Baby choices

The Faery only has eight days of school left, meaning one thing: if I want to have a decent clear out of junk before we move, I need to pull my finger out. Throwing out crappy McHappy Meal toys (she doesn't get them often, but I swear those toys breed) and other annoying 'treasures' is only possible in stealth mode - in other words, when she's at school.

I got started this morning, but became side-tracked by various baby paraphernalia. I've actually been fairly good about passing on no-longer needed baby items as Miss Pie has grown, but there are still a few little things I'm yet to part with. I found myself staring at them today, wondering, in case we need them again... which is silly, considering how much I've already given away to Goodwill.

My ideal number of kids has always been two, but we haven't officially ruled out a third. Two is good for now but there's that saying: never say never. We often joke about how if we had another while we lived in the US, the child would have dual citizenship - which could be a handy thing for that child, down the track. God only knows applying for visas is a painful process. American bureaucracy has to be experienced to be believed.

Then J came home from work last week, less than thrilled with some changes that had been announced. Like most American companies, the one he works for is cutting costs, and that's meant skimping on the health care plans - to the point where some employees (who have dependent family members with ongoing health issues) may have to seriously consider changing jobs in order to get better health care.

(I think it is completely fucked up that in a 'first world nation', a person's well-being is so dependent on the health care plan provided by their employer, and the precarious position it puts them in each time they change jobs. Call me socialist, whatever, I don't care. It is a major flaw in this so-called land of the free.)

Courtesy of these cuts, we will now pay a higher co-payment for each trip to the doctor. Luckily for us, we're a pretty healthy bunch but there are no lifetime guarantees when it comes to good health, right?

J joked, "There goes any idea of having an American baby" because the minimum cost would set us back $6,000.

Six. Thousand. Dollars. 

For a basic hospital stay - assuming it was a straight-forward birth. That's not even including the costs of pre-natal health care with an obstetrician.

How on earth do poor people afford to have children in the US? Something is very wrong.

Now I feel even more grateful for the Australian health care system (all I can say is, Australians who complain about it have not experienced health care in other countries). In Sydney, for pre-natal care, delivery and hospital stay - for both the Faery and Miss Pie - we paid nothing. Not a cent, and received excellent care through a midwife-run birth centre that was attached to the labour ward at our local public hospital.

How lucky do I feel?

Six thousand dollars to give birth? I know there are plenty of people who wouldn't blink at that, and willingly pay through the nose for an obstetrician - both here and in Australia. The difference is that in Australia, there's (generally) a choice. There are some great things about life in the US, but this is not one of them.

The remaining baby items I'm yet to part with have been put into a box for now. I am excellent at procrastination... but it's looking as though the box is more likely to end up at Goodwill than our next apartment.

On the bright side, baby stuff is so cheap to buy here - never say never, right?

Legal Alien

That's a box I had to tick to describe myself at the Social Security Office today. Legal alien with working status. It has a nice ring to it, yes?

So why was I there? Now that I have a work permit, it's time to apply for a US social security number (SSN). I've been here over a year, without a social security number. No drama, really, except for two things:

1. Every organisation and their dog inisists that they need your SSN for every single form you fill out, when in fact (I'm told) it's not a legal requirement - but so many Americans seem bogged down by their love of - and need for - bureaucracy that they can't accept it's possible to exist without a SSN.

2. The Social Security Office will not just hand out SSNs to anyone. You need to either be a citizen, or have legal working status, which I recently received.

So on this fine hot morning, I found myself at the Social Security Office in Burbank.

I walked in with Miss Pie, and was directed by Mr Security Guard to take a number and fill out a form. He complimented me on my wedding ring, which I thought was a little odd.

My number was A36, and the number on the screen was A34. Sweet! Won't be a long wait.

I sat down and completed the form. At this point Mr Security Guard approached me, and began talking about how he'd spent time in the Australian Outback, training with the Australian Army, "Those guys are crazy - they have a real death wish!"

Being the polite person that I am, I listened as he continued, "And your beer. Fosters? Such big cans - I drank it. It's strong!" He spoke about what a great time he had, and how he thought Australians were the friendliest people - so, of course I was going to be polite and and conversationalist for a minute or two.

Then as Mr Security walked back to his desk, I heard "A37", and I looked up at the TV screen to see A36 change to A37. Crap.

I began to call out to the available window, just as Mr and Mrs A37 took a seat at that window.

From across the room, Mr Security's voice rang out: "Ma'am, these numbers are not called out in unison. Please take a seat."

I explained that I was pretty sure I'd just seen my number momentarily on the screen, and he wanted to see my ticket to check the number. Then he said, "Well, you'll need to wait until another window is free, then ask them if they called your number already. This is why you need to listen carefully."

Um... WTF, dude? I wasn't listening 'carefully' because you were in my face talking about good times in Australia, and I was being a polite listener. 

I sat down in disbelief, and waited for a window to become free. When it did, Mr Security walked over and I heard him enquire about my number. Then I heard the staff member reply that they'd called out A36, three times.

Mr Security strolled over and informed me that, yes, my number had been called out - and I interjected, "Which I didn't hear because you were talking to me."

He replied "Yes, ma'am, my bad I'm afraid, but you'll need to take another number and wait again. I'm sorry, ma'am."

It took all of my resolve NOT to open a can of whop-arse right there and then. If anyone has ever had to wait at such places, with bored toddlers wanting to run amuck, they'll understand how badly I wanted to scream.

However, Mr Security was also Mr Ex-Military (I'm guessing - why else would he be hanging out with the Australian Army?). Opening a can of whop-arse wasn't really an option, even if he did seem to have a soft spot for women with Aussie accents.

So I sighed - heavily - and took another number.