Just Because You’re a Mom
Today Emma and I went to the park to meet a friend and her son. We talked about how we are older moms. I certainly am. No two ways about it: 44, nearly twice as old as my mom was when I was the age of my daughter. And older than most moms of toddlers in most communities, I would guess. Add to that, I moved about two years ago to a new city, where I have family and some friends from childhood but that’s about it. The first year was lonely, trapped in the house in the dead of winter, self-quarantined by an endless series of winter colds, away from our close East Coast circle of friends. Mark looked at me one day, recalled how I had gathered more than a dozen close Boston girlfriends to see the Sex & The City movie the night before we moved, and remarked: “You’re withering.” He was right.
But things have gotten better. Summer brought people outdoors, and we found ourselves at the beach, in the coffeehouse, at concerts and at Emma’s school, having conversations and making acquaintances. But one aspect of friendship as a new mom hasn’t changed, and that is that motherhood alone is not enough of a bond in and of itself for a friendship. At least for me, and I know I’m not alone. I am still seeking friends in the same organic ways that I always found them, and conversations deeper and more far-ranging than how to get Junior to eat his peas. It’s an awkward kind of dance because there I am, in a toddler gym or preschool circle time or Wiggleworms music class, and bringing up Haiti or health care or writing or art or travel clearly has its own place and time. Conversation (understandably so) tends to revolve around potty training and sleeping habits before it extends to careers and culture, so I’ve tried to be patient. Not my strong suit. And I’ve tried to be outgoing – also not my strong suit – striking up conversations with strangers at the park and playground, walking in the neighborhood and standing in front of the pet store with our kids.
A playground chitchat with a mom in her late 30s, while pushing our girls on the swings, led to a long conversation about moving to a new city and academic dissertations and religion – and a good friend. Another time, it was running into the same woman three times in one morning as we raced around town, pushing strollers and running errands, that led to coffee on my porch and a long talk about marriage and divorce, yoga and motherhood. Another park run-in gave me a new acquaintance and my husband a professional colleague. Some of us joke that we “pick up” one another like we were meeting men at bars. And sometimes, in friendships as in love, mothers or not, we get lucky.
