Who knew Social Workers had a sense of humor ?

Yesterday my hubby and I had our first meeting with a social worker who will determine if we and our home are suitable for adopting a child. The interview was three (3) hours long. She asked us everything: we had to give details of our lives as children- what our parents were like, how we were disciplined, what holidays we celebrated and our memories of life in general. I forgot a lot about my life in highschool. I was in fact a straight A student, on the honor roll and graduated 53rd in a class of 600 with a regents diploma. I wrote for the school newspaper and was the music director for the highschool radio station. As I spoke all I could think is "how will this determine if I am a good parent?" It was weird reliving those memories.

When we got to the point where we discussed our relationship my husband teared up as he recalled our first meeting and first few dates. Yes we met online and yes I was the first girl he ever brought home to meet his family. Watching him speak to a total stranger about me and how I am the best thing to ever happen to him left me speechlees. He grabbed a tissue and wiped his eyes a few times as he spoke. When it was my turn to speak about us I did my usual tap dance with humor and made him and the social worker laugh. I told the story of how he worked in Manhattan and would drive to Long Island to take me out on Friday nights. After several weeks of this I started to offer to cook dinner for him and rent movies so the poor guy could save some money (LOL). One night before he left work he called me to give me a head's up that he was leaving and asked me if I needed anything. He said "You know; milk, bread, eggs. Do you need anything?" I politely said no and told him to drive carefully. After we hung up I called my aunt and told her about our conversation. "He's the one" I told her. I was that simple. Less than two years later we were married.

When the social worker completed our interview she did a tour of our house and we showed her which bedroom we would redecorate for our daughter. A daughter whom we have never met. A daughter whom might not yet be born. A stranger. As we stood in the bedroom looking at the closets and the windows I glanced at my husband: the man who completes me and makes life all the good things it should be. We were once strangers too.