Type A Girl here.
I love children, and I can’t wait for the day Mr. M and I have our own. We’ve arranged our life in a manner that plans for children and is ready to support them if they happen to appear on the scene. But I’m not living in a fantasy world.
I already know what’s going to happen when my precious, mostly-silent infant gains a tongue and mobility: I’m going to be interrupted… all the time.
When I think about our future family, I get this knot of trepidation in my stomach not because I know I’ll be inconvenienced and interrupted, not because life will change, not because some sort of perceived ‘freedom’ is taken away by having kids – but because I know that my current self would have a very, very difficult time dropping everything to take care of pint-size interruptions.
It’s bad enough at work, during my spring cleaning, or even while I’m staring obsessively at my whirring KitchenAid.
I hold up one finger. “Hang on! I’m in the middle of something.”
“But -”
“I can’t talk right now, I’m doing things.”
Which is a lie, because I’ve always been able to talk while doing things. It’s one of my most developed skill sets.
I work with the most interruptable woman I have ever met. Her name is Joy, and she lives up to that name in everything she does. No matter what she is doing – which is always a lot – she will set it down, look you in the face, and listen to your need. She’ll help you. She’ll take care of you. She’ll even do your job for you. And she’s not the least bit put out by the fact you gave her no notice at all….