Tag Archive: friendship

One of my very best and oldest friends is pregnant.  Due in September.  I must admit, it feels a little odd to me.   She and I were the last of all of my close friends to remain childless, even though both of us have been married for some time.  She was the one I could talk to without worrying that she would suddenly break into the strange language of play-dates and toddler-speak.

Not anymore.

Though she’s not due until September, I’m already having a hard time understanding some of her conversations.  Oh, it’s not the medical side of her pregnancy that’s a problem.  As the daughter of a nurse who spent several years working for a OB-GYN, then another several years working in a high-risk pregnancy ward in a hospital, I probably know more about pregnancy and childbirth than anyone who hasn’t experienced either of those things should know.

It’s when she starts talking about the new things she’s buying/thinking of buying for the baby — that’s where I get lost.  For example, the  other day, her Facebook status talked about her husband’s first foray into parenthood: mastering the Travel Boppy.

Huh? What in the world is a Travel Boppy? A little searching on Google brought this explanation: It’s a “Feeding and Infant Support Pillow” that is made for traveling.  Now, why couldn’t they just call it a pillow in the first place? 😉

If I’m this lost now, I’m scared to see how lost I’ll be after she actually has the baby.  Unless I’m finally lucky enough to join her in impending parenthood before then.

By the way, for anyone who is curious about what a Travel Boppy looks like, here’s the video posted on the company’s YouTube channel:



On Valentine’s Day morning, I awoke to find a text message from my little brother on my phone.  He had proposed to his girlfriend the night before, and is now engaged to be married.  His message also included a little note about how he thought I would be sleeping (his time zone is five hours behind mine), so he wanted to send the text to make sure that I received the good news before he posted about it on Facebook.  It was definitely a bittersweet moment.

Don’t get me wrong, I really am happy for him.  His fiancée is great and I’m looking forward to the day I can call her my sister(in-law).  Yet… I couldn’t help feeling a little down, too.  It brought home to me just how much I’m missing out on by living so far away from my family.  Seeing the words in the text message wasn’t the same as hearing my brother’s happiness and excitement.  We weren’t particularly close growing up.  Our fights were so bad that our mother often said that she thought we would have killed each other, especially during our teen years.  But once we were no longer living together, we eventually matured into a very close bond.  He would often confide in me about his disastrous relationships, and I wish I could have heard how happy he was now that he knew he was finally in the right relationship.

This isn’t the first time this year I’ve felt this particular disconnect, and it’s not just my family that I feel like I’m losing.  Last month, I found out that a good friend of mine lost her mother — through Facebook! She lives in the same time zone as my brother, and since I’ve moved away, we’ve mainly communicated through Facebook.  With our constantly changing schedules, both of us have a hard time figuring out what would be a good time to call.  Even though she was able to write the message to me personally, I know it wasn’t the same for her as telling me over the phone, the words just wouldn’t flow the same way.   I could write and commiserate with her in text, but I didn’t really feel like I was there for her when she needed me.

After all, it’s the sharing of the moments of our lives, both the happy and the sad, that defines both our relationships and who we are as people.  Yet even though there are many miles between myself and my family and friends, it is always the time that gets in the way.  It’s the time that shortens communication and leaves so many things unsaid.  And it’s time — unlike distance — that cannot ever truly be crossed.