We had the first visit of our homestudy yesterday. A homestudy is a mandatory part of every adoption and is completed by a social worker. The process takes several weeks to complete. And although everything you read tells you that the home visit portion is not meant to be a white glove inspection, it can still be a little unnerving. It did help a bit that I'd met our social worker before and she happens to be the sister of one of my favorite people on the planet. But it can make you a bit jittery and crazy knowing someone is coming to check out your house and ask you somewhat personal questions. By "somewhat personal questions" I mean things like "How many times do you poop each year?" and "How often, on average, do you mutter foul cursings in any given day?" Just kidding. I actually have much dirtier, and therefore in my opinion, much funnier versions of these fake questions, but my internal censor suggests I keep them to myself. So I will. But I suggest you come up with a few of your own.
Anyway, we spent the weekend cleaning and doing all the things we should have done before Ava was born, like tearing down the meth lab and clearing out the broken glass in the living room. We also put up a stair gate. I also will confess to a crazy moment of spraying air freshener in the garage---was I losing my mind? I mean I hadn't even vacuumed in there yet. And despite the knowledge that the process is not meant to be stressful, this is also not the time to be cool and nonchalant either. You don't really want to look like you didn't do anything to prepare, but you don't want to come off as obsessed neat freaks either. So you have to strike the balance. In the end, it was fine. More than fine. Our social worker put us immediately at ease and it was like talking to a friend. And she didn't even set foot in the garage.
Safa, or as I like to call her Tyrant Sister Queen (TSQ for short), has entered toddlerhood. How do I know this? Because within a ten minute period the following two things happened: She laid down a nasty 6 inch scratch on Eden's thigh for absolutely no reason accompanied by some sort of shrieking that scared us all, and as I finished biting off the last fingernail while she struggled to get free (I couldn't find the nailclippers plus I was just in the mood) I said, "Here, have this" and tossed her some unimportant toiletry item, then, "I'm about to give your ass some Benadryl." I didn't. But I might.