“Investigation?”

I screeched into the telephone and I’m almost certain I may have deafened the anonymous bureaucrat with my hysterical disbelief. But it didn’t matter how shrill my voice became, I wasn’t able to persuade the voice on the other end of the phone into telling me more information.

With more questions than answers swirling around my head, I did the only thing I could think of doing. I called my husband. With shaking hands I waited for Boo to answer the phone and before he even managed to say hello I had verbally vomited the shocking news out loud.

Boo’s reaction was a little different than mine when he heard the news. While I morphed into a rather pleasant screechy bitch, hoping to carefully extract more information out of my source. (Imagine trying to squeeze blood from a stone, peoples.) Boo immediately turned into a roided up punk, raging at the system while peppering his disbelief with colourful expletives.

“What the *insert charming curse word here* was the *curse* allegation??” Boo raged.

“I don’t know. We aren’t privy to that information until an investigation occurs.” I calmly explained. It was easy to be calm when talking to Boo. I’d save all my hyperventilating for when I got off the phone with him.

“Who the *again with the cussing* hell was the dipshit person who laid the allegation?” He huffed.

“I have no idea. Their privacy is guaranteed and protected under Albertan law. We aren’t privy to that information,” I repeated again.

“Well for *insert string of blistering expletives here*. Which damn child are we accused of *bleep bleep* harming?” he snarled.

Sighing, I rubbed the bridge of my nose with my fingers and repeated like a damn parrot, “I don’t know Boo. We aren’t privy to that information until an investigation occurs.”

It was right about then I swear I heard my husband’s head pop off and explode into a billion tiny shards of frustration.

For a few seconds we sat in silence on the phone, collecting our individual thoughts, until he whispered, “How are you holding up?”

It was the love and kindness in his voice that did it. I unraveled like a ball of twine being batted around by a kitten. Big fat tears escaped from my eyes and slid down my cheeks and I started to shake. I tried talking but I actually choked on all the damn snot I had suddenly produced.

(Classy image, isn’t it?)

I managed to gasp out that I just couldn’t FREAKING believe this was happening to us, after everything we had been through, someone would think us capable of something so fantastically horrible.

Boo sat silently listening as I sobbed out all my anger and confusion and betrayal until I was emotionally spent.

I shuffled to the bathroom with the phone pressed tightly to my ear and then mumbled to Boo to hold on while I drained my sinuses and honked in his ear.

“I’m okay. I’m better,” I half promised, half whispered.

“Good. Because I’m NOT,” Boo snarled. “What now? What does this mean for our bid for BamBam?”

I sighed loudly, wishing I had more answers than questions, wishing I could erase this and make this better for my husband. He’s been through so much already in his efforts to support my maternal desires. If I could have done anything to erase that angry broken tone to his voice, in that moment I would have done it.

“I don’t know Boo, I honestly don’t know. But I think it’s fairly accurate to assume this doesn’t bode well. I’ll do my best to find out what I can. I’ll let you know.”

We talked for a bit longer. Boo was justifiably concerned for my well-being. He knows how important my family, my children are to me and an allegation of this nature would wound me deepest. My reassurances must have sounded hollow to his ears because he was reluctant to let me off the phone.

I’m not sure if he was scared I’d harm myself or someone else but I’m fairly certain he thought he’d have to bail me out of the clink in the immediate future. In his mind yakking to me on the telephone was postponing that dismal future as best he could.

My husband was needlessly worried. I didn’t have the emotional energy to go postal at that moment. I was still swept away by the absurdity of the afternoon’s events. I couldn’t believe a few short days before I had a baby in my arms who may very well be my permanent son and now I was in danger of losing all my children.

It was a mind f*ck that is hard to wrap the ole noggin around, let me tell you. Especially when you aren’t even aware of what the nature of the allegation is.

I spent the rest of the day trying to chase down answers. I was running in circles like a dog chasing its tail. No one knew anything, no one could tell me anything, I had the wrong department, would I like to be transferred, I’m sorry Ma’am, I can’t tell you that, I’m sorry Ma’am there is nothing I can do, etc, etc.

By the end of the day I was ready to bang my head against a wall. I was no further ahead than I had been that morning except now I was even more frustrated, annoyed and worried. In other words, it was a highly productive day.

I didn’t tell the kids what was going on even though they knew something was wrong. I decided to keep them in the dark for as long as possible until I had some answers to offer them and a small measure of comfort could be found in knowing what we were up against. What would come next.

What I didn’t anticipate was just how long it would take to get any answers.

The next few days were excruciating. I spent most of my time speed dialing every darn government agent I knew, leaving voice mails in a desperate and delusional bid to end the madness. Every time the phone rang I sprang to answer it, hoping for some news, some answer to magically appear.

Every time I heard a vehicle’s tires crunch down the gravel road in front of my house I held my breath and ran to the window, wondering if the investigation was going to start.

There is nothing like the fear of losing custody of your children to get the ole heart pumping.

Still, I had no idea what complaint I was facing. Only two things were absolutely certain in this new reality I suddenly found myself swimming in. One was that every minute that spun past on the kitchen clock meant I was one more minute separated from my boy with the dimples, my BamBam and that was wholly unacceptable to me.

Secondly and even more important, was there was absolutely no way on God’s green earth I would allow my children to be removed from my custody. I was fully prepared to stand barefoot and wild eyed on my front deck while brandishing a loaded shotgun to protect Fric and Frac from being hauled off and stuck into protective custody.

There is a reason I call myself a redneck, you know.

All the while in the back of my mind I kept wondering, who did this? Who is responsible for this complaint? And what the hell was the complaining?

I worried I wouldn’t be able to take the stress of the situation. I stopped eating, sleep was elusive, nightmares a guarantee, I chain-smoked and through it all I obsessed,

Who?

To be continued…

Boo was charmed by BamBam. It was hard not to be sucked into loving the boy with the dimples. For the remainder of our first weekend together with BamBam we all took turns cuddling and kissing the poor kid until he was plumb worn out from love.

BamBam slept well that night.

I reluctantly bundled him up first thing on Monday morning along with his toys and his meds and whatever else his foster mom, my new angel, had sent along with us and drove him back to his home.

I worried that I wouldn’t be able to handle actually giving him back to his caregiver without doing the ugly cry and blubber until I had tissues stuffed up my nose and mascara running down my face but it turned out to be easier than I thought.

When I brought BamBam back and reluctantly handed him back to his care givers I was given yet another gift. The wheels of fate had been spinning their magic and our one weekend was going to turn into many more weekends.

We were to become BamBam’s respite family, taking him every weekend until the time came that we were able to permanently bring him into our family and legally call him our own little Redneck.

My excitement and glee over this new turn of events made it easier to kiss BamBam good bye and I practically floated home to phone Boo and then my bestest friend, the Dragonlady.

I couldn’t believe after all the trials and endless waiting our adoption application had put us through, our dreams were this close to coming true. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place perfectly as though it was meant to be.

It was surreal really. I finally had a small sliver of understanding for what lottery winners must feel like. I never felt luckier in my life. I kept wanting to pinch myself to prove I wasn’t dreaming and I walked around with a smile so broad my cheeks hurt and cranky people wanted to slug me.

It didn’t take long to adjust to our new pattern of life. Upon realizing BamBam was going to be a permanent feature in the Redneck Residence I quickly foraged for baby stuffs so our dimpled boy wouldn’t have to sleep in a rickety bassinet or my bathtub. I procured a crib and a swing and more plastic useless baby toys than a disabled child would ever need.

Every weekend I’d swing into the city to pick up my cherub, kiss the feet of my angel his foster mom and whisk him back home to my little piece of paradise. He became my new sidekick, my living accessory. We bonded so tightly his foster mom said he would mope all week until I picked him up again.

Our three-day weekends gradually morphed into four days, sometimes even five days. Nobody minded. It was hard to deny BamBam wasn’t meant for us. Everyone thrived with him in our lives. Fric and Frac were stabilizing in a way they hadn’t since their brother died, no longer having nightmares and Boo was home more weekends than he was away to ensure he bonded with his new little buddy.

All of my unspoken fears about bringing in a child into our home and having it turn into a miserable experience dissipated with each smile, each giggle. For the first time in years, my heart felt FULL. It was no longer the half-shrunken, shriveled balloon it resembled for so long. I felt true joy again and I couldn’t get enough.

Baby drool. It’s like crack for love-starved mothers, I tell ya.

BamBam went where I went. The grocery store where people would coo over how deep his dimples where. The local greenhouse where I’d just mean to run in and pick up a few annuals and end up working the register for an hour while BamBam sat in his car seat and giggled at over the customers lining up to make smiley faces and baby talk with him.

Girls night out with the Dragonlady, my best friend, meant BamBam was styled into a pimping outfit and off we’d go bowling and out for dessert afterwards. I’d even toss the poor dude into his car seat just so I could go get the mail down the road. It felt unnatural to be without him.

(Also note, BamBam is medically fragile so I was tethered to him for his own safety and health.)

Fric and Frac horned in on the action too. They packed him around, helped give him baths and fought over whose turn it was to sit with him and help give him his medicine or help with his therapy routines. The only time Fric and Frac abandoned him was when their nostrils started to twitch and then suddenly they’d mysteriously have to go outside or clean their bedrooms.

My kids are no dummies. They’re smart enough to know when to abandon a poopy ship.

Spring turned into summer and the weeks started to blend together. I became close friends with BamBam’s foster mom; my angel friend and the government bureaucrats bent over backwards to do what they could to ensure BamBam became ours.

There were legal complications to overcome but I felt invincible. Everything was going exactly how it was supposed to. I couldn’t allow myself to not believe that in the end, through all the drama, BamBam would end up a permanent member of our Redneck clan.

One Thursday morning Boo had just arrived home for the weekend. We were sitting in the living room; he was chattering about his job, I was tuning him out while twittering and the phone rang.

I looked at my watch and noted the time and told Boo to answer it, I had to get ready to go pick up BamBam in an hour. I didn’t want to be slowed down from picking up my dimpled baby who all but hurled himself into my arms whenever I arrived at his foster mom’s house now.

Boo rolled his eyes while muttering about how twittering is not conducive to brushing one’s hair and I ignored him because, really, what does the man know about twitter anyways? Boo answered the phone and after a quick hello, he passed the phone to me.

“It’s BamBam’s foster mom,” he said as I scowled at him for interrupting my highly important tweeting.

“Hey Angel lady! How are you?” I grinned into the phone. “I’m just about ready to come and pick up the little rascal.”

That’s when she told me not to bother. She had received a phone call imposing a restriction on BamBam’s respite and he wouldn’t be allowed to come to our house for the weekend.

I was upset but not shattered. One weekend would not sever the bond we had forged with our dimpled boy. But a small part of me tweaked with worry, wondering if the magic carpet ride we had ridden was suddenly coming unraveled.

I listened to a confused Angel lady tell me what was going on. She really had no information herself other than the instructions that BamBam was not to leave her custody for the weekend. She wasn’t overly concerned herself; she just chalked it up to legal wrangling and promised me she would get back to me with more information as soon as she could.

Disappointed, I hung up the phone and told Boo we had a free weekend for the first time in months. He of course, waggled his eyebrows at the thought of a weekend alone with his wife. With no baby three feet from our bed.

Laughing, I hurled a pillow at him and told him he was a pervert.

The weekend came and went and soon it was Monday morning. BamBam’s foster mom and myself set out on a mission to find out why BamBam was imprisoned so suddenly at his foster mom’s house.

A series of phone calls lead to stonewalling and more questions than answers. I grew more and more concerned with every minute that passed.

Finally, my Angel lady called me back. “Listen Tanis, I don’t know what the hell is going on but I finally spoke to BamBam’s supervisor and she told me that you aren’t allowed to see BamBam until further notice. When I pressed her for a reason she told me she couldn’t tell me but that you would be informed immediately.”

“Hmmm, interesting,” I murmured aloud. “Well, as soon as I hear I’ll let you know, Angel lady. Until then, just take good care of my boy and tell him I love him.”

Angel lady laughed and promised she’d annoy him with kisses and love the same way I did and hung up the phone.

The clock ticked. The day passed. And then another day. Finally, on Wednesday, the phone rang.

I jumped on it, hoping it was good news.

“May I speak with Tanis Miller please?”

“Speaking,” I answered, crossing my fingers I was finally going to get to the bottom of this and not miss another weekend with my BamBam.

“Tanis, this is a bureaucrat from the department of ‘We keep kids safe from bad peoples‘ and I’m calling to inform you there has been a complaint made against you.”

The wind was literally sucked out of my lungs with each word I heard as I listened to this stranger tell me I would be unable to have BamBam in my home until the complaint was resolved.

“What do you mean complaint?” I demanded, confused and flabbergasted. “What complaint?”

“Ma’am, I can’t discuss this with you. Procedure demands an investigation.”

What the f*ck? AN INVESTIGATION?

to be continued….

Hope.

Hope was what I clung to through a bizarre flurry of phone calls and meetings that followed after meeting the baby with dimples I knew was to be my son.

His history, both familial and medical, was complicated at best. But I was determined to see this through, determined to make this boy my own.

My patience and persistent paid off. Eight days after meeting that sweet baby, I was on my way to his foster parent’s house to pick him up. I was granted weekend visitations and my family was over the moon. Fric and Frac could barely contain their glee and eagerly waited to meet this new life, a boy they nicknamed BamBam.

As I drove to the city and navigated the directions to where he was being pimped out to meet me again, I worried nervously about what it would mean to have a baby in my house again. It had been seven years since I had given birth to Bug. Seven years since I swaddled and rocked a child this small in the wee small hours of the night.

Bug was an anomaly at birth due to his disabilities. He couldn’t cry because he could barely muster the energy to pull his lungs for air. Crying came when he was much older and even then it was more the sounds of a kitten pathetically mewing than the angry screams of an infant.

But Bambam wasn’t like Bug. He had lungs. His cries still echoed in my ears from our one previous meeting and I worried that he would miss his foster mom, the only parent he ever knew. What would happen if all he did was cry all weekend and my older children, unaccustomed to having a squalling baby around changed their mind?

I worried about nighttime feedings, diaper changes and soothers as I drove into the city to get him. I started to doubt my instincts and myself the closer I got to his house. Fear and anxiety thrummed through me as I pulled into the driveway of the address I had clutched in my hand.

“What if BamBam doesn’t like me?” ran through my head, over and over again. Walking up that sidewalk and knocking on the door, I felt like I had my heart in my throat as I waited what seemed an eternity for the door to open.

And then it did. It felt as though the gates of paradise had swung open to welcome me. My angel from heaven, BamBam’s foster mom smiled at me and chuckled at how nervous I looked.

“Come in, come in, he’s been waiting for you,” she smiled as she turned to lead me to my miracle baby.

He sat in a baby swing, dressed in an orange and green jumpsuit emblazoned with an embroidered Tigger and Winny the Pooh on it. He was watching his foster siblings, all toddlers, buzzing around him and he was smiling.

It took everything I had not to grab him and chew on those dimpled little cheeks of his. Common sense chided in though, reminding me it’d be better not to come off as some crazy cheek chewing, baby babbling lunatic which would frighten him forever whenever he saw me.

So I knelt down in front of him and waited for him to make eye contact. Slowly, his eyes met mine and my heart burst into a billion pieces when he smiled at me and started to coo.

“He coos!” I gasped, shocked. Bug barely ever made sound at this age. His foster mom laughed and told me he was quite verbal, happy to chatter the day away whenever he was feeling good.

That hour was a blur of information quickly being tossed my way, instructions being learned, and introductions being made. I was itching to leave with him, but I didn’t want to seem rude so I accepted an invitation for coffee as Bambam sat in my lap, happy enough to be held.

Finally it was time to go. His foster mom packed him into his car seat as I loaded all his gear, food and medical equipment out to my car. When I came back in to grab him, I had tears in my eyes.

“Thank you. For everything. You have no idea how much this means to me. To my family,” I half whispered, half croaked as I bounced the car seat around to keep BamBam from getting annoyed.

“It is my pleasure, Tanis. I know this is going to work out. Enjoy your weekend with him and we’ll talk on Monday when you bring him back,” she smiled knowingly.

I practically floated to my car to strap him and myself in. I talked to him the entire way home so he’d get used to my voice. He kicked and wiggled and cooed back, ignoring my chatter and probably thinking about what he had done to be stuck with a head case like me for the weekend.

Because it was lunchtime and the kids were in school and Boo was up north at work, I drove to my best friend’s house. The Dragonlady was eagerly waiting to meet this little man to see if he was all that I had talked him up to be. I was just as eager to get him out of his car seat and smooch on those adorable cheeks.

It wasn’t long before we had that poor baby stripped down to his diaper, examining every little inch of him and smothering the poor thing with kisses and cuddles. The Dragonlady introduced her three young children to my BamBam and we watched with delight when he seemed to light up around the kids.

Any doubts I may have silently harbored about Fric and Frac not liking him quickly dissolved as I watched the Dragonlady’s kids maul BamBam with love and his good-natured reactions.

That first afternoon was a blur of smiling laughter and baby kisses. I kept checking the clock waiting for the kids to get out of school and soon I was packing BamBam back into his car seat and heading home while the Dragonlady looked on enviously at my new little sweetheart. She was my biggest supporter since Bug’s death and to see me finally within reach of adding a member to my family practically had her floating of the ground with happiness for us.

I shouted promises to bring him back tomorrow, along with Fric and Frac and waved to her through my open window as I watched her standing on the front door watching my tail lights disappear down her winding driveway.

It felt strange to pull into my driveway, get out of my car and lean into the backseat to unbuckle a child. It had been almost three years since I have had to do that and a weird sense of deja vu settled over me.

I had just barely got BamBam settled into his bassinette before Fric and Frac hurled into the house like two little rockets. They climbed over with each other with excitement, practically pushing one another out of each other’s way while asking where I’d hidden the baby.

I laughed and put my fingers to my lips to shush them and then crooked a finger, beckoning them to follow me into my bedroom where BamBam was playing with some crib toys, drifting in and out of slumber.

They tiptoed quietly over to the window where the bassinette was set up and peered in to catch their first glimpse of this new little ray of hope in all of our lives.

In that second I felt my heart expand and I knew everything would be all right as they gently introduced themselves to the blue-eyed baby staring up at them.

“Can we pick him up, Mom?” Fric asked, holding her breath, half expecting me to say no.

I nodded yes and helped her lift him out of his crib and placed him in my daughter’s arms while watching her face light up like a Christmas tree.

“He’s so tiny! So light!” she breathed as she went to sit on the couch to hold him, Frac not far off her heels.

I agreed and as they gently examined their new little friend I explained the challenges he faced, some similar to their brother Bug and some very, very different. None of my medical speak phased them, they were too thrilled that he smiled and laughed with them when they made silly faces for him.

It turns out all my fears about re-entering the world of babydom were unfounded. BamBam was happy to be the center of attention and to my delight, at eight months old he slept through the night. I woke up to the soft sounds of a baby cooing. Both Nixon and I were delighted.

It was a magical weekend and it seemed time accelerated the way it always does when one is having fun. The ache that haunted me since Bug’s passing was still there but it was far off in the distance. Baby giggles and Fric and Frac’s delight drowned out any shadows of grief that threatened the horizon.

There was only one black cloud that marred our family’s perfect weekend getting to know this special little boy. My husband Boo was at work and was unable to make it home to meet our prospective new son. I was a bit heart broken about this. How can one commit a family to an eternity of loving another when the beloved father had nothing to base his opinion on?

Sunday morning quickly came and as much as I anticipated waking up and spending another day with my darling new buddy, I was all too aware of the minutes and seconds ticking past to the hour I had to return BamBam back to his foster parents.

I lay in bed that morning, refusing to open my eyes and start the last day of our first weekend together. I wanted to savor the knowledge there was a little bundle of joy not three feet away from me, who could possibly become the next little Redneck.

With my eyes squished tightly shut I listened to hear if the baby was awake or if Fric and Frac had snuck in to steal him out of his bed as I slumbered on. I knew something was different. Nixon, the World’s Greatest Dog Ever, was sitting at the edge of the bed with his ears perked instead of his usual position of having his butt in my nose.

Raising my head I peered at him to see what was up.

Boo smiled back at me, standing at the end of our bed cradling BamBam in his big arms and breathed, “Happy Mother’s Day, Tanis. The kids and I wanted to surprise you.” Then he picked up little BamBam’s arm and waved it at me, while whispering to the baby, “I think I couldn’t have imagined a cuter kid to call my own, right Mom?”

It was the best Mother’s Day gift I could have ever wished for. My husband meeting his son for the first time.

To be continued….