Or so I thought, for a few months, until the little man was born, and everything changed. Not in a bad way - it was just...different. There was no more driving way too fast on the way home from the beach, blaring R.E.M.'s "Everybody Hurts" while waiting in insane lines on the parkway, hoping everyone would just do as the music video did (remember those?) and hop out of the car and walk away. There was no late-night partying in the city, and really just no more of anything as it once had been. There was this adorable little person, a set of tired parents, and a different set of priorities in life that no longer really included me.
Losing friends to babies, as it felt at that point, took adjusting. Hanging out happened mid-afternoon during naps, spontaneity no longer existed in these relationships, and it took months of planning to figure out when to hang out, and then dates were usually cancelled because it was too stressful, or someone was sick, or everyone was just too tired.
Then it became my turn.
I've been on the other side of the road for two and a half years now, and I think it's equally awkward. A few friends have stuck around and been patient enough to actually stay in the insanity of our household for a few hours at a time, suffering through dinners during which food may or may not have been thrown across the room. Some of them even pick up the baby, and play with the toddler, or at least don't look at us or our children as though we've become these insane, alien-like creatures now that we say "poopy" and we use the potty instead of calling it crap and going to the bathroom. I love those friends more than I can say, and look forward to being able to pay it back when they're the ones with screaming humans and flying food.
I've also had a childless person walk into my home, eat a meal cooked from scratch that I made while juggling both kids, look around, and tell me I needed a maid. No joke. I secretly hoped that the baby would spit up on this person's shoes before they left, but they didn't really bother to offer to hold the baby, or play with the toddler, or any of those things that the Helpful do when they visit.
I've had the in-between relationship adjustments, too - the people who mean really well and invite me to dinner at 8:30 at night, with 20 minutes notice. They want to hang out still, but they want to hang out without responsibility. I always want to pinch their cheek, give them a knowing smile, and say "Oh, you just wait." Instead, I explain that it takes about six weeks' notice for me to plan a dinner date, and that I'm usually partially comatose on the couch by 8:30 so it would be best to make it closer to 6.
Where I'm getting at is that having kids changes friendships, and some of it is painful, but a lot of it bring new and unique joy. I'm not nearly as close to most of the people that I've called a "best friend" at some point in my life, and I'm sorry for that. It's my fault, and it's not, and really let's just blame it on the kids. I've also built new relationships with people that I would never have had any reason to get to know other than the fact that they have a small human in their life that's a similar age to one of mine.
So, to those of you with kids, I'm sorry if I was one of the non-Helpers before I had my own kids and had no idea how tired you really were. I now know how helpful it is to have the dishwasher loaded or the rug vacuumed or just to take a shower without worrying if one kid is trying to kill the other. And for those of you who've stuck around since we've had kids even though you don't have your own, thanks. Someday they'll be big enough to ship off to Grandma's for a couple days and we'll go on a cruise or bar hop like we're 21 again or have a ladies' weekend in Vegas.
I think moms and dads really are the same people deep down inside - you just have to peel through several layers of laundry, baggy eyes, and dirty diapers to find them.
