My friendships with other moms change as our kids grow. Our time together isn't picture-perfect, but I treasure it.
- After having kids, I met new friends: all moms with kids around the same age as mine.
- These friendships sometimes last months; other times they last years.
The friendships of my childhood and early adulthood were shaped by the school I went to, the sports I played, and, eventually, the job I worked. But after having kids, I developed a whole new set of friendships governed by entirely different rules.
We aren't friends because we share an interest in crafting, "Grey's Anatomy," or Pitbull's music. We're friends because we both happened to have sex seven years ago and now we have children who are the same age and like to play together.
These aren't Instagram friendships
These friendships developed because I bumped into these people at a restaurant or sat next to them at storytime. Most likely we're friends because we both happened to not have sick children at the same time, enabling us to show up at some kid-friendly location.
These relationships are nothing like the mom friendships portrayed by Instagram influencers. We don't wear wide-brimmed beach hats while taking moms-only trips, cheers-ing each other with rosé. We do, however, show up at the park with unbrushed hair, plop down on the bench, and greet each other with "Guess who pooped on the floor today?"
If I'm being honest, I don't know my mom friends that well. Our conversations are frequently interrupted by kids seeking animal crackers or reporting that they found poisonous berries. Our conversations shift as quickly as the wind because we can never remember what we were talking about before the interruption.
These friendships are so important
These friendships may not sound like much, but they're everything. They remind me I'm not alone. These are the people I pass the hours with, watching our children play, searching for bandages, and scrounging for snacks. Because of them, I know about the latest outbreak in the first-grade classroom. I dress my kids in hand-me-downs from the collective group. My kids steal their kids' snacks and vice versa. We share our germs.
These aren't the people I talk to when I'm questioning the meaning of life. But they're who I talk to when I want to know whether anyone has seen a rash like this before — and if that saves me a $500 bill from the doctor, I'll take that over the meaning of life any day.
There's an ebb and flow to these relationships. They shift as often as we switch schools, change grades, start a new sport, or try a new park. Some friendships last only months; others last years. Sometimes they fade and then reactivate.
When I hear the saying "It takes a village to raise a child," I think about what an obsolete concept it is, a group of people raising children together.
But I've realized I do have a village: a group of people who share their best advice, who sit on park benches with me, who can diagnose any sort of rash. They're hilarious and kind, and I know only pieces of their stories. They aren't Instagram-perfect, and neither am I — but I couldn't survive without them.