‘I do understand that your life has changed. But what about me? What about our friendship?’: the letter you always wanted to write

It happens every time. I know it will, and I don’t begrudge it. Except I do, a bit. It’s happened so often, and now that I’m in my late 40s, and I am so practised at this, I can’t help but have the same awful thought every time a friend announces she is pregnant: “Well, there goes another friendship.”

I am a woman who is child-free by choice. Great career, wonderful husband, lots of international vacations. I’m satisfied with my life. But it has become an inescapable fact that each time one of my female friends has a baby, our friendship changes. Believe me, I do understand that my friend’s life has changed. I also spend time with their children, as a favourite adopted aunt, and enjoy watching them grow. But what about me? What about our friendship?

I am your caring and dedicated friend. I remember your favourite foods, those days in high school, that book that changed your life, to ask about your father’s health, and you have done the same for me. I never expected to be your priority all of the time; but it would be such a joy and a relief to feel as if I was your priority even some of the time.

Years back, a friend announced that she was moving closer to me, and I blurted out, “Great! Maybe we can have a night out together!” Without even pausing to consider the option, she said, “I’m a mum now!” Her tone was plain: how could I make this suggestion to someone with such weighty responsibilities?

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Someone I consider(ed) my best friend only responds to an invitation with an alternative date and plan, often for the one night she knows I have a standing obligation. It breaks my heart always to be second, almost as much as it fills my heart to know my friend is happy with the children she wanted.

I wonder if my friends will want to re-establish our connection when their children leave home. I wonder why, just once a year, they can’t find a babysitter or leave the kids with their partner so we can talk and drink good wine on my patio, without their children throwing gravel into the neighbour’s garden.

What I don’t wonder, though, is if I can ever say these words to them – because I know I cannot. As a woman without children, I am supposed to just “understand” that relationships change, and change will always mean a sad lessening of ties for me.

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