The one where we pretended to know what we were doing
Yesterday evening I raced home from work and set about helping tidy the house up ahead of visitors arriving. Ever since adopting children, from time to time the social workers have asked if we would talk to prospective adopters – to relate our experiences, answer their questions, and perhaps allay their fears.
Our visitors would arrive at 8pm.
After clearing the dinner things up, I found myself pacing the kitchen, worrying about anything and everything. While walking to and fro, picking things up, putting things away, and otherwise being paranoid, it occurred to me that they were going to be far more nervous than us. Although we never had the opportunity to visit adoptive parents during our journey, I can remember being stressed about anything and everything.
In some ways relating our stories to the couple last night (who were lovely, I would like to add) was a chance to reminisce – a chance to tell the stories we normally keep to ourselves. The things we got wrong, our misconceptions, the things we find hard, the things we find easy...
It turned out our visitors were hoping to adopt a sibling group, hence the request from social services that they talk to us. They had presumed their visit was going to be yet another test; another examination to see if they were really cut out for it all. They had worried that we would relate horror stories, and dissuade them from their foolhardy dreams. They hadn't anticipated at all that we would fill them with hope, reassurance, or validation that we had been in exactlythe same situation as them.