent residence in the States, or shipped back to
your country of origin, quicker than you can say
'mint-choc-chip'.

Now, we actually received this letter about 3 weeks before the due date
of our appointment, and I was both excited, and apprehensive about the
whole deal. After showing my husband the letter, and mentally making
notes of all the evidence that we needed to bring, I set the letter
back down on the table, a safe place, and promptly forgot about
it.

Knowing that I had to arrange a babysitter, but being the eternal
procrastinator, I waited until just a few days before the BIG DAY to
organize one.

My sister-in-law volunteered, once again (bless her). "What time is the
interview?" she asked.

I glanced at the letter.
It wasn't there.

Uh oh.

"Hold on, I'll get back to you."

Then followed a frantic search for the bloody thing. I tore through
every drawer, every pace the dog could have hidden it, and every
newspaper we had received for the past 3 months, thinking that maybe it
could have gotten stuck in the pages. Not there.

I looked through the papers lining the bottom of the somewhat stinking
ferret cage. Not there. I cried, I yelled, I called my husband in a
panic, who promptly left work to help me look for the letter. We
searched in every single corner of the house, the garden, the trash.
Not there.

Finally, after two hours of painful hunting with no success, I sank
into the arm chair in defeat. My hands ran down the side of the
cushions, just in case. Not there.

"What did mummy do with it Pooh?" I asked my eight month old daughter.
She grinned at me. Wickedly. Mushy paper poking between her two front
teeth. She had eaten the darned thing! And, of course, I had forgotten
every single one of its contents.

Believe me, I felt pretty stupid having to go to the INS office, and
explain to them that I knew we had an interview on Tuesday, but I had
no idea what time it was, what we had to bring, or even if it was in
that particular office.

After a three hour wait, they were able to locate another copy.

The interview went smoothly. Except for the fact that we had not
brought half of the items included on the original list, because the
clerk at the INS only copied half of it.

We have to go back again next month. Funny, but I don't think that the
interviewer believed that 'the baby ate it?!'