Essays

  • Big Girl Friendships

    Vicky

    We love today’s essay from Vicky Willenberg of The Pursuit of Normal. Vicky’s writing style is so unique and relatable, and  her thoughts on how friendships change through the years really resonated with us. How have your friendships evolved since childhood? Did you have a “grown-up” friend who helped you navigate new motherhood?

    I was 8 years old the first time I made the walk from the bus stop to my house in tears because I was being made fun of by my “best friend” and the crew that picked her side in our latest argument.  It was less than 2 weeks later when it was my turn to be on the “winning side” as she made the same walk of shame.

    I was 15 when my high school friend returned from studying abroad for the summer and didn’t call me as soon as she unpacked.  She didn’t call for over a week, as a matter of fact.

    I was 20 when my college friend hooked up with a guy I met earlier in the night and then proceeded to tell me she did it knowing I’d forgive her because that’s just how I am.

    I was 22 when a misunderstanding led to 15 years of no communication with someone who was one of my closest friends and had a starring role in my best memories of college.

    In between all these painful memories are years and years of laughter and fun times. I had wonderful friends and great experiences. But these friendships all felt so fragile- like they would break under the slightest weight of judgment or mistakes. I couldn’t help but wonder if it would always be like this.

    I was 23 when I met my first grown up best friend.  It changed the way I defined friendship forever. What’s the difference between little girl friendships and big girl friendships?  The difference is everything.  When I reflect on the little girl relationships of my past, they hang on hooks of laughter, sleepovers, silly arguments, crushes and broken hearts, and ever-changing cliques.  They are no less valuable than the friendships of a big girl and they served their purpose in defining who I am. However, we were children, so our friendships were founded on childish things and in turn, they lacked depth.

    At 23, the friendship I developed was built upon the things of grown ups: faith, marriage, relationships and career. I was no longer working through how to define myself nor experimenting with philosophies.  It was time to take who I was and turn it loose on the world. This was a scary time for me.  I was picking a career, not a job.  I was getting married, not deciding whether or not to give someone my phone number. The risks were bigger and the cost of failure was greater. This was the time in my life that I needed the best people on my side. Those who would cheer for me when I succeeded, encourage me when I was losing faith and catch me when I fell.

    Just a year or two ahead of me in most things, my grown up best friend had the wisdom of someone with experience and the understanding of someone who had only recently been through it.  She helped me through newlywed fights and decorating first homes, “we hired someone else” and “why doesn’t he just know what I need”. And we had loads of fun- yoga, Spin, kickboxing, pedicures, weekend BBQ’s and introducing the husbands. The two of us became the 4 of us which quickly became a lot of us as we shared friends and brought in new people. All grown ups with grown up lives and grown up friendships.

    I was 29 when I had my first child.  I was not the first of my grown up friends to have a baby, nor was I the last.  But it was MY first child and I was overwhelmed.  Nothing prepared me for all the parts of my life that would change.  I knew sleep would become a distant memory as would my waistline. I expected the strain on my marriage as roles and expectations were defined, redefined and then redefined again.  I was prepared to mourn the loss of my career while embracing the choice to stay home.  What I did not expect, what I was not prepared for, was feeling the heavy burden of responsibility that came along with becoming a mother.  For me, it was crushing.  Every decision, no matter how trivial, felt monumental and I felt like I had to “get it right.”  Whether it was sleep training or nursing, playgroups or discipline- it all felt so incredibly big, so incredibly impossible.

    However, I was not alone in this.  The burden wasn’t solely mine.  I had a wonderful husband who, although often confused about why I was so upset, encouraged and comforted me.  I had a mother who supported and educated me. But most important, I had a grown up best friend- my person. And my best friend knew me- truly knew me.  This was the friend with whom my fears and frustrations could be laid bare.  This was the friendship that kept my head above water with encouraging words and a frustrated “calm down” when necessary.  This friendship was the safe place within which I could release frustrated tears and whisper my greatest fears- I didn’t love being a mom and I think there might be something wrong with me.  This was the voice on the other end of the phone that told me I was normal, everyone felt like me, I wasn’t a bad mom and it was ok if I needed help. This friendship was authentic and reliable. It was my safe harbor in the storms of life.

    The little girl friendships of my youth were not built on unfiltered honesty, unwavering loyalty and fierce protection. In fact, many of those friendships never survived the challenges of the grown up world.  It was the big girl friendship developed in the grown up world of marriage and solidified through the universal battles of motherhood that was my strength when life felt too big and too much to handle.

     

    Vicky Willenberg is a wife, mother and wannabe writer who lives in Southern California. You can find her chronicling her adventures in raising two kids while still growing up herself on her blog The Pursuit of Normal and on Facebook.

     

  • My First Year as a Mom

    Swagon1Today’s HerStories contributor is Amy from Swag On, Momma!  On her blog, Amy shares her own stories of new motherhood and invites other new moms to share their own stories.  We think you’ll hear parts of your own story as a new mom in Amy’s; we certainly did!  

     

    My son Hayden, was born March 25, 2012, and I was scared.  Though I liked kids, newborns terrified me. (They’re so helpless and have such floppy little necks!)  After years of avoiding infants, I had little confidence in my baby-whispering abilities.

    Despite this, I wanted kids and knew that my husband, Patrick, and I would find our greatest joy in becoming parents—we had lots of love to give.

    So we took a leap of faith and decided to start a family.  About a year later, Hayden was born. Oh, how I loved my little son, but we definitely had a rocky first couple months.

    Before I continue, I don’t want you to think that I’m ungrateful for my son…I love him so much my heart aches!  And, I also don’t want you to think, “Thanks for the warning sistah, I’m NEVER having a baby.”  Though being a mom is hard, it’s also SO full of love.  I want to be real since many mommas can identify with my story, and some are going through this right now.

    swagon4Like I said, we struggled.  My baby screamed his whole first week home from the hospital…and I cried almost as much as he did.  Looking back, that time is just a blur of worry and exhaustion.  Nursing was a nightmare; he had a weak suck and couldn’t latch.  My husband (who was in the middle of brutal finals right before graduation, and working full-time), my mom, and I took shifts through the night holding Hayden, bouncing on the exercise ball (his one solace.)  He was jaundiced, had reflux, and couldn’t nurse.

    I was distraught: “What the crap have we done?!  Who was I to think I could hack it as a mother?!”  I pictured moms nestling their babies to their breasts, feeding and bonding…but that was nothing like my reality.  Soon, I switched to pumping and bottle-feeding full time.  Finally he was full, though he continued to scream from the reflux.

    I was panicky, on-edge, and tired to my bones.  Every waking (and sleeping) minute was commanded by this tiny, hollering tyrant.  I wanted to reason with him, “Give me a break, child!  I’m new at this, and I’m trying my best!”  I didn’t know how to help my baby and that was killing me.

    In short, life was ROUGH.

    It wasn’t just the worry that made this time so emotionally crappy.  After giving birth, your out-of-whack hormones make you a crazy person.  Plus, lack of sleep makes you stupid-tired and extremely emotional.  My baby’s cries sounded in my ears, “You’re no good at this” and “You can’t even make your own baby happy.”

    It didn’t help that I was always in the house.  I was no longer walking at the gym and it was too windy and cold (darn Idaho) to go walking outside; I sorely missed those “working out” endorphins.  Also, I was no longer teaching junior high and high school art.  I missed interacting with students and teachers, along with the accomplishment and recognition my job brought me.  I went from feeling successful, to feeling like a big-time failure of a momma.  And I was lonely.  My husband supported me and adored Hayden but he was gone many days and evenings, busy managing a restaurant.

    Worst of all, heavy guilt hung over me, for not “loving every minute”. I’d catch myself thinking, “This sucks.” (Like when my baby woke for the 14th time in one night.)  I hated feeling resentful, especially since I knew couples who longed for a child.  Then I’d hear moms say, “My baby is growing up too fast!”  And I’d think, “In 5 more months he’ll be half a year old.  I’ll survive till then.”  Then that familiar guilt would wash over me for wishing this time away.  I was too ashamed to admit my feelings to anyone, causing myself more isolation.

    The beautiful moments revived me: holding my sleeping baby on my chest and seeing his first smile. Also, prayer was my lifeline; it brought me strength and peace.  I figured God gave us this child , so I expected His help in raising him!

    Through everything my husband, family, and friends loved and supported me.

    My saintly mom and amazing mother-in-law each stayed a week with me after Hayden’s birth.

    My awesome momma friends commiserated with me, offered encouragement, and told me their own heart-wrenching, hilarious new-momma tales.  These stories were like gold; they meant that I wasn’t the only one who sucked at this! Haha!  They shared practical advice and gave me hope: “See?” I thought,  “They’re normal!  I won’t be a zombie forever.”

    I also loved visits from my friends who weren’t moms…they gushed about the cuteness of my son, (how could I help but love that?) we reminisced about old times, and laughed our bums off!  It was so good to know that the old me was still there, somewhere under the spit-up covered sweats and baggy belly.  I could still be funny!  People liked me!

    swagon2Everything steadily improved, including Hayden’s reflux and night wakings.  Life didn’t end after having a baby– though for the first couple months, it SURE felt that way.  After I found my momma groove—and Hayden stopped screaming—life became fun again!  We laugh constantly at our silly son.  He waves to everyone, loves reading books, and dancing.  Oh, and he sleeps 12 hours straight every night…(insert happy dance)  Now, besides caring for my baby, I teach art lessons, I facebook friends, I blog  as my social/creative outlet, I have new mom friends, and go walking every day.   We are happy!

    And yes, every baby/child stage has its crappy parts—we still have rough moments (sometimes entire days)—but when my son beams his adorable two-teeffer smile at me, my heart is so full I wonder why it doesn’t burst.

    New momma, you and your baby will make it!  Do your best, and don’t guilt yourself—your best is enough!

     

     

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    Amy is the creator of Swag On, Momma! — a blog to support new moms and to share their experiences.  She lives in Idaho with her husband and son.  

     

     

    Don’t forget to attend the first HerStories Project Twitter party tonight, June 17 at 9 p.m. Eastern Standard Time.  Follow us on Twitter @herstoriestales, and use the hashtag #herstoriesproject.  Check out our invite for more details!

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  • Friendship, Immigration, and New Motherhood

     

    November 2012 044LR

    We are thrilled to be featuring a  HerStories friendship essay today from Katia of IAMTHEMILK. Both of us are big fans of Katia’s writing; Stephanie considers her to be a true “kindred spirit” in the blog world, and is grateful to have made a real connection with her. Katia writes beautifully and honestly about motherhood. Enjoy her essay about finding friendship after immigrating to a new country. 

     

    My mom recently read an article about good and bad money karma. She called me from overseas, all excited because life was making so much more sense all of a sudden. There’s one thing I know for sure, without relying on any articles. I’ve got a kickass friendship karma. Yes, my friendship karma can kick another friendship karma’s ass. Is that where I say that the irony’s not lost on me? Because I’ve been waiting to use that.

    Six years ago I’ve moved from Israel to Canada. Despite growing up in a family of immigrants there were still certain aspects of my own immigration that I wasn’t completely prepared for when I relocated. Granted, I knew it was going to be lonely at first, but I didn’t know what shape exactly this loneliness was going to assume. My husband and I had each other and two couples of friends who had moved here prior to us, but during those first days it felt, more than anything else, very much like being stranded on a deserted island. Realizations started pouring in: the phone wasn’t going to ring nearly as often. I wasn’t going to run into anyone I knew on the street or on the subway. In fact, being amongst the masses on public transit was when I felt my loneliest, looking at hundreds of faces, knowing without any doubt that I wasn’t going to recognize any of them. And that’s when friendship Karma stepped in.

    My friends and family back home took on the role of a support group, some of them serving as my long distance cheerleaders, others as life coaches, therapists, stylists, and occasionally even as my book club.

    And then something truly remarkable happened. I’ve met not one but five instant friends. I don’t want to talk about birds, stones and killing in a post about friendship, but you catch the drift. Friendship Karma really outdid herself on that one. An invitation extended to me and five other women through an online meetup group by a stranger to her house outside the city (with a two hour commute), did not end up on Unsolved Mysteries, ending instead in one of the most rewarding experiences I could have wished for. Knowing that I came to a new country and built such strong relationships from scratch was one of my proudest achievements. Stepping way outside of my comfort zone and joining a meetup group in the first place was empowering. Realizing I have Friendship Karma on my side was gratifying.

    My newborn friendships created a home for me in a strange country. The sea of unfamiliar faces became a harmless background, a non issue, a screensaver.

    And two years later there was a newborn who brought about unimaginable joy and fulfillment, and a maternity leave that brought about a newborn loneliness. My parent friends were scattered in the far ends of the city, my non-parent ones were incredibly supportive but often busy with work and school and all of a sudden I was that new comer girl missing her mommy again.

    You can get a dog and read as many parenting books as you’ll find and you still won’t be prepared for the totality of this experience, the overnight not life change but change of a life, your new 24/7 job that comes with no training. But once again Karma had my back. Through Gymboree, where I was taking my baby son for Mommy and Me classes, and through another online meetup group, New and Expecting Moms – Toronto, I had instant advisors: amateur lactation consultants, self taught early childhood educators, non certified nutritionists, behavioural psychologists all of them right there, within an arm’s reach, available for an email exchange regarding what to do when your 8-month-old freaks himself out not being able to sit back down, or for a coffee and vent session about sleep deprivation, not to mention the same support group back home providing long distance help because babies sleep deprive everywhere.

    Being a new mother can be a lonely experience. Being a new mother without your family in a new country or city can be even lonelier. Maybe your friendship karma isn’t great, but it doesn’t mean you can’t call on the friendship fairy or pray to the friendship Goddess. Either way they won’t help those who won’t help themselves. If you are lonely, step outside of your comfort zone; take it from me, sign up for an online meetup group and as many forums as you can. You may not meet your soul mate, but you’ll find support. Moms are good like that. And if that doesn’t help, email me, I’ve been there.

     

    Katia is a mother of two boys, 4 Year Old and 9 Month Old. She writes about them and occasionally about her husband, 36 Year Old. Currently on mat leave, she’s fulfilling a lifelong dream to write and make people laugh. And sometimes cry, which was not her dream nor intention. She was published on: Scary Mommy, AOL Parentdish UK, Mamapedia and Life Well Blogged. The serious stuff Katia writes about includes immigration, fertility, miscarriage. Visit her blog at IAMTHEMILK.

     

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  • A Friendship Forged in the Crucible

    LM March 2013We are more than delighted to be featuring Lindsey Mead as this week’s HerStories contributor.  Jessica first became a fan of Lindsey’s writing on the Huffington Post, and then started reading her blog, A Design So Vast, obsessively.  Her writing is emotional, inspiring, reflective, poetic, and fiercely intelligent.  Today she tells us about her connection to another mother formed during the most challenging moments of new motherhood.

     

    I recently had lunch with a friend who walked beside me through some of the most difficult months of my life.  We lost touch for several years, and now see each other only sporadically.  But even without frequent contact, we are close and always will be.

    Our bond is a formidable alloy forged in the crucible of bewilderment, fear, and wonder known as postpartum depression. We met shortly after our first children were born (5 weeks apart, and we improved that with 2nd children born only 4 weeks apart). We instantly recognized in each other both a spirit struggling in the dark woods of despair and a glimmer of our similar, joyful former selves. We knew that not only did we have a lot in common right this second, but we had had a lot in common in the past and would again in the future.

    And we were right. It was such a relief to have a friend like her, a friend who was so unabashedly fun, even in a time when we had both lost hold of anything resembling fun. She made me laugh, long and loud, every day. We experienced together for the first time the pleasures and trials of working part time, of growing babies and pureeing vegetables, of nursing bras and drool-soaked shirts. I remember sending her post-it notes with hand-drawn pictures and funny messages on them, and that we both found “If you aren’t living on the edge, you are taking up too much room” to be the height of hilarity.

    Underneath the fun, there was also deep connection and identification. I’ve never had a friend with whom I connected so quickly; it felt as as though she was the person I’d been looking for for so many years. We had so many points of connection, so rapidly, and the ease with which we fell into each others’ lives is something I still find notable.

    I wrote her a letter on her son’s first birthday and she gave me a photo album with pictures of us and our children when Grace turned one.   We learned, together, to be mothers, and we fought, more desperately than our playful and tipsy exteriors let on, to maintain some sense of ourselves as individuals as we made this most essential passage.

    We strolled for hours, we wore matching tank tops, we went to yoga, we sang along loudly to Bruce Springsteen at Fenway, we drove golf carts drunk in the dark, and we skinny-dipped in the ocean, clothing and inhibitions shed together on the beach. It was tangible, the gradual sense of lightness that came over each of us as we climbed out of the dark place and towards the light. Our journeys were independent but we made them side by side.

    We shared wine and diapers and clothing and birthdays and tears and emails and phone calls and pedicures and friends and stories and a celebratory lunch for our second pregnancies. I buckled her son into her mother’s car for his first night away from her, and brought her dinner and a bottle of wine the day she brought her second child, a daughter, home from the hospital.  The last person I saw before having my second child, a son, was her husband, when he brought over a folding bed that we borrowed for a night nurse.  I cried into her voicemail when I heard her second baby was a girl and cried reading her thoughtful message after my son’s nut allergy diagnosis.

    Our roots are deeply intertwined.  Whenever we’re together I can feel past and present – and future – overlapping like soft waves on a beach.

    The tide goes in, the tide goes out.

    One minute we are holding each other’s babies in a slew of side-by-side photographs and the next we’re watching those children barrel down a black diamond ski slope ahead of us.   Those children, now 10 years old, were each others’ first friends, and their lives beat like a pulse through all my memories of this unique friendship. Though they don’t know each other anymore, their bonds endure, even if only in my mind: it makes me irrationally happy that they were, unbeknownst to each other, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger the same Halloween.

    She holds in her hands so much of that first intense year of motherhood, when we were so tired we felt we had sand in our eyes, when we were so disoriented and shell-shocked we thought we would never stand upright again. And now that we are, we talk all the time about that time apart from real life.  We miss the wild magic of those days.

     

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    Lindsey Mead is a mother, writer, and financial services professional who lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts with her husband, daughter, and son.  Her work has been published and anthologized in a variety of print and online sources.  She writes daily at A Design So Vast and can be found on Twitter (@lemead)

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  • The Goats: A “Herd” Story of Friendship

    Our essay today comes from Kelly of My Soulful Home.  Have you ever belonged to a group of friends who encouraged you to try new things and take on new adventures that you would never do on your own?

    Freedom is the word I keep coming back to when thinking of my very special group of friends, the Goats.  The freedom to be adventurous; freedom to be exactly who we are; and freedom to laugh until it hurts.  We give each other those freedoms and so much more.

    DSC02430
    Mount Whitney

    The Goats are a group of moms, some of whom did not even know each other when we got together four years ago to climb Mount Whitney.  The climb was incidental to the experience, but by way of background Mt. Whitney is the tallest mountain in the contiguous United States.  None, except one, had ever climbed a mountain before September 17th 2009, but that is not the story.

    The story is the deep bond that was formed.  We started out as seven women and came down that steep mountain 17 hours later as a “herd”.  We have never looked back.

    The invitation to climb a mountain from a woman I knew only casually came out of nowhere.  As did the name “the Goats”.  It is not as if we were looking for a name.  While it all seemed random, the group, the climb, the name now I know it was destiny at work.

    DSC02454There is simply no way that this group just came together by happenstance.  This sounds kooky, but I believe we were destined to be brought together.  Nothing else in my mind can explain the indefinable, yet discernable dynamic that is evident even to other people.  Many have asked to join the group (ie herd), but you just can’t join.  It is not like that.

    In between mothering, marriage, car pools, volunteering and all the other domestic duties, the Goats have managed to not only climb Mt. Whitney, but also scale Half Dome, traverse the Grand Canyon (in one day because we had to be back for soccer), complete a triathlon and many lesser adventures in between.

    The in between is often the best part, as there is always a birthday to celebrate, white elephant gift exchange to laugh through, a show case house to tour and really any excuse to get together.

    With families, responsibilities, bills, laundry and all that, having the opportunity to leave our comfort zone by ourselves is rare.  As a ‘herd’ we do things we would never even think of doing.  The group energy is powerful, and we really feel we can do anything together.

    IMG_0507At a stage when life becomes predictable, friendships take a backseat and laughing so hard it hurts doesn’t happen all that often, I have found adventure, acceptance and side splitting silliness. The Goats have enhanced my life in so many ways.  I know they each have my back on the trail and off, and I have theirs.

     

     

    me-150x150Donning rose colored glasses while sipping from a glass 1/2 full of lemonade, Kelly navigates marriage, motherhood and the world at large.   Formerly an attorney, she is presently an Esty entrepreneur and new blogger always noodling on creative pursuits.  Kelly is a hunter & gatherer of all things vintage, rusty, charming & imperfectly divine.  Her home is her ‘castle’, and she relishes the time spent in it and working on it.  Never without a project in  mind, she seeks to create a home reflective of her heart, mind & soul & that of her family. Her website is My Soulful Home.

  • Ping!: How Social Media Saved My Friendship

    We’re so delighted to include a friendship essay from Allison of Go Dansker Mom.  She writes about why friendships can actually flourish with the help of social media.  When new mothers have little time to sustain old and new friendships, social media can help us keep connections with those we care about.  Have you ever had a friendship thrive or reignite online?

    Here’s Allison:

    I don’t keep friends well. 

    I am a stubborn, loyal Scorpio who hates loss and distance but I’m also not the type of person who keeps a close-knit group of friends for life. (I never was in a sorority for a reason.). 

    I am not sure why I have this flaw.  Maybe it is because I was a military brat through elementary school; maybe it is because I went to three different high schools and three different colleges; maybe it is because I really, truly love meeting new people and get excited to hear new stories; maybe it is my sense of adventure that causes me to move on too fast; maybe it is because I hate feeling like a friend is clinging to me or too needy. (I’ll just let you down, I am sure.).  Whatever the reason (to be discovered only by means of a psychologist’s couch, I am sure), I never wore half of a BFF heart necklace.

    I get caught up in this fact sometimes, and it brings out the ugly in me: jealousy, a little depression, and a lot of self-doubt.  Why don’t I have a group of five friends I sit around a coffee shop with all the time, or a gang of four friends I always meet at a small bar in NYC?

    Yet inevitably when I start to get this way I immediately get a “PING” and a GChat message from the one person who can rescue me from the dark thoughts: Kathy.

    Kathy and I met in elementary school.  In middle school, my parents had me follow my brother and moved me to a local Catholic school to finish out 7th and 8th grade.  In 9th grade I moved back in to the public high school system and I remember reconnecting with Kathy.  We shared the same wild and crazy English teacher.

    When I moved to a different state in 10th grade, Kathy and I kept in touch.  We WROTE LETTERS.  Gasp.  We wrote long letters, sent pictures, sent cards… I have a terrible memory and honestly don’t remember much — that’s why I blog now, it helps me remember — so honestly couldn’t say if Kathy and I were soul sisters when we lived a few miles apart.  But I do know that over the course of a pen pal relationship I confided in her things I didn’t tell others.  Something about the distance of paper, knowing that the words could not provoke an immediate reaction I might not want to see, made me feel safe.  And Lord knows, in the teenage times everyone needs a place to feel safe.

    Over the years she grew to know more about me than any one.  When the digital age made it even easier to connect (remember AOL IM?) we realized that we had even more in common: celebrity snark, online shopping, and career aspirations.

    Then we both had kids.  We had babies relatively close in age to each other.  Before pregnancy both of us confided in each other our fears, hopes, concerns, and worries.  Would pregnancy change us?  What about losing control of our bodies?  The Fashion – Lord, the fashion!  Were our husbands ready for this? 

    But we both jumped, holding each other’s hands in a virtual way.

    Then at the next fork in the road we went in drastically different directions: I decided to stay at home, she decided to stay at work.  I have seen this be divisive in many friendships, creating considerable coolness between once close friends.  After all, working moms and stay at home moms have different concerns, issues, and problems facing them.  Not one is more difficult than the other, they are just so, well, different.

    kd photob&wYet Kathy and I have made it.  Sure, we tend to talk past each other a little at times – me frazzled and just wanting to take a shower, her frustrated that she doesn’t get more support trying to do it all – but we are there for each other all the way.

    I wish I could share our tips with all the mothers out there: how to keep a friendship alive through the very different choices of motherhood.  But I don’t know why we work.  I think it has to do with our deep history.  I think it has to do with our personalities. (We have an ongoing joke that I am like her husband and she is like mine so we clearly know how to handle each other).  I also think it has to do with the fact that we have never been the sort of friends that get together all the time, vacation together, or talk on the phone.  Our friendship grew out of written forms of communication and those forms keep it alive today.  Accordingly, the fact that neither of us has time to talk on the phone at night changes nothing at all.  It isn’t a missed ritual because it was never an expectation to begin with.

    Some day Kathy and I are going to girls’ trip; we always have fun when we are together.  Her humorous sarcasm, honesty, and ability to put down a good margarita make me love her company all the time.  But we know how to maintain our friendship until all the pregnancies, baby birthing, breast feeding, and toddler-demands are finished.  Then it’s Chicago Or Bust.  I do know that until then I will always be hooked in to my social media platforms, waiting for that daily “PING.”

    Allison Carter 11-2012edit

    Allison is a freelance writer who maintains numerous website but talks most freely at Go Dansker Mom (godanskermom.com).  She is a SAHM living the good life amongst all boys and loves to share the laughter, struggles, and love.

     

     

    If you haven’t taken our HerStories new motherhood survey, we’d appreciate it so much you’d take a few minutes to take it now. And share it with your friends!  Also, if you have your own story of friendship or new motherhood, we’d love to hear from you!  E-mail them to us at herstoriesfriendshiptales at gmail.