As kids, friendships were easy—sometimes even with those who teased you. I remember watching my son eagerly approach two girls at the park, introducing himself as “The Blue Avenger.” Their snarky remarks stung, but he shrugged it off, later claiming they were his friends.
Then came school, where the quest for friends turned into a game of musical chairs. When the music stopped, you had to leap into whatever group you could find to avoid being the last one standing, alone at the lunch table. High school, of course, introduced the “boy” category of friends, which added a whole new layer to the mix.
In college, friendships often felt shallow, with some pals vanishing at bars to mingle with new acquaintances. Throughout these years, you gather friends in all shapes and sizes, some closer than others. Eventually, you settle down, marry, and start a family. That’s the path I took, and along the way, I found you.
Over time, you’ve transformed into my dear friend, my confidant, and one of the few without children in my life. We share countless experiences and maintain a refreshingly honest bond. However, there’s one thing I’ve never expressed: I genuinely appreciate that you don’t have kids.
When I was pregnant alongside some friends, I was thrilled, believing we’d have a built-in support system for our children. But reality hit hard: not all kids mesh well together. My son, with his boundless energy, can struggle in certain crowded environments. There are places I simply can’t take him due to his sensory sensitivities.
Moreover, when you hang out with other moms, the conversations often revolve around diaper rashes and organic baby food. And you hardly get to see them! Playdates get canceled left and right due to sickness—either the kids or the moms are down for the count. Nowadays, kids have busier schedules than most adults, with karate and swimming lessons filling their weeks. It’s as if they’re mini celebrities, and their moms are merely the managers.
Yet, you stand by me. Through every baby shower and birthday party, you’re always there. On my toughest days, you’re the first person I reach out to. My kids adore you, and your understanding of my son is unmatched. I can share my most absurd parenting blunders without fear of judgment.
Honestly, you’re like my trusty clear nail polish. Did you know clear nail polish is incredibly versatile? It can stop shoelaces from fraying and prevent buttons from falling off. It even seals envelopes and keeps your stockings from running. You can use it to waterproof matches or fix window screens. Just like that polish, you’re a lifesaver in my life. You help me tidy up my chaos and offer solutions when things go awry.
We’ve shared countless adventures, and you’ve been a witness to my most daunting journey: juggling a husband and kids. You’ve seen me break down, throw in the towel, and occasionally want to disappear. Without you, my marriage would feel rusty, my kids would be the loose screws, and I’d likely be a soggy match.
What I’m trying to convey is that, if you ever choose to become a mother, I know you’d excel at it. But, for now, I must admit I’m relieved you don’t have kids. How on earth would I manage my family without you?
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In summary, I treasure our friendship. Your presence in my life makes everything better, and I’m incredibly grateful for all the support you provide.