#33 Claudia and the Great Search part two!
Here are the next three chapters... I'm taking this snark slower than usual because I've got a rambunctious teething toddler, and there's no BSC in my town to parent for me.
Chapter five! Claudia keeps her secret-discovery-that-isn't-really-a-discovery secret for a whole week. She wonders why she was put up for adoption and what the terrible reason was that her parents kept her adoption secret. Perhaps she had been "stolen" from the hospital at birth, sold to a "crooked lawyer," adopted for a large sum, and when her parents realized what had happened they went on the lam! Claudia admits to herself that this isn't very probable. But she doesn't admit that this whole thing is improbable. The only evidence she has that she's adopted is that she's not as bright as her sister and couldn't find the baby pictures of herself. Not to mention the fact that her parents are uptight but not really abusive, and it's pretty abusive to never tell your daughter where she came from. Of course, Stonybrook parents suck so badly that they sometimes do adopt brand new babies without telling their other children, so perhaps I shouldn't put it past them to pull something like this-- especially since AMM is eternally trapped in the fifties, where being an "orphan" had such nasty connotations that some families probably would have never mentioned adoption. But Mimi was a total saint who never did anything wrong... you'd think that if Claud was adopted, she at least would have mentioned it. And Janine is painfully honest, so she might have said something once or twice about it.
On Friday, Claudia gets to see the horrible horrible mentally challenged Emily Michelle firsthand. I can barely stand to read this chapter... I know that a lot of this can be blamed on bad 80s child psych and parenting techniques rather than AMM, but still it's painful. Apologies if this chapter gets too ranty.
Elizabeth and Watson are going to a nice dinner by themselves while their traumatized daughter and sick-in-bed-with-a-cold son stay home. I'm trying to think of the last time I left my daughter with a babysitter... oh yeah. Once, for an hour and a half, on campus with her best friend and friend's mom, while I attended a lecture just 20 feet away. It's difficult leaving a perfectly normal two-year-old at home at night. Couldn't just one of EM's parents stay home with her this soon after she's been adopted? Ahaha, sorry. Forgot who I was talking about.
Elizabeth calls "bye!" up the stairs to her ill son without going to tuck him in first. Then she cheerfully waves "bye" to her daughter and runs off without another word, even though EM has begun to cry and scream. Watson doesn't open his trap this whole time; he sweeps away with his wife. No one tries kissing their daughter, or holding her for a few minutes more, or saying "mommy be right back" or anything else that would actually help... or, you know, TAKING YOUR TRAUMATIZED BABY ALONG to the dinner party that was so important you just can't miss it. Unless your friends are also trapped in the 1950s and scandalized by adoption. I hope Watson and Elizabeth get food poisoning from the cocktail shrimp.
Emily stops crying by the time Claudia carries her into DM's room, which is very fast for a baby to get over a cry, so I don't know what Claud's complaining about. DM has one of those alliterative colds of which AMM is so fond, and it's bad enough for him to be in bed all day long. Emily says "Buh" and tries to play with the TV remote, and then is shuffled away for her bath. There is no incident during her bath or while Claud changes her into her nightgown. Then Claud puts the fully awake Emily in her bed, turns off the light and closes the door. Emily has the nerve to cry. Claudia is totally stumped until she thinks of leaving the door open a crack while she abandons Emily, which works right away.
Apparently the concept of soothing a child down to sleep just didn't occur to Claudia the extremely responsible babysitter. I know Claud can't do the most comforting thing and nurse her, but she could have rocked her and sang to her while giving a bottle of water or milk, or at the very least stayed right by the bed and rubbed her back. My heart is breaking for Emily, who by the way has not exhibited any signs of mental problems so far, except for her delayed vocabulary. Vocabulary development is variable from child to child, but she does seem about a year behind, give or take, which is reasonable considering she'd never heard English before last Mother's Day when she was stuck in that dog crate and mailed to Stonybrook by plane. Other than that, the poor girl seems fine. By the time her "parents" and the BSC are through with her, she'll probably be a serial killer, but she's fine right now.
Oh, and then thunder strikes, and Emily has the nerve to wake up again. Imagine-- a child of two and a half, scared of thunder! Claudia finally acts like a human being and rocks the poor baby until she falls asleep. Now I really wish Watson and Elizabeth would get food poisoning, because we all know Stonybrook has no social services and if they never came home, Claudia would have to go on babysitting forever. She seems the closest to a decent caregiver in this situation.
After Emily is back in her crib, asleep, Stacey calls to make sure Claud isn't scared of the thunder.
Claudia blurts out that she's positive she's adopted, and Stacey says that at least she isn't related to Janine this way.
Then the thunder starts again, and Emily wakes up.
Chapter six! A babysitting chapter. Dawn sits for the Brewers. Nannie pulls the run-away-while-the-traumatized-child-screams-for-you trick this time, making me want to brain her with her own bowling ball.
Timmy Hsu comes over to throw a ball with David Michael.
Emily has the unspeakable cheek to pick up a rock and try to swallow it. Dawn shouts "NO!" at her several times in horror. "Aren't two-year-olds supposed to be over the business of putting things in their mouths?" No, Dawn, they're not at all. That's why chokable toys come with a warning not to give them to children under THREE. True and not at all funny story, you guys: a friend of mine's two-and-a-half-year-old, who is perfectly psychologically adjusted and loves to talk and play, ate a small calculator battery her brother had accidentally left on the floor last November. It got lodged in her esophagus and no one knew what was wrong for days; the doctor thought she had a virus which had turned into pneumonia. When they finally found the battery, the acid had worn away most of her esophagus and trachea, and she was in the hospital for a hundred and fifty days with tubes down her throat, sedation, the works. PLEASE don't take parenting advice from the BSC, and keep ALL small tempting objects away from toddlers until they're three or four, okay? Oh, and this baby is fine now, able to eat solids and everything, which is the only reason I mention such a horrible ordeal in a snark that's supposed to be lighthearted.
Dawn starts thinking through the other two-year-olds she knows. They're potty trained and Emily's not! She must be abnormal! Again, this is what we in the childrearing sector call bullshit. Potty training is a highly individualized skill based on physical development that goes at different paces for everyone. Some three-year-olds can't go to the potty yet, not because they're *gasp* delayed but because their rectal muscles aren't yet fully formed. Everyone's body develops at a different pace with different skills at different times, and calling someone "delayed" because they're still in diapers at two is downright abusive.
Dawn lists the wonderful things her other two-year-old clients can do, and the only amusing thing about the list is that Gabbie Perkins's name is misspelled as Gabble in my ebook.
"Yet Emily was smily and giggly and cheerful. She was affectionate, too, and tried hard to please her new family." Surprisingly, considering her new family has done nothing to help her. As I mentioned in the comments earlier, they won't even take her to a specialist for her supposed disorders; they just have the pediatrician label her and call it a day. That's about as shitty as certain parents I've heard of, who psychiatrist-shop until they find one who will give their child ritalin so they won't have to pay attention to them anymore. And then when the ritalin makes the child hyper, they psychiatrist-shop until the hyperactivity gets misdiagnosed as bipolar, and they go on extremely dangerous meds made only for adults that often aren't safe even then.
The Papadakises come over with Kristy, and Emily isn't very good at Ring Around the Rosie, which she's presumably never heard of before.
Kristy then gravely tells Dawn that her parents tried to enroll Emily in a preschool, but she was rejected on account of being too delayed, not potty trained and so on.
I can feel my hair standing on end. WHY ARE YOU SENDING YOUR TRAUMATIZED TWO-YEAR-OLD TO PRESCHOOL? Preschool is for three-and-a-half-year-olds at least. I guess it's just a daycare program, right? They sometimes take toddlers who are potty trained. Okay, I get that you're so poor that both you and your millionaire husband need to stay at work without taking any new-parent-leave, just to make ends meet around the ancestral mansion. But I seem to recall someone else in your home... Nannie was her name, I think? Didn't she move in with you just so there'd always be someone to watch Emily? I'm kind of surprised Watson and Elizabeth haven't tried to send Emily back to Vietnam and get a nice healthy baby, by now.
I am SO SORRY if I'm violating house rules by being so angry in my snark, and I'll try to lighten up from here on in, but this portrayal of Emily's tugging way too many of the wrong cords, not just because I'm a mother myself. I honestly think this subplot is as irresponsibly written as anything in Slam Book-- particularly since the babysitting chapters are usually written as if they're supposed to be a manual for aspiring babysitters.
Chapter seven! Oh good, it's not a babysitting chapter. Oh, but they are talking about Emily. Kristy is horrified by how baby-like she still is. Claud compares Emily to herself-- they're both so slow-- and decides that this is more proof she's adopted. I cringe at the idea that adopted children are always slow learners all the way into the eighth grade.
The next day, Claud calls the skeevily-named adoption agency "Love Bundles," which is where Emily came from, because it's the only adoption agency she knows of so she figures it must be the same one, right?
Claud calls Love Bundles and says that she's adopted and looking for her birth parents. I'm not sure, but I'm pretty sure that in the United States in adoptions that aren't "open," a child just can't be given information about her birth parents until she's eighteen, right? But the conversation doesn't even get that far, because Love Bundles has only been in operation for five years, and only places Vietnamese children. Does anyone else have a deep distrust for Love Bundles?
Claud looks through the Yellow Pages for all the adoption agencies in Stamford. Seeing that calling every one of them would require work, she decides to take a different approach. Surprisingly, she doesn't think to call the Pike triplets over to break the locks on her parents' strongbox where she thinks her adoption papers are hidden. She'll have to go check her parents' safety deposit box at the bank, which usually closes at three but is randomly open until seven on Thursdays. I've never heard of a bank with that schedule in my life. Wouldn't it be more believable for it to be open for the longest time on Friday, when people want to deposit their paychecks?
When she gets there, Claudia discovers that you need keys and an ID to break into your dad's safe deposit box. D'oh! She bikes back home.
Claudia isn't out of ideas yet, though. She bikes to Dr. Dellenkamp's office to ask for details of her birth. On the way, she makes up a story about a school project so that she can get her files without Mom and Dad finding out. I don't see what the big deal is about Mom and Dad finding out you're onto them at this point, Claudia. I have the sinking suspicion that AMM is only trying to manufacture some drama in a fairly straightforward, albiet silly situation.
When she gets to the doctor's office, Claud is foiled again. The secretary says that she saw another pediatrician when she was a baby, but she doesn't know the pediatrician's name. Claud is convinced that the secretary had lied to her because "she was covering up... a secret."
Baby's fussing and I'm a better parent than Elizabeth and Watson, so I've got to go for now, folks. We'll be back soon with part three!