…write whenever the baby sleeps. I know, I know, I’m supposed to sleep when the baby sleeps. Pfft. I’m convinced that whoever came up with that little gem of wisdom didn’t have babies. Or if they did, then they also had heaps of hired help to do things like dishes, laundry, bill paying, emails, etc. And who are these people who can just fall asleep at the drop of a hat in the middle of the day? Unlike my son, sleeping is not a light switch that I can suddenly just flick on. Yeesh. I tried when he was a newborn, I really did. A. was home for three months and he covered the house stuff so really all I had to do was sleep. But I just couldn’t. And on the rare occasion when I finally did fall asleep, Budsie was up wanting to eat again a couple of minutes in. Eventually I just gave up.
But lately, he’s been sleeping for longer chunks during the day, leaving me with some time to kill. Housecleaning is reserved for one day per week – I refuse to clean more often because then that is all I will do and that’s just no good. So the rest of the week, I’m going to use this time to write blog posts and whatnot.
Sounds like a good plan…but I can’t think of anything interesting to write about at present. So I’ll vent instead. About this:
So a couple of months ago, my circle of friends suffered its first post-baby casualty. I’ll preface this by saying that I don’t have an enormous group of friends in Ottawa proper, in part because I met some fabulous ladies and gents during grad school and this was all the company I really needed (or had time for) at the time. A. has friends from work that have become my friends over time, but still the overall group is pretty small, relative to my previous lives in Wolfvegas and Toronto. I should also note that I think it’s pretty amazing that it took six months before the first casualty happened – I have some pretty awesome friends who quickly adapted to baby momma ezmy. They rock.
Anyway, a casualty did occur and though I hate to admit it, it was the one I was a) most expecting and b) most dreading. Sigh. It all went down one evening in November, at LG’s birthday party as a matter of fact (an unfortunate innocent bystander, that birthday party). I won’t get into details, but the argument can be boiled down to the following paraphrased statements made by each party:
MM: Boy trouble.
Ezmy: Oh dear. Help?
MM: What should I do?
Ezmy: Maybe stay single for bit. Get hurt too much. Often in relationship. Tend to date douchebags. Try something new in the form of single.
MM: *storms off*
(LG and Ezmy chase down MM)
MM: Always date nice guys. Always screw it up. New guy not as nice methinks. What to do, what to do.
Ezmy: *proceeds to list a number of guys that MM has been with who were not nice and who therefore did not deserve MM. Also note that MM did not screw it up, they did with their douchebaggery*
MM: *storms off*
(LG and Ezmy chase down MM)
Ezmy: Trying to be good friend. Refuse to sugar coat this. Those guys were douchebags.
MM: LG is my friend. You are not.
MM: I mean, you’re just in a different place. Baby. Husband. Can’t relate.
Ezmy: I’m gonna head home.
That about sums it up. We haven’t spoken since. Sigh. I’ve never been in a fight that’s lasted this long. And I’m not really sure what to do about it. I have nothing to say. I’m not sorry, so I can’t call or email and say that I am because it would be a lie. But I hate the tension. It’s palpable tension that oozes through Facebook in particular. Damn you, Facebook. Back in olden times I wouldn’t have this problem. I wouldn’t have to see MM’s status updates or comments or pictures of the party she just had that I was explicitly not invited to. I would just not talk to her for awhile until the next social gathering that included us both, at which point there would be awkwardness all over the place but awkwardness of a different, and more importantly distant kind. That is, the problem would be Future Ezmy’s, not mine. Argh. And I really shouldn’t be that bothered by this. I mean, MM and I had been growing apart for awhile and there were a few things bothering me about our friendship for a few months before The Fight. But I am bothered. I don’t like knowing that there is someone out there who is that pissed at me (even though I am still pissed with her too). And it really grates my cheese that there is no real reason to be pissed at me. Or maybe there is, but she didn’t reveal it that night. Drama, drama, drama.
Ah well. I should be thankful that only one friend has truly fallen by the wayside in this whole have a kid business. Babies can be a real drain on a friendship, particularly if that person doesn’t have one. Which is a shame because I hold me childless friends most dear – they are my touchstone to a world outside of this diaper/teething/naptime madness. And I want to hear all about that world because I miss it. Argh again.