The minute my son was born, my social life changed. Not drastically, but the fact that a shift had begun was obvious. Although many of our friends wanted to stop by to see the baby after he was born, many were also careful to express a desire not to disturb us, as though they feared intruding on some mystical parental bonding or thought that they’d be walking into Night of the Living Dead. Granted, post-partum recovery varies and some babies are screamers, but it was odd to find that people who normally never hesitated to call or email were suddenly totally silent, as if in reverence of our new situation.
Many of my local friends do not have young children and upon becoming pregnant I began to worry a little about how our friendships might fare. Our common interests tended to be activities that would be limited, if not impossible, for me once the baby arrived. As I reflected on this, I realized that the problem was not merely a parent versus non-parent lifestyle, but lay in the very way that people tend to socialize. Living life side by side and working side by side seem to be largely lost. There is an unspoken understanding that people are so hurried and their time so valuable that your invitation must be
to something sufficiently enticing - a party, a movie, dinner - to merit their attention. Who wants to be the one to say: Want to keep me company while I fold laundry?
It wasn’t always this way. At some point in my past - college, certainly - I could pinpoint times when it was normal to invite people to join me in doing things that weren’t exactly going to leave them bragging about how they spent their time. But in college my friends and I were essentially working and living side by side so spending time together studying or doing laundry felt natural. Even after college I would often visit friends who didn’t live nearby and, as I was spending several consecutive days with them, I was happy to accompany them about their daily routines rather than have them serve
as activities director for my personal vacation. It also allowed me a glimpse into their lives that I would not have had otherwise.
A few years ago I accompanied an old friend and her two children to an indoor playground and lunch afterward. We hadn’t seen each other for a while and our attempt to catch up was frequently interrupted by nearly missed injuries and fighting over who got to sit where. At the end I felt as though I had failed somehow to make a connection with her and came away with impressions of her affectionate rapport with the children and a haze of disjointed conversation. What I didn’t see is that witnessing how she interacted with her children - their inside jokes, their favorite music, the daily struggles - was the connection.
I was reminded of this when my mother came to visit when my son was two weeks old. One of my favorite parts of this visit was when I was giving the living room a much needed cleaning (the baby was sneezing and I was afraid dust was the culprit) while my mother held and rocked the baby and we talked and exchanged gossip about my hometown. There was something very satisfying about the fact that both of us - me by cleaning and she by holding the baby - were doing
something useful and necessary, but at the same time having quality together time. I miss spending this kind of time with friends and family.
I think conversations are often deeper and more meaningful, even if they don’t seem to be on the surface, when they are allowed time to evolve in a natural way rather taking place during “official” socializing time, when people often don’t care to delve into their thoughts anyway, but are simply looking for escapism. When only events have made up my primary social interaction, I have sometimes found them disappointing because the quiet times are lost in the bustle of activity.
Being a new parent holds a lot of potential for isolation. At one of the playgroups I frequent, one mother expressed fervent appreciation for the opportunity to socialize with other parents. She spoke hesitantly, as if almost afraid to voice what all of us were probably thinking: that here was a community that understood not only the daily perplexities of new parenthood, but also the separation from the lives and the people we used to know. This feeling has led to many post-playgroup lunches and many new friends who are also new parents and has been a great positive. However, I don’t wish to merely exchange my old friends for a new set.
Many of my old friends have shown a great deal of patience and understanding of our new situation. When my husband and I hosted a play reading at our house a few months ago, no one complained when my son decided to try and participate by loudly babbling as they read or when my husband or I had to leave the room briefly to calm him down
because he was so excited that we had guests. In retrospect, this was perhaps not the best kind of event to host with him around, but we are still very much on a learning curve as parents. In "What to Expect The First Year," the author advises parents to find a balance between giving up your social life entirely and acting as though you still don’t have children. This is a tricky endeavor, especially if, like me, you spend a lot of time worrying about whether the other people
are fully enjoying themselves.
Still, I have made a resolution to strive for that balance and hope that my friends, both old and new, will bear with me through the inevitable ups and downs of the journey.
J LeBlanc is a former high school teacher who resides in Lebanon, N.H. She is currently taking a break from teaching to stay home with her 8-month-old son.
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