friendship Archives - Page 12 of 15 - The HerStories Project

friendship

Still Looking For My “People”

A few weeks ago, my husband and I took our daughters to the neighborhood swimming pool. I ran into a colleague and casual friend who was there with her two boys. She was chatting with another mom of two boys, and the four kids were splashing together happily while their moms lounged on the edge of the pool. (Note to self- bring a buddy to the pool next time to enhance Mommy’s relaxation experience.)

My friend introduced us, and explained that they had all gone to college together, and wound up moving to Colorado at the same time. “We’ve been here for 13 years,” she told me, “and we met their oldest son in the hospital the day after he was born. Our boys are more like cousins than friends.”

I felt a pang of jealousy. These were her “people.” A few weeks ago, 3 Things For Mom ran a post that included this tip: “Find your people.” The full post articulates the importance of surrounding yourself with a tribe, and when I read it, I immediately felt grateful for all the fantastic girlfriends I had in my life.
- My best friends from college who all live less than an hour away from me.
- My two closest friends without kids who keep me grounded and know me as more than Mommy.
- My fellow mom friends who listen without judgment and make me feel less alone.
- The friend who “gets me,” sharing my sensitivity trait and even matching my exact Myers-Briggs type!
- My blogosphere friends, most of whom I have never met, but who relate to my ambitions and frustrations so well.
Two of my college BFFs- we all have little girls of our own now.

But there is one thing that has always felt missing to me- my husband and I don’t have “that family.” You know- the other couple that you both like so much, whose kids are of a similar age. Maybe they live next door and you wander freely into one another’s backyard, understanding that the lack of shower and presence of pajamas is not a deterrent to sharing time. Maybe you’ve known each other since your wild college days, and you’ve navigated the transition into parenthood together. Maybe it’s your sister and her family, and a standing invitation for reciprocal baby-sitting.

We don’t have those people in our lives- not yet. It’s not that we don’t have friends with kids that we have suffered through birthday parties, street fairs, and carnivals with. It’s not that we don’t have neighbors with kids- we actually love spending time with the other families on our street. But there’s something different about having that couple that you know without a doubt would come stay with your kids if you went into labor in the middle of the night, or who can join you for dinner without inspiring that “hostess” panic. Those people.

It seems like this type of relationship is very elusive- both the husbands and the wives have to like each other, or worst case, the husbands have to tolerate one another! It helps if the kids are close in age, so you can plan activities that everyone will enjoy. It seems like the kid:kid ratio should be close as well- the family with one child may not mesh well with the family who has two sets of twins. Then of course you factor in proximity, schedules, parenting styles- how can all these factors possibly add up to the perfect dual family friendship?

I don’t want to appear ungrateful for the fantastic, loyal, empathetic friends that I have. Perhaps our inability to align ourselves with another family has more to do with conflicting schedules; I work part-time, and often my children are in school or childcare when my stay at home mom friends are available to socialize. Conversely, my friends who work full-time may not have the same flexibility that I do, and who has time to get together during the infamous Crappy Hour- that mad rush from 4:30-8:00 that involves frantic dinner preparation, a sit-down meal (or not!) and the bedtime countdown?

One of my favorite HerStories essays, from Christine of A Fly On Our Chicken Coop Wall, shares the story of two families who had weekly community dinners. Reading that post filled me with longing; I have always envied people who had another family that they dined with, played with, and traveled with on a regular basis.

My cousin lives in a neighborhood with several families whose children are of similar ages; she and her next door neighbor have traded off caring for one another’s children during pregnancy, illness, the post-baby months, or even Get-these-kids-out-of-here-right-now! moments. They often show up in one another’s kitchen, not necessarily having bothered to call or even knock, and frequently join each other for a communal backyard BBQ.

I want that. My parents have a couple they have known since college; their names are Charles and Charlene, and my brother and I have always known them as Uncle Charlie and Aunt Charlie. They haven’t shared a city with my parents in over 35 years, and yet the lack of proximity did not diminish the importance of their role in our lives; we routinely traveled to visit them and their two boys, or hosted them at our house. “The Charlies” were a staple in my life, and a model of what an enriching adult friendship could look like with another family. I have often remarked that I am still looking for “Our Charlies.”

My parents with The Charlies at my wedding reception.

I wonder if I will ever be fortunate enough to have another family that I consider to be my tribe, my people. It is possible that I am romanticizing the idea, but I have the sense that for those who have found their “Charlies”, this type of friendship is life-changing.

Have you found your people? Do you have another family that you spend time with regularly? How has it affected your life?

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World’s Best Mom?

We are excited to feature a moving friendship essay today from Jamie Krug. Jamie writes candidly about her family’s unique story on her blog, Our Stroke of Luck, and is a regular contributor to Huffington Post. Has a close friend ever helped you to see yourself from a different perspective?

Today, I had a long overdue conversation with my best friend in the world… Nothing remarkable was planned for this chat, and we really just spoke about what’s going on in our lives. She’s telling me about the unfortunate and coincidental timing of her gutted kitchen setup looking eerily similar to one of the “kill rooms” Dexter set up the night before during their completion of a marathon viewing of the previous season, and I’m talking/complaining/freaking out about what’s going on with Parker and Owen right now. Parker has Psoriatic Arthritis and Sensory Processing Disorder. Add to that having a brother with special needs and it’s a lot for a not-quite five year-old to take.

Her three and a half year old brother Owen had a stroke in utero and has Cerebral Palsy. To put it so succinctly in one simple sentence seems almost laughable based on how complicated the circumstances around his birth turned out, and the equally unsure footing I’ve felt as a parent ever since. He has a long road ahead of him, and our entire family will be on that road with him. And I consider Rachel to be part of that family.

And then she said it.

Rachel told me that I was a wonderful mother and that she hoped I knew it. She told me that she looked up to me and my parenting. I was so taken aback that I almost simultaneously burst out laughing and began bawling. Instead, I do what I’ve been doing for the past eleven months or so – I tried to shrug it off. I’m not comfortable with people telling me I’m a good mother, or doing a good job, etc. There is an unease about it for me that I actually can put my finger on, but am choosing not to at this point.

It was different when Rachel said it to me though. We are peers and equals, each with our own strengths and weaknesses of character, but I have looked up to Rachel since high school. She has (at least in my eyes) seamlessly achieved her goals along the path I wish I had taken. You know, the easy one – in a straight line. My path has meandered a bit – taken a right, or was that a left? A few u-turns thrown in, and a lot of parallel parking. I’ve clearly taken the metaphor too far, but I’m committed at this point so I need to run with it (or should I say drive the point home?)…

She is my equal, yes – but she was always the glue that held me together. We used to joke around that if she decided to go into psychology, her “real-world” experience treating me should allow her to skip her internship altogether. We have been through a lot together. There are things that Rachel knows about me that Scott likely doesn’t. Yet another wonderful thing about the man that I married, is that Scott respects that and has no problem stepping aside when he knows that she is better “schooled” on that aspect of me or my life, past, etc. There are situations where her advice is more meaningful to me than his may be based solely on the fact that she has always been there and might know more about the history of a particular situation. I will say that again because it is important – she has always been there.

Rachel will give it to me straight, too. She is definitely not a “smoke blower”. She looks out for me, but has no problem putting me in my place when she feels I’m wrong. I’d like to think I do the same for her. Honesty and friendship like that is a rare gift. So is someone breaking you of your life-long insecurity-based habit of apologizing to everyone for everything – she did it by telling me to f**k myself every single time I said “I’m sorry” to her for anything she deemed unnecessary of an apology. There were a lot of F-bombs dropped during our conversations for a while, but I finally got it.

For this fantastic woman – my dearest friend – whom I love like a sister and respect beyond words, to tell me that there was something about me that she looked up to, well, it made me take notice. Maybe I am a good mother. Perhaps better than my doubts will allow me to accept. Maybe “just doing the best that I can” is enough.

I know I’m not the only mother out there to wonder if she’s doing a good job. The difference here is that I genuinely feel (and I think I’m correct about this on some level) that the success and health of my children is riding on it in a different way than the average parent. The pressure I feel is enormous. To be honest, some days I’m not sure if I’m going to crack or explode! Am I bringing Owen to the right therapists? Am I doing enough with him at home? Is there someone else out there that I should/could be having him treated by? Is Parker getting the right amount of therapy? Do I need to change her preschool to one that will be more accommodating to her needs? What can I be doing at home to help her? What am I doing at home that is potentially exacerbating this and how do I know the difference?

When Parker was little, before Owen came along, I remember wringing my hands over whether or not to change pediatricians… The differences likely being subtle between the practices I was considering, I’m looking back now at that naive woman who thought she had a really difficult decision and chuckling sadly. Now, making a decision to change practitioners for Owen could mean the difference between him walking or not – and if so, with or without a limp. If I choose the wrong therapist, I am taking the risk that he will not have full use of his hands, or speak properly, or eat solid foods before he’s five. I try as hard as I can not to think about the immense implications of the decisions I make on a daily, weekly, or monthly basis, but the truth is still there – these seemingly small decisions have gigantic consequences down the road.

I do not want to put aside my partner in this – Scott. He is incredible and is definitely in on all of the major decisions, and about a million more of the minor ones than he likely needs to be. He is my anchor, but I steer the ship. I am their mother. I am home all day long with them, making all of the microscopic decisions, that individually might not make a difference, but as a conglomerate likely will.

I am doing the best I can, and maybe – just maybe – it’s more than just good enough. Maybe, it’s just plain good. Somehow, though I’ve been hearing it for months now from other people, hearing it from Rachel makes me a little bit closer to believing that it might be true. If she was just saying it to make me feel better, well, she can go f**k herself.

Jamie Krug is a stay-at-home-mom with a full-time job as the CMO (Chief Medical Officer) of her family. Her work has been featured on the Huffington Post where she is a regular contributor. She is mother to an inquisitive daughter named Parker and the mischievous-grinned Owen.Her blog, http://www.OurStrokeOfLuck.net, tells the story of her family’s day-to-day struggles and triumphs in the wake of the devastating and still largely misunderstood rare diagnosis her son received at birth.She prides (embarrasses?) herself by stating out loud what other mothers may feel but wouldn’t dare say…You can follow Jamie on Twitter @OurStrokeOfLuck or on her Facebook Page for Our Stroke Of Luck.

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Big Girl Friendships

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.

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My First Year as a Mom

Today’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.

Like 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!

Everything 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!

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

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

We 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.

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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