This week my best friend told me she’s moving to Texas with her two sweet girls under two. We laughed and cried and talked about her future, and wistfully recounted the things that could have been. Her youngest daughter is four months older than my new baby girl. I had fantasies about our girls going to their first day of school together, about play dates and pool parties and high tea.
Throughout this magical, and at times, brutal, transition to motherhood she has been an anchor for me. She has talked me off a ledge more times than I care to admit in these four shorts month, and I couldn’t have handled motherhood well without her paving the way.
For the past ten years we’ve lived apart from each other- I’ve been in college in the Midwest and then living in DC, and she wisely chose to stay in California where the sun shines and mosquitoes never seem to be a problem. But you see, this year, my husband and I are finally getting close to moving home. A thousand details still need to come together, but in our hearts, we feel good about the decision. And now, just as things are starting to work out for us to head west, she’s leaving. Selfishly, I don’t want them to go, but I’m thrilled about this new opportunity for their family, and I know it’s a really really good thing for all of them.
We didn’t know it at the time, but our last moments together in California were at our dear friend’s wedding a few weeks ago. Our friend asked both of us to be her co-maids of honor, which was a brilliant idea because with little ones, we each have the capacity of half a person, and together we make a whole.
Aside from the planning of showers and bachelorettes, as a breastfeeding mom of a four-month-old, I was pretty freaked out about all the time I would have to be away from my baby for the shower, bachelorette, rehearsal, and wedding. I was flying out to California without my freezer stash, which I am inordinately proud of … like so proud of I show it to random people when they come over (I know, it’s kind of weird but I had a really hard time breastfeeding at the beginning and we almost didn’t make it). Also, remember when your freezer stash used to be Thin Mints?
True friend that she is- when I recounted the crazy and stressful feeding/pumping cycle I was trying to do to prep for all the events, she immediately offered to pump for me. Considering that I had the flu and the four-month sleep regression (wtf is that by the way?!) was hitting us hard, I was deeply, profoundly grateful. But wait, it gets better.
First, at all the wedding events we just pumped separately and she gave me her milk. Then, at the rehearsal, her pump wouldn’t work, so I just gave her my pump and she pumped into my bottles. Our breast milk buddies for life deal was sealed at the wedding when right before we were supposed to walk down the aisle, both of us were dying to pump, and we only had 5 minutes, so I sat down on the toilet seat and pumped my boobs with one phalange and she stood up connected to the pump while she pumped her boobs with other phalange. I don’t think I’ve ever been that close to another person. I mean, seriously, that is true, break every boundary friendship right there. There is a hilarious picture of it, which unfortunately no one will ever see because I am definitely not posting that on the internet.
So that’s my thesis: true friends share boob milk. Like a two-hour nap, or sleeping or six hour stretches, our friendship is a rare and beautiful thing. I’m going to miss her so much, but I’m so happy that we have that ridiculous memory together, it’s one for the family history books.