Sunday, June 7, 2009

When you have em, but your friends don’t.

So through the wonder that is Facebook I've been slowly, sort of connecting with old friends from high school and beyond. It's been nice and in some cases surreal. Yes, you got it, I got "friended" by the person that tried their best to make my life in living hell. After consideration I decided I didn't want to be mature and sensible and possibly deal with more crap from them and ignored them.

But as I've been talking and reconnecting, it has become ever more apparent that I have little in common with these people any more. I mean they are all nice people, but I dread it when they ask me simple questions like "So what's been going on?" or "What did you do today?"

Because, you know what? They don't want to know. They don't want to know that my son had a diaper blow out and I had to hose him down for ten minutes before I could convince myself to get in there and scrub. They don't understand my joy at how my daughter is now sitting up by herself and starting to eat solid foods, or how that last fact means I have to change both of our clothing after every meal. One friend, a couple years older than me was chatting to me and asked if everything was good, and I said "Yeah! But it's kinda dull to talk about. It's mostly diapers and cleaning over here." He gave the cyber version of a shudder and said "That right there is why I am never having kids." I mean I do understand his point. I had just finished telling him how I spent most of my day changing bums and following behind my toddler cleaning up the messes he made, but it hurt a little. He didn't give me a chance to tell him how lovely it is to pick my son up and have him give me a big hug and a sloppy kiss. Or how my heart melts every time Little Bit smiles at me, showing off both of her teeth.

But really, just as my friends don't want to hear about the blood and gore that comes with parenting, they really couldn't care less about the happy moments either. That picture you have where your kid is making spit bubbles that just about brings a tear to your eye every time you see it? It really doesn't have the same impact on your childless friends. They miss the point.

So now I give a stock answer of "My kids keep me busy" and I move the conversation along. I've discovered that they really would rather talk about their job/clubbing/that person they met in the gym/etc and I would too. Because I know I have the better deal, and right at the moment one of them is dumping animal crackers on the couch which I will have to clean up, but after that, I'm sure to get kisses.

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