I recently read a brief article that indicated being a mom made the writer a bad friend. Partially because of that article, I have been thinking about my friends and friendships lately.  When my friends had babies, I understood they were busy and couldn’t talk or meet up as freely. But I HAD NO IDEA how hard it really can be. I didn’t mind being the one to reach out to them over and over, but I’ve always been the kind of friend who doesn’t expect routine conversations and dates with friends. Many of my best friends live out of state, so I suppose I’ve grown accustomed to friendships interrupted by time and space. My new life as a mom has affected my long-distance friendships far less than my friendships with those who live near me. 

During the week, my morning begins when Ember Eve wakes (rarely before because I’m so tired), usually around 6:30 or 7. On the rare occasion, I’ll drag my butt out of bed and workout before the kid wakes. If it’s a workday, I spend whatever time I can with Ember Eve before work and put her down for her morning nap. Then I work my designated hours for the day. Sometimes I see her during quick breaks (walks or lunch) during my workday. When work wraps for the day, I spend time with her and/or exercise if I can and haven’t already. Then there’s dinner, clean-up, EE’s bath and bedtime routine (the 4 Bs + music: bath, books, bottle, and bed). At this point, it’s around 8 pm, and I still need to clean up post-dinner  (sometimes even eat a late dinner), wash bottles/baby cups, and attempt to hang out with my husband. This doesn’t include other chores like laundry or additional tidying (my house is a total disaster) or anything related to the building of our house. Sometimes during this time, I try to respond to messages and reach out to friends. If I weren’t pregnant, I might have more energy, and I hate to keep saying it, but I’m so damn tired by the time evening rolls around, I struggle to keep my eyes open to watch a show or have a conversation with my husband. The days I’m off work allow a little more free time, but not much, not with this climbing, determined, redheaded daredevil who has taken over my life. 

My friends with kids probably understand my daily life more than those who do not have kids simply because they’ve lived or are currently living what I’m living. Either way, I want to say to my friends: I miss you, and I’m sorry. 

Friends,

I think of you. I wonder how you are and what you’re up to. I laugh and reminisce our old times. I try to stay updated about your lives via FB and other social media. I think of things I want to tell you and make vows to be a better friend. I flat out miss you. I do. But my life has become half-finished plates of food and cups of coffee, half-formed and half-finished thoughts, half-conversations that are punctuated by quick bursts of no, don’t put that in your mouth and hang on, the baby is about to face plant off the couch. Of course, there’s the good stuff: half-asleep snuggles in the half-light of early morning, half-kisses, and half-soaked clothes from a wet toddler splashing in her baby pool. Truth be told, I’m half-crazed and halfway nuts most days. I feel like I’ve been riding roller coasters continuously and can’t tell when I’m on or off the ride. 

Friends, I’m sorry. I wish I could be a better friend. I wish I could find more time and energy to make time for you. I don’t mean to ignore your text messages for days, I swear. I mean to call you more often and make plans on occasion. I do. I don’t intend for our friendship to exist as long-winded, goofy voicemails in which we try to summarize our lives. I have the right intentions, I promise, and I don’t want to make excuses. It’s me–I’m the one to blame, and I take full responsibility.

I keep hoping that somehow it’ll all click, and I’ll become one of those moms who has it all together. I don’t know how those moms do it, the ones who have their shit together and still style their hair and wear makeup every day, but they should share their tricks and tips to help those of us who barely make it through the day.  

Come fall, I’ll have a newborn and a toddler, so I don’t imagine this will get any easier. My girls are going to be 16-ish months apart, and again, my life will beat to the cadence of 2-3 hour feeding increments. Again, I will wake to feeding alarms and baby cries. I will race after a running toddler, our feet creating a frantic, frenzied symphony on our wooden floors. Soon, I will be tending to a newborn and toddler, and I assume I will feel half-human (even more so than now). Bottom line–this trend of missing you will continue.

In the meantime, friends, I appreciate you and your patience. I appreciate your understanding and your continued friendship. And trust me, if and when we do make plans, I cannot wait to see you. Oh, and I will want to talk about more than toddlers and babies and mom stuff. I’m fine with talking about strollers, pregnancy, and Ember Eve’s new shenanigans, but I’ll want to hear about you and your life and what I’ve been missing. I will want to know about your job, your family, and whatever else is going on in your world. And as a word of caution, don’t judge me if I look ragged and have smashed food somewhere on my person (hair, shirt, pants). Trust me, I look and feel like I’ve been through the ringer or on a week-long bender (I wish. I miss alcohol so much). I’ll understand if you don’t want to hug me to avoid walking away with smashed fruit or graham crackers on your clothes.

With love,
Your half-bonkers friend

(photo: post-nightmare for Ember Eve. We almost never co-sleep but desperate times call for desperate solutions.)