The older I get, the smaller my circle of friends has become.
I didn’t see it coming, but I don’t mind it. I think it is a good thing. The days fly by at lightning speed, and the window of time to consort with my mom buddies shrinks and almost diminishes completely.
And if that time window is only an occasional hour every other week, I’m sure I’d choose to vent to someone who gets me. I want to be able to be myself. I want to feel connected and validated and not judged by people I call my friends.
But this wasn’t always the case. I can still recall with trepidation the enormous feeling of pride but also the rawest sense of loneliness when I gave birth to my first child. And without hesitation, I can say it really took a village to raise a child. My friends were everywhere, including my parents, grandparents, my in-laws, the pediatrician, and even Dr. Spock! (yes, I actually owned a paperback edition).
I was extremely fortunate but also very needy. I took others’ advice and even accepted constructive criticism about mothering. Granted, things were quite different over three decades ago: no online search engines and social media.
But the timeless truth remains. Nothing can truly prepare you for motherhood. You learn as you go, hoping your “villagers” stay close for those first challenging years.
My husband and I moved forward and were blessed with three more children. We struggled and muddled through somehow, and our babies grew up. And now are parents themselves. And their little miracles are our grandchildren.
I have entered a new phase of my life, and with that comes a change in friendships. Some are from my early motherhood years, and others didn’t make the cut. It’s not all about having things in common. It’s different now.
There’s no more arguing about breastfeeding versus bottle feeding, the right shoe for a toddler’s foot, the extent of a parent’s help with homework, college choices, wedding reception halls, and more.
So, as mothers, we are good. We have accepted our kids’ significant others if there are any. We have checked in with them after their workday is done, cooked dinners, and embraced the notion of being a grandparent and even babysitting the little kiddos.
But as women and friends, we are not so good. We are so tired, overwhelmed, and stressed (like most of the day, every day!). My real buddies know how to listen, be empathetic, know how to dispense advice, but not in a preachy, condescending way like my 37-year-old self would.
We also have developed a code of companionship and abide by unspoken rules. Our kids come first, putting each other on hold numerous times during our chats. We then pick the conversation up where we left off, and sometimes not at all. We validate each other’s right to complain and struggle physically and emotionally. We follow up on our concerns, praying it’s nothing serious, and assure each other all will be ok.
But most of all, and not expressed enough (maybe every decade or so), we are so grateful for each other, the ones we truly love and respect. These special ladies are most precious and, literally, my lifeline. We care and worry about each other.
