Nic Narrates

I waited, I indulged her, I already knew what was coming. As she tried to build suspense for what she was about to unveil, I kept myself from jumping in and interrupting, ruining her moment.

“I’m pregnant!”

Of course you are, I thought, while even my internal narrative sighed in conflict. I wasn’t surprised, knew they’d been trying for months, but now it was actually here. Now she was telling me; 12 weeks she said. Despite my reservations, I knew what needed saying and began with the congratulations and staid battery of questions.

How are you feeling? Any cravings? Are you just completely exhausted? When are you due? Are you going to find out the sex? Have you had your first sonogram? Question for question, I felt as though I was putting on an act, playing the part of dutiful, caring friend. Inside, I felt the opposite, felt a door closing- both for her and for me.

As it is, we’re already growing apart- we’ve so little in common these days besides a residual college friendship. She lives hours away now, we hardly talk on the phone, and the last visit I had with her didn’t go so well…mostly because she didn’t plan anything and dragged me to a car show on a 90 degree day because it was what her husband was doing that afternoon, only to ambush me later with a drama-filled family dinner with her parents of whom she does not get along. Disaster.

Once I’d hung up the phone, I sat there in silence on my couch thinking about her voice, about the tonality and the excitement, and about my sheer and utter inability to match it. I want so badly to be happy for her, but mostly what I feel is relief that she didn’t have to know the pain of being unable. That and something else…not envy, but jealousy of all things.

Looking around my living room, at the stacks and stacks of books, the bare, painted walls, the hand-me-downs still, I had the sudden and distinct feeling of being left behind. For being all of 29 years old, I felt I was a child again. Like a six year old who’s jealous of the baby to come, I’m jealous that my attention as her friend- what’s left of it at least- is going to be directed elsewhere until there really is nothing left for me. Where do I fit in? Where does a baby leave me besides the provider of another shower gift?

I’m disappointed in myself for feeling that way, for not being gracious and kindly and all that I ought to be. It’s how I’m feeling more and more as each of my friends moves on with their lives. On and away from college and our Twenties, into the unknown trials of adulthood. Take me along with you, I want to cry.

She’s four years younger than me and she’s so “grown up,” playing at new wife and soon, new mother. The thing is, I’ve always been the older one, the “mom” looking out for her, giving her advice, helping her prepare for what’s next. But now she’s caught up and surpassed me. She doesn’t need a friend like me anymore.

Filed under: crossroads, friends, mothering, singletons, things people say by Nic