It was a Tuesday, I was working from home and decided to take the girls to the park before diving into my work day. It was hotter than anticipated, and I was already sweating by the time I pushed the double stroller up the hill. To make matters worse, I forgot my water. I was exhausted and the day had just begun.
Moms could be seen scanning the park, eyes darting between swings and slides in an attempt to keep track of their own. The humid air and elevated noise made me foggy. I was over-stimulated. Despite all of the chaos, I had the overwhelming feeling of being alone.
It had felt like forever since I had a meaningful conversation that wasn’t interrupted or piece-meal. My own husband and I have been members of a team running a full court press vs. two people nurturing our own friendship.
My inherent need for relatable in-person connection was barking from the inside. A connection with someone who gets it. Who knows vividly how the constant lack of sleep makes your eyes burn, how insane you feel regarding the emotional management that comes with negotiations over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. A friendship with someone who lets you show up with spit-up on your shirt, pouring you a glass of wine or cup of tea before you even have to ask.
As a working mother, the need for friendship is necessary, but overwhelmingly exhausting. My time and resources are my most precious commodity. Each minute is heavily evaluated to ensure the best output of time spent.
Although it would be easier to recluse or turn inward, I know how important it is for me to continue to make the effort to meet other mothers in a similar season of life.
My trips to the park have become more of a scouting. I’m constantly evaluating the scene, watching every mom who shows up, trying to find similarities, something to connect with.
Ooo...the woman with the Tevas and Nalegene– a seeming candidate.
I debate what the right thing to say is. Due to the circumstances of toddlers and parks, the conversations (if they can happen) are often brief and distracted. You start to say hi, or ask how old their little one is and you’re interrupted by your own children screaming for a snack. The thought of trying is exhausting. Not to mention, making the first move feels like a social risk. Will she want to talk back to me? Will I come on too strong? I don't even remember two things that are interesting about myself in case she asks.
Abort approach plan.
But amidst this challenge, I keep coming back to this looming desire for friendship. How can this interaction become easier? How does it become less of a barrier and emotional rollercoaster?
Insert “the mom card” , A simply designed card with your name, cell, or maybe your Instagram. A validator that says, “hey, I'm normal. You look normal, too. I think we could be friends." No more awkward attempts at drumming up a conversation that may be abandoned mid-sentence. No more navigating the potential turmoil of a meltdown mid-approach. Just a neutral hand-off, with a desired outcome of connection.
Woosh, let’s come back to reality. While I haven’t actually brought the ‘mom-card’ idea to life (yet), I am hopeful that this challenging and often lonely season will yield meaningful friendships soon.
In fact, just this week I was brave enough to engage in a conversation with another mom at a local coffee shop. With sweat forming and parallel anxiety of a job interview, I mustered up the courage to say hello. We chatted for several minutes while our girls played nicely together. For two glorious minutes we chatted uninterpreted before Caroline spilled water all over the table and floor. She asked to get my number and even texted me later that evening to try and schedule the next meet up.
A potential friend?! Here. For. It.
Just imagine, a human to chat with who won't yell at you for giving them the red cup instead of the blue. Someone who knows how precious the minutes really are. Or, what it feels like when your favorite jeans are still snug. Someone to push you to lace up your running shoes again, someone who encourages a date night, someone who's in the thick of it with you and lets you know you're not alone.
This simple interaction gives me hope of meeting other mom’s who are also in the thick of it, who can sprinkle some relatedness on this season of life. Women who are also up at night, who are trying to find themselves amidst the demanding needs of others-who just want a friend.
All that to say, if you’re at the park, please say hi.
