Motherhood made me a terrible friend. Or perhaps I should stop blaming external circumstances and take ownership of my actions.
I was a terrible friend.
There, you have it.
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When I became a mother, I became a lousy friend.
At 26, I was the first of my close friends to have a baby.
Before my 30th birthday, I was already a mother of two. When I got married, I had every intention of enjoying marital bliss and life as a young professional for a long time prior to even thinking about starting a family.
But as luck — and life — would have it, I found myself strapped with the responsibilities of caring for a newborn exactly nine months after my wedding.
It was a Friday night when I finally took a pregnancy test. My increasingly aching breasts and late menstrual cycle had been causing me concern for a week, but I was still sure there was no possible way we could have conceived the one time we slipped up and didn’t use protection.
Surely, life couldn’t be that cruel.
Expecting the result to calm my fears and help me relax, I bought a pregnancy test just before heading to a friend’s house for pizza and brews.
Needless to say, my original party plans quickly changed to a night at home complete with shock, anxiety, and lots of tears.
Just like that, two little pink lines had changed my life forever.
That was my first night of many sitting out the fun while my friends sat at the bar.
While everyone else’s lives carried on as usual, mine quickly became consumed with preparing for an infant.
Before I knew it, I had traded late night cocktails and giggles with my gals for early evening ice cream and old episodes of Friends.
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The time I spent with my girlfriends became less and less.
Baby showers were novel and exciting amongst my circle at the time, and my childless friends flooded me with attention and gifts of adorable pink onesies and sleepers.