I Love to Move Mountains For You

On Foster-adoption and “Gotcha” Day

Image of caucasian appearing child, olive skin, light brown hair bob length, looking at an array of black plastic cups containing different colors of paint (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, brown, black.) Child is wearing a purple longsleeve sweatshirt and an art smock.
Photo by Christopher Ryan on Unsplash

‘Gotcha day.’ It’s such a gross phrase.

I despise it with the same distaste I have for terms including but not limited to: hubby, nom-nom, and furbaby.

With foster adoption thought, it’s a thing. I suppose other terms that were contenders were deemed too clinical.

Like, ‘Placement day.’

Yikes.

Birth Day — nope. Inaccurate.

‘Gotcha day’ sounds like a drunk uncle poking you and then laughing like a hyena and galloping into the kitchen.

Gotcha sounds playful and sloppy, kind of like a bad joke.

Bah dump-dump. <cymbal crash> Gotcha!

Gross.

Today is Gotcha-Day Anniversary for three of our four kids.

Six years ago, my then-wife and I loaded up three siblings from a faraway tiny town, and drove them away from that life and everything, everywhere, and everyone they knew, and into our world.

A vast amount has changed in six years — between all of us, within each of us, and in the world in general.

Six years ago we were busy trying to figure out what grocery store had the best deals on Dino-Nuggets since those were the preferred protein source for our kids.

Never did we ever imagine that we’d go through a global pandemic together. Also what is a pandemic even? Prior to 2019 that was not a word we used in daily language, right?

Life. You bitch.

You absolute bitch.

Global pandemic. PLOT TWIST!

So I’ll leave a few words in the ether for my beloved, joyful, complicated, handsome and hilarious children. That you may always know, despite how annoyed I probably always seem to be: I love each of you separately, massively and dearly.

I would move mountains for you. Every day.

Proposal to rename GotchaDay to Mountain Moving day.

As in, bring me your mountains and I’ll help you move them, until you’re ready to climb them yourself.

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Emily Roawr

Emily Roawr

Career veterinarian pivoting. I write about animals, queers, adoption, alcohol free life, and art. Inquiries may be directed to emilyroawr@gmail.com