Sophie has a playdate with a new friend today. This is incredibly nerve wracking.

Not for Sophie. She’s over the moon. She popped up this morning before sunrise and announced, “Today’s my playdate!”

“Good,” I said, covering my head with the blankets. “Go clean your room to get ready.”

And for the first time in almost 9 years, she actually did.

Sophie’s thrilled and I’m a bit of a wreck. Ah, the new play date. The scourge of the parent.  Of this one, anyway.

Why can’t she stick with her old friends, the ones whose parents I know? (Ditto for Annabelle, while we’re at it.) Sophie might need more friends — but I don’t. And yet here I am, making awkward conversation on the phone with a woman I don’t know, worrying for days when she promises to call back but doesn’t, wondering if I’ll freak her out by calling again to make sure that the tentative playdate Sophie’s been talking about non-stop is going to happen.

“Ali’s been bugging me for days,” her mother said when I finally reached her. OK, phew. Everyone’s on board.

So these new people are coming to our house this afternoon, and I’ve spent the morning shoving piles everywhere you can shove piles (don’t dare open a cabinet in my house today) and the place is still a mess.

Some things you just can’t hide. Or announce ahead of time. Maybe I could text it to this woman along with our address:

So looking forward to meeting you later today! Please don’t mind the fact that we’re slobs. Oh, and just in case no one’s mentioned it, my daughter has Down syndrome. Tootle-oo!”

Sophie crash landed on my bed 10 minutes later, announcing her room was “all clean,” and snuggled in for one last (still way too) early morning cuddle. I stroked her hair and had a thought.

“Hey, Sophie, have you ever met Ali’s mom?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

So does this woman know? I’m pretty sure no one ever mentions the whole Down syndrome thing at school. I had thought maybe this woman was avoiding me all week because Sophie has Down syndrome, but now I realized something worse. She might have no idea. This won’t be my finest moment, but I will go ahead and admit it: If I took my kid to a playdate and the other kid had a (let’s face it, fairly significant) um, issue, I’d be thrown a little.

Annabelle’s on the couch with me as I’m typing this, so I asked her.

“What if Ali’s mom has no idea Sophie has Down syndrome? Do you think she’ll think that’s weird?”

Annabelle, who just yesterday drew a lovely portrait of her sister as the first woman president, shot me a look.

“No. I don’t think anybody thinks it’s weird,” she said.

I guess we’ll find out at 1:30 this afternoon.