As children, friendships can be formed with anyone, even those who might not be particularly nice. I remember observing my son approach two girls at the park, boldly introducing himself as “The Green Ninja.” They made a snarky remark and ran off, yet he continued playing and later claimed they were his friends.
Once you enter school, the dynamics shift. Making friends in middle school often resembles a game of musical chairs, where the goal is to find a group before the music stops, leaving you standing alone at the lunch table. High school friendships are often more focused on romantic interests, particularly those with “boy” in front of them.
In college, friendships can be more transient, often involving people who may leave you at a bar to socialize with someone else. Over time, you gather a variety of friends, some closer than others. Then, as life progresses, many of us marry and have children. I went down that path and, during this journey, I met you.
Throughout the years, you have become one of my closest friends, a cherished companion, and notably one of the few without children. While we share many experiences and maintain a refreshingly honest relationship, there is one thing I’ve never expressed: I genuinely appreciate that you don’t have kids.
When I was expecting alongside some friends, I was thrilled. I assumed we would forge lifelong friendships for both our children and ourselves. However, I soon learned that children sometimes do not get along. My son, for instance, has a spirited nature and thrives in certain settings. There are places I can’t take him due to his sensitivity to sensory overload. Additionally, spending time with other mothers often revolves around discussions about topics like postpartum challenges and organic food choices, but you soon discover that these meetups rarely happen. Children seem to have busier schedules than adults, packed with activities like swimming lessons and visits from family. They become little stars, while their mothers are like their managers.
Yet, you are present at every baby shower and birthday party. On my worst days, you are the one I can rely on. My children absolutely adore you, and you understand my son in ways that others might not. I can confide in you about my parenting missteps without fear of judgment.
In essence, you are akin to clear nail polish—a versatile tool that can resolve many little issues. Did you know that clear nail polish has a multitude of practical uses? It can prevent shoelaces from fraying, secure buttons, stop pantyhose from running, seal envelopes, waterproof matches, and even fix window screens. In many ways, you are a lifesaver in my life, providing solutions and support when things go awry.
We’ve shared numerous adventures, and you’ve been a witness to my most daunting experiences, such as balancing a marriage and raising kids. You’ve seen me struggle, feel overwhelmed, and sometimes wish to escape. Without you, my marriage might feel neglected, and my children could seem like loose screws. I would likely be the wet match, struggling to stay lit.
What I want to convey is that you would undoubtedly be a wonderful mother if you choose that path in the future. However, between us, I must admit that, for now, I’m grateful you don’t have kids. How would I manage my own children without your support?
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Summary
This reflection emphasizes the importance of friendships, particularly those without children, in navigating the challenges of parenthood. It celebrates the value of a supportive friend who brings joy and understanding, while expressing gratitude for their presence in a parent’s life.