(Not) One of the Moms

Living, laughing, and loving in my childless era.

“This is so embarrassing!” my friend exclaimed over the roaring hum of the car wash vacuum hose as she and I sucked up crumbs of varying sizes, shapes, and stickiness from her boys’ car seats. “No, no!” I shouted back as I wielded the vacuum towards a fully intact veggie straw wedged between the seat cushions. It was a Sunday afternoon and my friend had come to visit me in Ohio—a 3-hour drive from her home in New York that she shares with her husband, 9-year-old dog, and sons, ages 3 and 1.

She and I met when we were 18 and wore oversized fashion scarves to English class and made questionable decisions with our eyebrows. 13 years have since passed, and included everything from college graduation to job offers, wedding showers and baby showers, a couple of summer road trips and dozens of trips down memory lane. And there we were now: vacuuming her sons’ crumbs from her SUV. While my friend declared embarrassment at the state of the car, the only thing that I could think was, “What an honor!”

I am not a mom, but in the years since I graduated from college, it has been a great honor to be invited into the literal and metaphorical mess of parenthood as people I’ve known since we were teenagers begin to raise children of their own. I use the word honor because I don’t know another word to describe how it feels to persevere in life with the same people for more than a decade—to witness who they were and experience who they are becoming now. It is a uniquely special, hilarious, and heartwarming experience to see how Mary Grace’s son has inherited her eyebrows; how Nate and Abby’s daughter is the life of the party just like them; how Hope and Michael’s girls have their curly hair and their sparkling eyes and their impeccable manners.

But here’s where I have to be honest: I was not looking forward to any of this.

By age 24, most of my close friends were already married and beginning to have children, and there I was: very much not doing that. As they navigated the challenge of their rapidly changing pregnancy bodies, I navigated the challenge of our rapidly changing friendships. I remember in one phone conversation, I cried to my mom, lamenting that I didn’t know who to go on vacation with because all my friends were committed to plans with their spouses and families/in-laws. I worried that my already minimal contact with certain cherished friends would become nonexistent as they became moms. And if we did talk, would my childless life seem completely trite and inane? And if I didn’t become a parent, who would be left to be friends with? After all, if you’re not one of the moms, do the moms still want you in their life?

I am now 30 years old and almost all of my closest friends from college are parents. In my local community of Kent, Ohio where I’ve lived for 7 years, most of the friends I’ve made here are also parents. As I write this a decade after watching my first college friends get married, I can confirm that some of my fears have come true. Contact with certain friends has diminished, and the time that we do get to spend together is now constrained by nap time, carpool line, and a variety of illnesses including but not limited to: norovirus, hand-foot-and-mouth, RSV, double ear infections, pink eye, etc.. I feel terribly awkward at baby showers, insecure that I don’t have much to contribute to certain conversations about the practical realities of parenthood. I still worry that my childless life seems trite and inane compared with the serious responsibilities of parenthood.

But here’s where I have to be honest again: not becoming a mom at the same time as my friends has proven to be a path toward love, laughter, and life. Did I just make Live, Laugh, Love the thesis statement of this essay?! “YUCK!” you may be exclaiming right now. However, before you accuse me of partnering with Big Hobby Lobby and unsubscribe from this newsletter, I ask that you stick with me. It might sound a little crazy, but that calligraphed Hobby Lobby sign may have some truth to offer.

Here’s how:

Love

One of my all-time favorite quotes is from Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead, in which an aging John Ames writes to this young son: “It’s your existence I love you for, mainly. Existence seems to me now the most remarkable thing that could ever be imagined.” To be able to meet my friends’ kids really has been one of the most remarkable experiences of my life. It is a delight to read a book to your friend’s child before they go to bed. It is a privilege to hear about my friend’s children’s quirks and curiosities and to see photos of them dressed up for Halloween or with blue-tinted teeth after eating their Cookie Monster birthday cake. It is a pleasure to vacuum out the veggie straws from the abyss of the car seats because it is a moment that reminds you that getting to grow older together is one of the greatest gifts any of us are given.

My friendships have undeniably changed, but friendships are meant to change. Watching my friends become parents has only grown my affection for them; sometimes, I can’t believe I got so lucky to be friends with such caring, kind, creative, fun people who are raising such interesting, hilarious, cool little kids. I’ve heard parents say that they’ve never known a love as fierce as the one they felt when their child was born. While I cannot directly relate to that feeling, I can say with certainty that there is a fierce holiness to meeting and befriending the children of the people you love. Things are different, but I think it is better this way. I love my friends’ kids and I look forward to watching them grow older, too.

Laughter

One of the privileges of not having my own children is that I get to enjoy other people’s kids without the responsibility of deciding what a healthy screentime policy is, where they’ll go to school, if they can have sugar past 6 pm, or any other existentially crippling dilemmas that come with childrearing. Kids are very fun and funny. One time, I brought dessert over to eat with some of my friends’ kids, and they were so excited that they began clapping their hands and cheering. This is the reaction I didn’t know I was yearning for! Another time, a friend’s son was running around the house naked after bath time—as free as one could be—and I found his inhibition to be absolutely marvelous! Last month, I was using a friend’s bathroom while their daughters waited outside the door for me, yelling, “How’s it going in there!?” When I came out of the bathroom, the youngest daughter looked me square in the eye and declared, “I like pink!” before skipping down the hallway.

We adults can be so serious, but children have a way of reorienting our perspectives and bringing delight and imagination back into everyday experiences. I would laugh way less if it weren’t for my friends’ kids. They are lovely.

Life

I’ve shared this story before, so my apologies if you’re already familiar with it.

In a conversation last summer, my spiritual director Elizabeth had me do an exercise where I was to imagine Jesus in an everyday encounter. The scene I imagined had me running around on a soccer field when a whistle blew to call me back to the bench. Next, Jesus came from the sidelines to take my place in the game. At first, I was embarrassed—why are others getting to play but not me?? However, after taking a seat, I felt relief as I watched Jesus move with ease and strength, leading the players to advance down the field. “To sit the bench is to have a moment to catch my breath, and in that moment, let you breathe your life into me,” I wrote in my journal, followed by this prayer, “Help me to receive the gift of sitting the bench.”

I am getting older and must admit that there have been times when I’ve felt like I am sitting on the bench. Around me, others are playing the game of marriage and motherhood that I thought I’d be playing by now. But a few months ago, I heard a sermon where the pastor said “One of the greatest giftings we have is our availability.” Over time, I’ve been able to see how “sitting the bench” from life stages I thought I’d be in by now has opened up opportunities to be available with my time, my money, and my freedom in ways I never would have if I had my life turned out how I expected it to.

My availability is something I’ve been able to offer as an aunt, friend, and church member. One summer, this meant I could drive my brother’s car to California so their 3-year didn’t have to make the cross-country road trip. This winter, it meant hosting a mom friend for a peaceful, restful weekend. On a day-to-day basis, not having children has allowed me time to do things like write, cook, and learn. I don’t view any of this as wasted time. While I certainly could still become a mother one day, I have been able to see that opportunities to live a full and fulfilling life are not dependent on me joining the ranks of parenthood.

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So no—I am not one of the moms. But I believe that not being a mom has allowed me to learn the many ways and means of loving and being loved. “Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves,” says Romans 12:10. There are many ways of loving and honoring one another even when we’re living different lives. Sometimes, this looks like helping with a diaper change, bringing over a batch of cookies, or rescheduling around nap time. Sometimes, it looks like praying for strength to keep playing, and sometimes it looks like praying for strength to keep sitting on the bench. Sometimes, it looks like reminding each other that Christ is here with us in our holiest and our hardest moments.

“This is real love,” 1 John 4: 10-12 says; “Not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins. Dear friends, since God loved us that much, we surely ought to love each other. No one has ever seen God. But if we love each other, God lives in us, and his love is brought to full expression in us.”

To experience this kind of love, I’ve learned, is what it means to live “the good life.” The good life doesn’t start when I get married or become a mom or finally succeed at not gagging at a poopy diaper. The good life wasn’t something in the past, nor it is something attained in the future through a slew of life experiences that others will approve of and call good. No, the good life is right here, right now because God lives in us right here, right now. The car seat crumbs, the blue-frosted birthday cakes, the multiplying face wrinkles—here we raise our Ebenezers.