So, What Do You Do All Day?

 

“So, what do you do all day?” A longtime friend genuinely asked me after a hectic week of chasing around two active boys under the age of two while pregnant with my third. I did not know what to say. She had two young boys, too, but also worked a full-time job. Her schedule looked different than mine. Busy, but different. I had no words. I thought she would be able to relate, but our lives were not the same. The late nights of dying our hair random colors and going out for a quick coffee were gone—or at least growing fewer in number. We were now married. With kids. I was not surprised that our friendship had changed. We had new responsibilities. New concerns. New worries. What surprised me was the loss of connection. Even though we both had entered into a similar stage of life, we were doing it differently, and I could sense the gap growing stronger with every tense conversation. 

 

It wasn’t even about the difference of opinion about being a stay-at-home or working mom. It also wasn’t about the different educational choices that we would choose down the road. It was about seasons. People come and people go, and I have learned to be okay with that. At first, her question took me off guard. I became internally defensive. I even began making a list in my head of all of the things I did that day. I mentally rehearsed how many times I nursed the baby, fed the two-year-old, bathed both of them after a mishap in the kitchen, mopped the floors, washed the dishes (since my dishwasher was broken), rinsed out the cloth diapers, read a dozen picture books, and tried to put the baby down for a nap to no avail—all before 11 am. My brain could not handle the pressure. The twenty-eight years leading up to this moment had been filled with structure. Routine. From school to college to a full-time job, I thought I was ready for the real world. Then I had kids. 

 

I was not prepared for the unexpected challenges and responsibilities, which could have caused me to make many unwise decisions in the moment. If I had complained to my peers that could have happened. Even though I had babysat, nannied, and even worked in a school, nothing can prepare you for parenting except for parenting, and nobody can help you the way you need to be helped except those who have gone before you—and the Lord. Friends listen. Friends give advice, but the meat that sustained me was learning from those who made it through those difficult days before me and survived. I found these new mentors at the time I needed them. I was drawn to them because their kids are now living fruitful lives, and they were not burnt out. 

 

I had been tempted to burn out in the beginning, and had I given in to the bitterness that was creeping up in my heart that my friend did not understand me, I probably would have. Instead, I realized that we needed to push each other to keep doing what we were doing and to surround ourselves with like-minded people. Our schedules ended up leading us in different directions, but those new schedules opened us up to meeting new people and relationships. The people we needed at that time. A childhood song says, “Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold.” My friend and I may not share as many new memories together, but we haven’t forgotten one another. We still have the memories from the past, and who knows, maybe our paths will cross again when our children are grown and out of the house, and we can connect as empty-nesters. Until then, I will focus on encouraging those moms who feel overwhelmed with everything they are doing all day, so they know they are not alone and that they too, can find a friend, even if it isn’t who they were expecting.