Friendship: letter to my childless friend

A lot of misunderstanding

"What do you bring Felix with you?" My best friend Julia was horrified. "I finally wanted to meet you alone. When Felix is ​​with you, you only take care of him. You never have time for me. You should also meet" normal people "again so that you can finally get away from the children's issues. " Julia hung up. She was angry. Like again and again since the birth of my son Felix two years ago. We had wanted to meet for weeks, but it never worked. First my son got sick. Bringing him to the childminder with a cough and mild fever despite the semester break, just so that I could finally meet Julia again alone was absolutely unthinkable.

The next try didn't work either. We had arranged to have dinner at my home at 7pm. I had prepared the pasta bake and was really looking forward to it. Julia called shortly after six. She had changed her mind. "Today" The Hateful Eight "is finally playing in the cinema. I love Tarantino. Come along! Afterwards we can go for a cocktail in the bar around the corner," she said with a euphoria in her voice that I even heard through the telephone could feel. I was disappointed and sad. Julia didn't seem to be thinking and didn't understand me at all. I would also have liked to go with you, but since I am a single parent, it was not possible to organize childcare for Felix at such short notice. And Julia should have known that.

Now I had proposed a weekend meeting in a café and wanted to bring Felix with me. Julia was offended. At a student party, she had met a man called Tobi who kept moving her. She wanted to talk to him about it calmly. Without child.

Live in different worlds

I cried, was sad and hurt. Since the birth of my son, we seemed to live in completely different worlds. Changing men's stories and wild student parties were important to her, while I could actually spend hours looking at my son in love. We seemed to no longer know each other, to have lost sight of each other. And we knew each other all our lives. I decided to write Julia a letter.

Dear Julia,

I still remember the day we met. We were small and we all sat in a circle on chairs so low that our feet touched the floor. I had just received new slippers from my grandma, which I proudly stuck in the middle of the chair circle. Blue, with a red elephant with big black googly eyes on the top. You were in the middle of the circle and looked shyly at the floor while our teacher introduced us to the new one.

I immediately found you likable. Then when I looked at your feet, I was thrilled. You actually wore the same slippers as I did! From that day on we were inseparable. We played together, in the morning in kindergarten and in the afternoon in the playground. When we got to school, of course, we were sitting next to each other.

Later, at the secondary school, we continued to see each other every day and shared everything: the first party, the first kiss, the first heartache. If we didn't see each other, we'd be on the phone for hours until late at night. I told you about my first cigarette that I had to throw up. And you laughed.

When I got pregnant, your joy was great at first. We went to buy baby clothes and figured out what we could do with the little one.

But that changed quickly. You were less and less interested in the ultrasound photos that Felix was on, you didn't want to help me choose a name for him. It hurt me a lot and made me deeply sad. The first time that I wanted to share something with you without taking your notice.

Instead, you're asking me to be flexible. To visit you because you don't feel like taking the subway. Or because two fifty euros are too expensive for a train journey. I should be spontaneous and quickly organize childcare if you want to go to the cinema or celebrate. Be there for you when your friend has left you. Also available at two at night, the best thing is to put the phone next to the bed. Most of all you want me without a child, like you used to. But that is not possible.

You probably can't imagine how exhausting life with a child is. That it can take forever to put on the screaming Felix and then carry him down from the fourth floor with his pram and diaper bag. I have to be available to him 24 hours a day, seven days a week. I sleep little, eat irregularly and rarely go out. At the same time, nothing makes me happier than looking into the satisfied face of my son.

Your life is very different from mine: you only need to get your concerns under one roof. I, on the other hand, have to consider my child's needs. I would also like to come home from a studio party early in the morning. Or sleep until afternoon.

I miss you as a friend

I miss you very much as a friend in my new everyday life. And also our old times. I understand your anger at me. I would be happy to go to the cinema or disco with you again without the babysitter in mind, who could call anytime. I would like to meet you for coffee spontaneously. Without child. Sometimes I want to get on a train or a plane and go on vacation. All alone, only with you. But unfortunately this is not possible as long as Felix is ​​still so small.

I wish you would come and visit me when I ask you to. And that you understand that my son will be at our meetings when I have no care for him. Even if I can't do it the way I used to, I'm still there for you and listen to you. And even if we no longer live the same life, we can still be close if we both take care of each other. I love you very much and would like to continue to have you with me. I wish we could talk to each other more and try to listen to and understand each other better.

Julia is actually called differently and like her, it was not easy with some other childless friends to coordinate our needs since I was a mother.

I always wanted to send this letter. I never did it. The concern that this would ultimately make the end of our friendship clear instead of creating a new beginning prevented me from doing so. But with my sorted thoughts and feelings it was easier for me to have a direct conversation with my girlfriend. It was not easy to coordinate our needs. But we did better. But our friendship has changed. Our different realities of life have meant that it is no longer as intense as it used to be. Sometimes that makes me wistful, even though I am happy that our friendship has endured and I have stood up for her.

This article originally appeared on Eltern.de.