‘They’re here for it, haemorrhoids and all.’ An ode to mum friends.

It wasn’t even 8am, and I’d already hit my breaking point for the day. 

My son had been up since 5am, accidentally spilled my latte all over the coffee table and rug, screamed bloody murder as I’d subjected him to the cruellest torment (getting dressed), and holding back tears, I started a voice note to two of my mum friends.

I told them about the toddler drama sure, but I opened with the fact that my butthole was currently bleeding (yep, I just wrote that) and I wasn’t sure I could take another hit. Like a couple of practical, compassionate angels, they were totally, completely, unflinchingly there for it. 

“That is an absolute horror, you poor thing. Can I bring you coffee?” 

Watch Sam Frost with Jordie Hansen and their newborn Ted on The Morning Show. Post continues below.

One immediately offered to watch my son while I went to see a pharmacist about my downstairs problem, and followed up with in-depth questions such as, ‘Fresh blood or old?,’ ‘Does it hurt to poop?’ The other offered solace and humour along with a hot latte to replace the one still yet to be mopped up on my living room rug. Both women somehow inherently knew exactly what I needed. 

There’s something extraordinary about female friendships, and women in general. Be it our tireless ability to empathise, our phenomenal stoicism or the ability to swoop into the rescue at just the right time. 

Then something else develops after we go through the primal challenges of pregnancy, birth and postpartum and enter the utter mayhem of early motherhood.

We see the world differently. We see each other differently. And we make for bloody brilliant friends.

As Jenny Slate puts it in her novel, Little Weirds, “The women were new friends, but I loved them in a massive way. The love was like a large trove of devotion that could only be amassed over time, but it had arrived all at once. The way I loved them felt like it was from long ago.”

I’ve only been a mother for two years – an objectively short time in the grand scheme of my 33 years on the planet. But those two years have been jam-packed with so many turning points, near-breakdowns and rebuilds, and evolutions both personal and professional that feel like a lifetime. The women I have met since giving birth, and those I connected with when still pregnant, serve as my lifelines, there for a daily reminder that I’m doing my best and my best is more than enough. 

It’s not just those close to you who seem to open up and envelop you when you become a mother. Phrases like, “Welcome to the club” really touch on something because the experience is akin to entering into a secret society, opening a door you thought was just a broom cupboard that now leads you into an entirely new realm. It would be utterly overwhelming if it weren’t for this band of women who have been there long enough to understand how the place runs, and those also entering, tentatively alongside you. 

It’s the woman in her 60s chatting to me while I wait for coffee one morning, telling me she’s had thousands of <those> days with young kids, but it doesn’t last, and it truly does get richer as they grow. It’s the mum-friend-of-a-friend seeing me on the street and giving me a hug because she saw I was teary after a particularly sad daycare drop-off. “I’ve been there,” she told me. “Go do something for you before starting work”.

I need to qualify this by stressing that I by no means believe women need to become mothers in order to be dear, beautiful friends. 

Listen to this episode of This Glorious Mess. Post continues below.

Many of my best friends are child-free and they are some of the most selfless, hilarious, and accepting people I’ve ever known - I don’t seek to divide people into those with kids and those without.

There are many things in life that can permanently alter your chemistry, unlocking an entirely new version of ‘you’, and leaving the woman you thought you were in the dust. Grief can do this to a person, or a battle with significant illness. A marriage breakdown or a full career pivot can also fundamentally change the way you see the world, and how you move through and appreciate your friendships.

My observations here are centred on the specific experience of entering motherhood, simply because that’s where I am, and there are so many things about becoming a mother that can feel overwhelming without support. 

Falling in love with my child and watching my husband grow into a dad have been, hands down, the best parts of my new role, but the friendships I’ve gained come in at a close second.

This new insight I’ve been privy to, into the wonders of the female spirit and the bonds of motherhood has been such a spectacular privilege – one I am eternally grateful to behold. 

God, women are cool.