Mandated Reporter

Words are very important. I knew that even as a child. When I was told that “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” I knew this to be false. Words have meaning, words can hurt and words can help. I think that’s why I like to read and write. I like to string words together, I like to make sure I have the precise meaning and use the best descriptive words. But, like those who taunted me in grade school, I too sometimes use mean words that hurt. I hate myself for doing it and I vow to stop, slap a filter on my mouth and bridle my tongue. I hate to think of myself as a cliché, but I’ve been struggling with serious PMS for a couple of years now, maybe even longer. It’s like some horrific alien being swoops in and takes over my body when I’m menstruating. I’m so miserable I don’t even want to be around myself. In addition to near debilitating back cramps and groan inducing uterine cramps, breasts so sore I want to tear them off, heavy gushing torrents of menstrual blood barely staved off by feminine products, an overwhelming desire to sleep around the clock and an appetite to rival the whole National Football League, is it any wonder I’m a bit miffed? Unfortunately, it goes beyond that to the point that I have no patience whatsoever and woe to the child who tries to push any buttons because I’m a powder keg just waiting for the slightest provocation to set me ablaze. I plan on mentioning this to my therapist (who I will meet for the first time next week) but I also need to make an appointment to see my doctor because I know I have a hormonal imbalance due to PCOS and I wonder if there is anything I can do (hopefully with some friendly herbs) to restore my hormonal equilibrium. Either that, or maybe I could induce some sort of monthly hibernation to lull the hulk within me into submission.

The laws in PA have changed to include a wider scope of mandated reporters. I had to complete an online training in order to be in compliance for my foster care licensing because foster parents are now considered mandated reporters for suspected child abuse. This means, even if I just hear about child abuse I need to report it or face penalties such as fines and loss of my foster care license. Thus, when a friend (a former college roommate) told me that her step-daughter had been abused by her biological mother during a visit, I had to call up the Child Line to make a report. I told my friend that I called and explained to her why I had to report what she told me. She understood, they had been involved with CYS in the past because of abuse allegations by the bio mom to the little girl. My friend mentioned she had also taken her step-daughter to the doctor and they too are mandated reporters, so there might be two reports filed. I felt a little foolish because I didn’t have a lot of information to give and I was basing my report on second-hand knowledge, but I would rather be a nervous Nancy and report something unsubstantiated than lose my license or pay a fine for not doing something to help a child in need. I don’t really want to get involved in this case, it’s a domestic issue between my friends husband and his ex-wife and there has been court involvement and thus far the court is demanding the bio mom get regular visits, despite numerous reports of abuse. I hope they can get things worked out.

I mentioned previously that Primero has been invited to attend his cousins son’s first birthday party in a few weeks. I emailed his therapist and case worker for advice on whether we should attend or not. I mean, we are just coming out of some really heavy, damaging stuff here and I don’t want to go rocking the boat and get everything all riled up again. His case worker thinks we should go so he doesn’t get upset about being kept away from his family. Honestly, that’s not what I want to do, I just don’t want to keep circling around this same mountain again and again. The doubts about adoption entered his head after we spent Christmas with his family. They had such a good time together and he wanted to capture that and make it permanent. Who’s to say the same thing won’t happen again, especially on the heels of his massive confusion? I don’t know. And the more I think about it, the less I want to go. I wish I could be there as an ethereal being, just floating above it all but not really involved, not feeling like an obnoxious hanger-on, awkward and unwanted. I don’t know. Some days I wonder if I’m fit to be an adoptive mother. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with this other family, I want my own family. I guess I’m just selfish, I mean it’s just one Saturday afternoon, right? I wish it were over already…….