Passport Pain in the Posterior

Before we left for Oslo to visit the embassy, I spent days researching what we needed to get Elliot's passport.

We also would be trading in his Norwegian birth certificate for an international American one, which requires another handful of forms.  

The nice people at the embassy were surprisingly prompt and helpful via email. They double checked my list, clarified a few small details, typed out a list of the items we needed and sent the appropriate links as well. 

We flew into Olso on Thursday afternoon.  For new passports, the person applying has to show up in person.  It was Elliot's first flight, so we decided to go along with him.  At the embassy, we'd have to swear that we were responsible for him, that all the information on the forms was correct and that we were his parents. 

On Friday, we only had the hours between 9am and noon, to get it all done.  So that morning, we got up, loaded Elliot into the Baby Bjorn and headed across the park to wait in line.  It was early, so within 30 minutes or so, we had breezed through the line and security, where they confiscated our bags. 

Then we entered a smallish room with roped off chairs for all the non-Americans to sit in and wait their turn.  The American citizens lined up along the wall. Both groups could peruse old copies of either the New Yorker or Discover America.

Finally when it got to be our turn, the woman behind the bulletproof partition slowly flipped through our pile of papers and said, "Did you feel out the travel form?" And then she explained that we needed to fill out, in chronological order, with exact dates, of all the time we've spent in the United States. 

And no, according to the woman, it didn't matter that both of us were born in the United States, were born to citizens, are citizens ourselves and hold American passports.  Nor did it matter that the first time I left the U.S. I was 18 and that I didn't have a passport until I was about 25. Husband didn't leave the U.S. until he was about 19 and it was because he was in the Army.  

She handed up a piece of paper, suggested that we take a seat and get started.  This was slightly challenging, especially when you only have a pair of passports filled with faded stamps, including some trips I had almost forgotten.  Also, none of the stamps are in chronological order, of course. Also, we had a fidgety baby.  

An hour later, we get back in line, present the paper full of chicken-scratch to the same woman.  She pronounces it okay and calls the consulate to take our sworn statements.  He flips through the papers and asks us why we filled out the travel form.  

"That doesn't matter because you are both citizens."

By this time I am frustrated and almost teary.  Also, Elliot was on the end of his good humor.

Over his protestations, Husband and I swear to all the appropriate things, sign on all the dotted lines and show Elliot's little rapidly turning red face. 

Then, as I start to take Elliot to feed and change him, leaving Husband to finish up the business, I hear the official say, "It looks like everything is in order," then pause and say, "Are you two married?" When we say we are, he demands our marriage certificate -- which was not on the list.

And when we say we don't have it, he gives us an envelope, says, "Mail it to us," then shooooes us off and goes to the next person.

We mailed it off on Monday and in the meantime have resigned ourselves to the possibility of needing an emergency passport for Elliot.

And while, it's still seems to be even chances that it will arrive here on time, I am starting to lean toward the "Nope, it won't," because today Husband got an email requesting 30NOK (approx. $4.66) of postage.  The embassy also forgot to tell us that we needed extra postage to receive both the birth certificate and the passport.

So today, I mailed off one stamp.