It occurred to me recently that I don’t have a ton of friends. Stick with me here: I have a lot of friends from my past. I have an amazing family who oftentimes double as my best friends. I have former co-workers who are a call or text away. And I live in a kick-ass neighborhood with lots of little rug rats zooming around on bikes and scooters.
But as for the ultimate “mom friend” — I mean, the stick with you in the trenches of blowouts and temper tantrums — I don’t have a ton. Why? I think it’s because I’m picky. Finding a true mom friend is like dating on steroids, but with the extra baggage of 2–4 exes (i.e., the needy children).
It got me thinking of a list of characteristics one would need to be a true mom friend of mine. Remember way back when, when you wrote out your dream guy’s qualities? Here’s my dream mom friend. See if you fit the mold or can at least relate.
Be real. This is the most important characteristic in my book. Cut the crap. Cut the “look how perfect my children are.” Cut the #besthusbandever B.S. Just freaking be real. See the picture that accompanies this piece? I legit didn’t have anyone to take it, so it’s fuzzy. My hair is frazzled. I’m carrying two bottles of wine and a baby, because real life.
Be chill. No high energy please. I have enough energy radiating off my three young children on the reg.
Enjoy wine. And if you’re not a wine drinker, please don’t judge me when I go for the second or third glass. Raising kids is hard work.
While we’re on the subject of judging, let’s just toss out the white wigs. I judge myself enough already. I don’t need you, as a friend, judging me too.
Don’t get upset when I cancel. I’m tired. Like really, really tired.
Don’t get upset if I accidentally leave you off an invite. Please know it’s not intentional. I probably just forgot. Because, I am really tired.
On the same note, don’t comment about how fun it must’ve been. Or if I suddenly remember to invite you, don’t feel like an afterthought. I legit just forgot, because once again, I haven’t slept in four years.
Don’t call. Let’s just text. Unless we set up a phone date and have a bottle of wine to share over the phone.
You post a lot of crap on social media, which I’m cool with. However, I’m going to pretend like I didn’t see it because it’s so much more fun to hear it from you.
Likewise, when I post a hilarious story (even if you don’t think it’s funny), just humor me and allow me to tell it again when I see you. I like to make you laugh.
Your husband can’t be a douche. I want to have double dates with you, dammit.
If my kids are acting horrible, scold them. I’m okay with that. I expect them to respect you.
My house isn’t always going to be clean. If yours is, I’ll feel like you’re trying too hard. Let’s just be equals here.
I appreciate your hustle. No matter what your job is — even if it’s “just” chasing the toddlers, I want you to know I support you in your ventures. It’d be cool if you supported me in mine.
We can vent, but let’s not fall down the rabbit hole of gossip. Let’s vent and then move on to something more positive, like what it’s going to be like to be empty nesters.
Let’s plan a trip together. Or at least a night away at a hotel to eat, drink, and be merry. I think we both need that. Don’t make me feel like a bad mother for leaving my children at home. I need a break. We need a break.
If we haven’t talked in a while, shoot me a text. Let’s grab coffee. Let’s not act like it’s been forever — let’s just catch up right where we left off.
We are a unique group of individuals trying to raise these tiny humans. Support me, and I promise to support you.
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