You know the one I mean. I was in Biloxi, Mississippi that evening for a work trip to one of our remote offices. I was pacing the floor of my room in the Hard Rock Hotel. I’d jumped out of bed around 10pm when I realized what was happening. I was one month pregnant with my son, I had just finished reading The Handmaid’s Tale, and Fear was having a good ol’ catch up with his buddy Anxiety in my gut. They were partying their way through my body before settling in my brain where they would reside happily ever after.
My husband is Canadian. Once I’d got home, I’d start the process for me to eventually be on the path of being a contributing Canadian as well.
When my son was born, he was home from the hospital less than two weeks before we got his American passport and submitted for his Canadian citizen certificate. That process took about 5 weeks. Now I’m an American outnumbered by Canadians in my Austin, Texas home and I love it.
It took a long time, a lot of questions with no one to ask, a lot of running around, a ton of “hurry-up-and-wait”, but it’s almost happened. Eventually, I’ll document as much of the process as possible here, once we’re on our way.
I don’t think I’ll believe it until I cross the border, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Literally.
Photo credit Matt Occhuizzo