Tomorrow, Minor is going to have tubes put in his ears. The ear specialist said that he has “significant,” if temporary, hearing loss due to the build-up of fluid. I don’t really believe this, as that kid is awakened every night around 11:00 by the gentle thud of my upper eyelids descending to touch their lower counterparts. But we are taking his advice in the hopes of avoiding a miserable winter of ear infections. This is a fairly significant departure from my usual policy of “no elective surgeries,” and I’m nervous about it.

One odd aspect of adopting from Korea is that, unlike adopting from China or Russia, the adoption isn’t finalized in country. That means it can only be finalized in the US, a process that takes place about a year after the child arrives. There is a six-month post-placement period during which the adoption agency is Minor’s official guardian, and then another few months until the adoption is finalized.

The six months post-placement is a strange kind of limbo, almost as if we have Minor “on approval.” We have a photocopied piece of paper with our names filled in the blank that explains we are in loco parentis, but we still need to notify the adoption agency every time we take Minor out of state. Since we live near the state border, this means e-mailing our social worker every time we go to Home Depot.

We also need to get the agency’s permission before allowing Minor to have any non-emergency surgery. Our social worker, typically, was non-committal when I spoke to her about it, and also, typically, not quick with her official response. It took a few days of back-and-forth before we finally got the proper documents signed. This reminder that he’s not really “ours” irks.

Not surprisingly, the agency will not give permission for elective surgeries, which was a large factor in our decision not to have either of the boys circumcised. Infants are not routinely circumcised in South Korea (although older children and adults often undergo the procedure). Aitch was, and Minor will be, just under a year when they officially are ours. Most doctors recommend delaying cosmetic surgery until the child is 18 months or 2 years to avoid any problems with anesthesia. Many insurance companies do not cover circumcisions that require general anesthesia.

What’s more, I couldn’t find any really good reason to circumcise. It certainly isn’t part of any religious tradition for us, and everything I’ve read about infections in intact males seems to be more than counterbalanced by the risks of surgery. We did have one friend, a doctor, who felt strongly that the short cut was more hygienic, having seen a number of infections in her practice. And I certainly don’t condemn anyone for having their child circumcised at any age, for whatever reason. (Honestly, I don’t care. Circumcise them, get piercings…it means nothing to me.) But I was not motivated to schedule surgery, battle the insurance company, and subject Aitch to general anesthesia when the most compelling reason for circumcising that anyone could muster was, “When he grows up, it will be important to him to look like his father. . .down there.”

When my Korean sons grow up and start to notice that they look different from their Caucasian Dad, I’ll bet that . . .down there. . . is not the first difference they’ll notice.