“What a night!” “I barely slept.” “I don’t even know what time I went to bed.”
The same statements can have very different meanings in different stages of life. My friends and I used to worry about where everyone was at 2 a.m. Now, we worry about whether everyone’s baby has pooped that day.
Laura-Kate (Lauks), Kirsten (Kirst), and I met 25 years ago at an all-girls boarding school in South Africa, then partied our way through university and early adulthood. For years, our biggest problems were nursing sore heads with painkillers and junk food, who was dating whom, where we were going that weekend, and whether anyone had taken a particularly unflattering photo.
Then, the three of us had babies all within three weeks of one another, reaffirming our bond and allowing us to evolve together in new and exciting ways I never imagined.
Real adulthood happened
Lauks got pregnant unexpectedly, bravely navigating the challenges of being a semi-single mom with a husband who works abroad for up to three months at a time. In the same period, Kirst and her American husband settled in the US, and I was undergoing IVF treatment. We all had our own challenges.
Fast forward a bit, and Lauks told us she was expecting another unplanned surprise. It was a contrast to my own fertility journey, which had been a roller coaster of disappointments, including a failed embryo transfer. I was about to undergo a second transfer when she gave us the news over group text.
Lauks lives in a town about an hour from me. It happens to be on the way to my fertility doctor. On one drive home, soon after sharing her good news, I stopped to see Lauks to congratulate her. I was also six weeks pregnant at the time. I remember sitting there in the cafe trying to get the words out: “I’m pregnant.” Cue the ugly crying.
Of course, my next phone call was to Kirst in the US. Little did I know that she had some news she was itching to tell me too. All three of us were pregnant at the same time.
The tone of our WhatsApp group changed immediately
After comparing and complaining about our pregnancy symptoms for months, one baby arrived, then another, then another.
We all arrived at motherhood differently, but we each welcomed a baby girl into the world within three weeks across three different cities (and two continents), and our friendship acquired an entirely new vocabulary.
We had once bonded over crushes, kisses, and hangovers. Now, we talked about latching, snot-sucking, and the intricate details of every strange rash. The conversations may have been less titillating, but somehow, they were even more intimate.
Our WhatsApp group became a kind of 24-hour maternal helpline. “Does this look normal?” Reply at 3 am: “Yes, unfortunately.” We sent memes when we were too exhausted to form sentences. We celebrated first smiles and first rolls. We talked about periods, pimples, sex, husbands, and everything else that apparently becomes acceptable conversation once you’ve been friends for 25 years.
Then, the group chat blew up with more surprises
Earlier this year, Kirsten let us know that baby number two was on the way. This time, it was me bubbling over inside, dying to tell them that I had gotten pregnant naturally. In August, Kirst gave birth to a baby boy, and my baby girl arrived in September.
Although we haven’t been in the same room since Kirst moved to the US three years ago, we remain as close as ever, if not closer. My girls are my cheerleaders, doulas, online health advisors, and a massive reason why I’ve stayed sane (enough) as a mother. They’ve shown me the power of long-term friendship and the ways women can lift each other up.
In another 25 years, we’ll be in our 60s
I can’t help but imagine what another 25 years will do to our friendship. We’ll be in our 60s, and the kids will (hopefully) be fending for themselves out in the world.
Along with the gray hairs and wrinkles, our priorities will have probably changed once again. After the first 25 years, I’ve learned that the best friendships don’t stay the same, they grow with you. So I know my besties will still be there for me, just with entirely new things to commiserate over, cry over, and kill ourselves laughing about.
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