Dear New Friend,
I met you at my husband’s work party last weekend. You were the date of Hub’s most favorite co-worker. We were introduced, and left to one another.
These situations are usually awkward, but your steady gaze calmed me. Your eyes revealed so much of who you were, and I felt comfortable, like I had known you for years. Within a few minutes, what should have been tricky small talk became deep and engaging conversation.
You told me you were from New York, so I knew you wouldn’t be offended by the “fucks” that often slip out of my mouth. Knowing that I could speak like myself made me feel at ease. We shared a lot about ourselves, talked shit about people’s inappropriate attire choices, and felt the texture of each other’s hair. Just like that, our friendship was sealed.
I stayed with you while you tried to find something appetizing with which to fill your empty stomach. I warned you that a cracker and a carrot would not save you from a blackout, but you’d arrived to the party late, and the food choices were sub-par. My husband came toward us and said, “The two of you are giggling every time I look over!” It was true.
You were fun and real, and you reminded me that I am a whole other person outside of being a mother. You don’t have children yet, so our conversation didn’t revolve around milestones, poop, and mom guilt. We made bathroom trips together to apply lip gloss, and you showed me the terror your bra was raging on your boobs. We stared at ourselves in the large mirror when you said, “I like you. I want to hang out with you.”
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It was like a formal invitation to be your BFF, one I would be honored to accept.
However, I’m nervous that this friendship won’t have the opportunity to flourish. You see, I’m a stay-at-home mom, while you do something fancy in sales. I like to hang between the hours of 9:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. during the weekdays, and I’m quite certain those times won’t work for you.
I’m sure you are more of a dinner-and-drinks kinda girl—weekend-style. Although this sounds like a blast, those times are mostly reserved for my family. I do, of course, feel entitled to the occasional night out with friends, but still. There are things to consider that you probably won’t understand. Like, what if I have to cancel at the last minute because my one-year-old pukes just as I’m walking out the door? With children, wrenches always get thrown into my spokes, and I don’t want you to think I’m a flake.
Let’s say I do make it out, and we enjoy a pleasant meal and each other’s company. Will you feel dissed when I head home by 10:00 p.m.? It’s just that my kids wake up by 7:00 a.m., and I don’t need another drink, I need rest!
Don’t get me wrong here. I actually like the fact that you aren’t a mom. It brings out aspects of myself that have been in hiding for the past four years, so it’s by no means a deal breaker. It’s just that I’m wondering if there are things about me that won’t make sense to you: things like my last-minute changes of plans, my tendency to call it a night early, my inability to meet you for lunch during nap time, and the fact that I never really let loose. Plus, my kids are with me, like, all the time—so if you sign up for me, be prepared to have little children around. Is your house baby-proofed?
Listen. I’m down to give this friendship a go, but if it doesn’t work out now, will you please give me a call when you get knocked up?