Finally, the photograph turned into a real person sitting on my sofa for almost three hours yesterday afternoon. A real, live, forever mummy for NB. Alongside a parcel of social workers! What is the collective noun for social workers?!
Once I'd finished making umpteen brews for all of these people who had descended on me (3 social workers, new mummy, new mummy's moral support and me) and sandwiches and cakes had been handed out we got down to business.
Although, on reflection, I don't think we got down to business quite as efficiently as we could have! I hadn't really been sure how the meeting would go as I haven't done one before, but basically, once introductions were over, NB's family finder simply encouraged me to 'wax lyrical' about NB.
No problem. I waxed lyrical for ages, telling funny stories, highlighting the most significant points of his recent development, explaining various medical and speech therapy interventions and answering lots of questions.
It was only after it was all over and everybody had made like a little train down the garden path that I realised there were loads of details that I completely forgotten to mention. Mostly practical details, like the type of car seat he is used to, the type of washing powder we use (so that his new house smells like his old house), his clothing and shoe size . . . lots of things like that. Now I am obsessing over the fact that his new mummy might not know what car seat to get. Worse still, she might not even think about car seats at all until she's here, taking him out, and we're having to lash him to the front seat with ropes and belts! She has my email address but I don't have hers, so she can ask questions . . . but she will only ask the questions that she knows she needs to ask.
Of course, his new mummy is a lovely, bright, articulate lady who has been round loads of kids, including many nieces and nephews, so of course she will know about car seats, and probably won't need my advice. Doesn't stop me checking my email every day though, to see if she's messaged me so that I can reply with vital car seat information!
Fuss, fuss, fuss!!
Next time I'll make a list!
I am delighted with the match though. We got on like a house on fire, and I just know that NB is going to have a wonderful, lovely life with her, full of stimulation, opportunities and love, love, love.
Not only is she an Art Therapist (so awesome with NB's love of all things technical and manual), but she has vast experience in dealing with trauma as well as with delayed speech.
And to top it all off, there's a railway line at the bottom of the garden, so NB can sit on a little chair by the window and watch his beloved 'choo choos' go past all day long.
And that's how I'm always going to picture him after he's gone: perched on a little chair in the fading light of the afternoon, his beautiful curls catching the last rays of the setting sun, and shouting with delight at each train that passes.