I swear to God that any slack jawed meth head can be a foster parent, but if you want to adopt, you better be in your mid-thirties, Christian, married to your original opposite sex spouse for a period of no less than forty years, possess no fewer than five Ivy League degrees, own a house with a structural footprint of at least two hundred thousand square feet free of mortgage, have monthly income of seven figures, preferably eight, never have even heard of alcohol, tobacco, or caffeine, never have a speeding ticket, possess perfect teeth, even your still intact and pearly white wisdom teeth, be a leader of your community, state, nation, and have a permanent seat at the UN security council, and oh yeah, please give us fifty thousand dollars in fees up front before we find reason to reject you.

Back to reality: I did raise a child by myself. I would NEVER have been allowed to adopt her. We endured my failed marriage, several years of poverty making potatoes stretch past their prime to survive type stuff. She lived, grew up, attended and graduated from an ivy, got a six figure job out of school, and is generally a happy person who still voluntarily speaks to me. She's artistic and caring and giving. The kind of person others like to be around. But were it not my sperm that contributed to her existence, I would never have been allowed anywhere near her.