An Apology Letter To My Mom Friends
By Ophira Eisenberg
My Dear Mom Friends,
I am so sorry.
I am so sorry I grimaced when you talked about your kid and I showed so little interest in them. I didn’t bother to ask any follow-up questions, just waited for you to finish so we could switch topics. Now, if someone doesn’t ask me about my son, I put them to be in the same category of people who are mean to waiters, hate dogs, and tell me they are fiscal Republicans. I also realize that as much as I love my son, his existence has ruined my life, so I’m going to talk about him constantly as a form of self-soothing therapy. Constantly. So listen up, or zone out with a smile plastered on your face.
I’m sorry that I judged you for not losing the baby weight faster and for throwing your fashion sense out the window. As someone who now regularly looks at new clothes and thinks, “Well, this is a perfect and functional piece for me!” only to see that it’s Eileen Fischer. I am grateful, Eileen, for your forgiving fabrics and flowing styles.
I’m sorry that I got frustrated that it seemed like such a production to make a plan to hang out. I used to wonder, “Why is it such a big deal? Just get a babysitter!” It was so annoying that you always had to schedule around naps and meals and pick-ups and bedtimes. Can’t you get someone else to do that? Or let them skip a nap? Can’t you just make them go to sleep?
I’m surprised you didn’t slap me in the face with a wet burp cloth.
Now I understand that the only reason you were able to function was due to your carefully constructed routine and that as a parent to a small child, you savor and protect those naps like they are the last drops of hot water in your shower, 20 bucks in the bank, or bottle of Pedialyte in the deli. Also, finding a decent and reliable babysitter is like finding someone in HR who still has a soul or a swimsuit that really does address the problem areas. When I was childless, I had no idea that a sitter, on top of their hourly rate, required a Seamless food order so large that it covered dinner and their next three meals, plus a fleet of UBER XLs. In other words, the outing has to be really worth it. Maybe when you couldn’t find a good time, rather than judge you for not having your shit together, I should have wondered if maybe I wasn’t worth it.
Here’s the one that embarrasses me the most: I’m sorry I didn’t understand that you wanted to spend time with your kids. To be fair, most of the dialogue out there about parenting is about exhaustion, being fed up, overwhelmed, and desperate for a break. I didn’t understand that that is just part of the gig. I love playing, reading, cuddling, and talking with my son. I didn’t know what that felt like before. Of course, I want my own life too, which is a never-ending source of friction and push and pull with parenting. But instead of asking you to go out for drinks, I really should have offered to help you out in some way. It takes a village, not a bar in the East Village bar. Although sometimes that’s good too.
I look forward to your Shutterfly holiday cards and liking all of your TikTok videos.
I would have written more, but with a small kid, I don’t have the time or focus. I genuinely think you are better than me, based on the mere fact that you were smart enough to have kids at a reasonable age. Not me. Went for the ol’ geriatric pregnancy. I’ll never lose the weight and I’m so goddamn tired.
Yours in reverence and solidarity,
-Ophira
