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Illustration by Alex Siklos
Like so many, I stepped into parenthood blissfully unaware of how the presence of children would dramatically alter my life. Before having kids, I assumed that as a mom, if I wanted to go somewhere, my kid would come with me. If I wanted to do something, my kid would either do it with me or occupy themselves by doing some other (mind expanding, of course) independent activity. I had no idea that parenting small children is frequently a battle of wills. And I certainly had no clue that small children have such exceptionally strong wills.
Did I mention that I have been humbled?
I am so proud of our three little creations aged 1, 2 and 5, even though I feel constantly on the verge of intense laughing and intense crying all at the same time, multiple times a day.
But I didn’t anticipate that my new relationships with these incredible, tiny beings would so deeply impact the decades-long relationships I’ve had with my friends.
Suddenly, my days orbit around meal times and nap times and diaper changes and tantrums (so many tantrums!) and play (so much play!). It’s difficult to meet up with friends whose child-free lives feel galaxies away.
Many of my friends have embarked on their own parenthood journeys. I am grateful to them, they help me normalize the often overwhelming and frequently bizarre adventures that come with being a parent. (A week ago, our daycare told us that our two-year-old took off his clothes and ran around the room. Retelling this story to our friends with kids, they do not bat an eye.) It’s helpful to have friends who are in the trenches alongside us – but it is also valuable to have friends who sidestepped the trench altogether. They remind you that an entire world exists beyond the next Amazon bulk diaper delivery.
And so I must pay tribute to my friends without kids. Thank you. You have shown me such patience, such warmth, such acceptance. You show me the qualities that I hope I can show my own kids, the qualities that I strive to model as a parent. Your friendship both keeps me grounded and uplifts me. We may have vastly different daily routines, but we will always be able to reconnect over the newest reality TV drama. And our own lived dramas, no matter how dissimilar.
Recently, feeling completely overwhelmed by my five-year-old’s intense tantrums, I knew I needed to talk to someone. I called one of my closest, lifelong friends, who does not have kids. I needed someone who could listen to me, who could see me for who I am now, and who I was before I had kids.
I worried that speaking to another mom-friend might result in judgment, well-intentioned but unhelpful problem solving or disappointing normalization (i.e., your kid is doing that too? So this is just our lives now? What hope is there?!).
Talking to my child-free friend on the phone brought relief. She listened and she heard. She helped me see that, yes, we are really going through turmoil right now. It was validating, and it helped me feel like the load had been lightened. We chatted about her life, our shared histories, our thoughts about what the next few months might bring.
She reminded me of her own childhood tantrums and the hard times she had put her own mom through. She reminded me that her and her mom are closer than ever, and that challenging phases happen, and they pass. Our conversation got me out of my head, and helped to expand my parent-focused tunnel vision. It really felt like I was able to catch my breath and to see not only the forest for the trees, but the sky beyond, as well. In talking to my friend, I could revisit aspects of myself that I often overlook during the day-to-day tasks required of me as a caregiver. But for that phone call, like for so many others, it was my friend who provided me with the care.
I worry that I don’t say enough about how much I appreciate these relationships with my friends who do not have their own children. Mothers, parents, mentors: they come in all forms.
Thank you for staying by my side, for nurturing me and mothering me, and for seeing the “me” that I often struggle to see myself.
Micaela Hardy-Moffat lives in Chelsea, Que.