Dirt, grime and cat hair are not quite defeated, but at least at bay for the time being.
I still have a few closets that need sorting out, but for the most part we're ready for social worker M's visit on Wednesday evening. (And just in case, I'm leaving work several hours early to do any last minute vacuuming, mopping, cleaning up of cat barf or other special cat gifts, etc. that might be required for the visit.)
Even though the house is ready, somehow I don't feel quite ready. Still pretty nervous in spite of the assurances from M that we'll do just fine. I was going to blog about my nervousness, but my lovely husband beat me to the punch and said much of what was going on in my head in his post White Gloves:
So why am I nervous?
I think it's because M's visit to our home will be a tangible reminder that every aspect of our life is being judged right now as part of this home study process. The house -- our home -- is a reflection on us in the same way as the financial records, criminal background check, autobiographies, letters of reference, and other paperwork. M is getting a far deeper and more intimate look into our lives than anyone but perhaps our parents, siblings, and our absolute closest friends in the world. But while we know that our parents, siblings, and friends know us, trust us, love us, and believe in us, M is new to our lives and our future as parents rest on the decisions she makes.
Having her at our home, even if she doesn't give it the stereotypical white glove inspection, is just another step in opening ourselves up for someone to evaluate us and judge our fitness as parents.
My husband is a very smart and thoughtful man.
He's going to be a great dad.
I mean the man mopped the entire basement! That's got to count for a lot, right? Big points there, right?
Bring on the home inspection!
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