The Interview

August 10, 2017

The Interview

My interview started at 2pm. It was planned perfectly so that I could feed my older son lunch and do our nap routine. I would then be home soon after his nap since he gets cranky when he wakes up. My son is not fond of sleeping so it takes the right amount of books and “more” books, rehashing our day, hugs, kisses, songs, kissing his toy giraffe and another “I love you” as I sneak out the door to put him down. I also had a 4 month old at the time, with very little predictability, except that he would eat and sleep at SOME point, multiple times a day. The timing of the interview gave me a window to pump so that I could leave a bottle for my mom to give my son. Running around like a maniac looking for some semblance of “interview clothes,” putting together all 5 parts of the Dr. Brown’s bottle, and watching every droplet determine my fate as my breast pump was on high speed, I prayed for it to hit the 3 ounces I needed. I almost canceled on the interview 3 times before that last drop hit just below the 3 ounce mark. Three was obviously the Number of the Day, but this time it wasn’t followed by the catchy song by The Count.

With my clothes barely on and forgetting to look in the mirror, I ran to my car and proceeded to listen to a meditation youtube video while google maps interrupted my “zen” to tell me where to go. Waiting to be called into the interview, I stalked my kids on my Nest app. I texted my mom about the kids, I got a text from my mother in law about the kids. It looked like my kids were sleeping and my mom was resting, so I tried to settle in on the couch in the waiting room and “relax” for the first time that day. During the interview, I realized that I was completely unprepared. I spent so much time planning how I would make it TO the interview, that I forgot about what I would actually say when I was there.

Forty five minutes later, running to my car, taking off my “interview shirt,” stalking Nest, calling my mom, answering my mother in law, and falling right into the arms of my 2 year old, I ended up where I began. Motherhood is a funny thing. You think your kids need you. They need your nap routine and your milk. Your hugs and kisses and love. Your support and strength. All of which are unconditional. Your life is no longer yours, but rather it’s ruled by two tiny creatures that you created. They need you because they’re just so little. In reality though, you’re the one that needs them.