As children, friendships can blossom anywhere, even amidst a bit of meanness. I remember watching my son confidently approach two girls at the park, proudly announcing himself as “The Green Ninja.” Their scornful remarks sent them running off, yet my son simply shrugged it off, convinced they were his friends nonetheless.
Once we hit school, the quest for friends morphs into a game of musical chairs. You leap into whatever group you can find when the music halts, desperate not to be left standing alone at the lunch table. High school shifts the focus, often centering on friendships that come with “boy” attached.
In college, friendships can be fleeting; they often evaporate when someone meets a new acquaintance at a bar. Throughout these phases, you gather friends, some closer than others. Eventually, life leads many of us to marriage and parenthood, and that’s how I came to know you.
Over the years, you have become one of my closest friends and the rare gem in my life without kids. While we share countless experiences and maintain a refreshingly honest bond, there’s something I’ve never voiced: I am genuinely grateful you don’t have children.
When I was expecting alongside some of my friends, I was thrilled at the prospect of creating lifelong bonds for both my child and myself. However, the reality is that kids don’t always mesh well. My son, with his spirited nature, often struggles in certain environments. I sometimes find it challenging to take him to gatherings where sensory overload can occur. Moreover, the common mom hangouts often revolve around topics like the challenges of motherhood—everything from sagging breasts to organic baby food—and it seems playdates frequently get canceled due to illness, leaving schedules as chaotic as a celebrity’s.
Yet through it all, you are present. You attend every baby shower and birthday party. On tough days, you are my go-to person. My children adore you, and your understanding of my son is unparalleled. I can share my parenting blunders without fear of judgment.
Essentially, you are like my clear nail polish—an indispensable ally. Did you know that clear nail polish can stop shoelaces from fraying, prevent buttons from popping off, and even seal envelopes? It’s a versatile lifesaver, much like you. Your presence enhances my life, helping me navigate the messiness of parenting while keeping me grounded.
We’ve shared many adventures, and you’ve supported me through the daunting experience of balancing marriage and motherhood. You’ve witnessed my struggles and moments of wanting to escape. Without you, my marriage would be rusted, my children the loose screws, and I would likely be a damp match.
I want you to know that should you choose to become a mother one day, I believe you would be fantastic. But for now, I must admit, I’m glad you remain childless. After all, how would I manage my children without your steady presence?
For anyone interested in exploring family planning further, check out this important article on pregnancy, which is an excellent resource for those considering parenthood. Also, if you’re curious about the latest in insemination techniques, consider reading about the advancements in pre-implantation genetic screening.
In summary, I’m thankful for you—my friend without kids. Your support enriches my life and the lives of my children in ways I deeply appreciate.