While my life right now orbits around my immediate family, I
don't know what I'd do without the crazy quilt of mom friends I've come to
know. You are my lifelines, my laughter, my village. This one's for you.
Thank you for listening and for giggling when I tell you my
kids are being assholes and not making me feel like I need to remind you how
much I love those little assholes—because you already know.
Thank you for inviting me into your laundry-sprawled living
room, and for not grimacing when you sit at my table to sip tea and discover an
entire ecosystem of food scraps beneath the table.
Thank you for ... reminding me that I'm not alone.
Thank you for absolving me of my guilt when I screw up, and
for reminding me that I'm a good mom, my kids are good kids, and we're all just
doing the best that we can.
Thank you for telling your truth about your kids and your job and your sex life,
because it helps me tell mine.
Thank you for reaching through the trenches of postpartum depression and being
patient with me. For sitting beside me while we gulped coffee and nursed our
babies as I stared off into space. Your presence was like a soft splash of
sunlight, warming and comforting me.
Thank you for your hilarious stories about parenthood, like
the time you found your son pretending your vibrator was a telephone and you
watched in silent horror before finally stuttering, "I think that call is for
Thank you for helping me decide I was done being a
stay-at-home mom. For reminding me that there are hundreds of ways to mother,
whether we work for paychecks or not, and that we're all there at the beginning
of the day until the end, and in the darkest corners of the night.
Thank you for your texts that always come at just the right time. They feel
like little word hugs, reminding me that I'm not alone.
I need to hear your imperfections because I'm brimming with them.
Thank you for comparing notes on our ever-worsening PMS
symptoms. Because you understand, you are among the few I can tolerate during
my 7 to 10 days of rage spirals each month.
Thank you for sharing that your daughter just went on a food
strike, denouncing anything but bagels for a week, and for not judging me for
sending my kid to school each day with a glistening stack of pepperoni in his
lunchbox. And thank you for admitting that dinner in your home is not usually
baked salmon on a bed of quinoa and kale, but hotdog slices in a savory nest of
Pringles. And for letting me know that instead of the peaceful, Kumbaya family
dinner we imagined before having kids, mealtimes are almost always a shitshow
in your house, too.
Thank you for sharing all your messiness with me, like how
you're still wearing maternity pants though your youngest is 6, or that you
leave little trails of pee when you laugh or cough or sneeze. I need to hear
your imperfections because I'm brimming with them. I still sometimes think I'm
supposed to be doing this parenting thing according to some elusive map, and
you remind me that my messy, zig-zagging path is not so bad. We're forging our
Mostly, thank you for your friendship. Thank you for knowing
what women have known all through time—that we need to gather together to share
and witness each other's stories, to nod and smile, to sigh and laugh.
Thank you for walking side by side with me, for keeping me
company on this wild, hard, hilarious, amazing ride.