Enough

I have just given up a friendship.  I am sad and mad and upset, but mostly I am fine.  It was both sudden and not.

This friendship was an important one to me.  We met while expecting our babies, who ended up being born on the same day, just a few hours and rooms apart.  I had dreams of our kids being lifelong friends.

It's one thing to be friends with other parents of newborns, but trickier once the kids get a little older.  Maybe a year ago after I listened to yet another story about the screaming match she got into with her not quite two year old and the nit-picking of her husband's faults*, Tom and I agreed that maybe they are not "our people" after all.

*Not that we haven't all complained about our spouses now and again.  These stories often took venting to new levels.

Then there were the two years in a row when they were invited to our house, confirmed, and then ended up at a different friend's home instead.  And that other friend?  Lived about the same distance from them that we do, only in another direction.

More importantly, there was that call I made to her last year around this time.  Struggling and feeling like I was drowning, I turned to her.  Told her what I was going through and didn't quite buy it when she said she couldn't hear me well and ended the call.  A month later she wrote to apologize and I just let it go without comment.

This friend had a second baby two months ago, a daughter.  Some of the stories I heard several weeks back... the last time I called, because I am always the one who calls... reminded me of our own Mad-A-Girl.  The independence, the determination.  I laughed and said, "Sounds like you've got your own Madelyn!"

Are those bad words?

Because when we spoke today she said her husband was upset that I would say something negative, you know, about his baby.

"But I told him you didn't mean it that way, in a bad way."

"And then there's the fact that there is absolutely nothing wrong with my daughter."

Sometimes in life I have overreacted and/or been too quick to react.  It's not a mistake I like to keep making, so I let the conversation end itself naturally (not before listening to how she can't relate to other moms who have a second baby because she's just so darn sure it's worse for her than it is for anyone else.  Really?!?).

I spoke with Tom and I spoke with Nancy.

If it were just the stupid comment about my girl, I'd probably attribute it to sleep deprivation and extra hormones.  But all in all, I've had enough.

I contemplated writing a lengthy email detailing my exact feelings (this is the Reader's Digest version, in case you were wondering), but instead decided to call her back.  I got their answering machine and left a message.  I wanted to say that I loved her kids, but I didn't.  I just said I couldn't be friends with someone who thought comparing their child to my own was hurtful, upsetting or offensive (all words that were used, can you believe it?) and that I would just enjoy the memories of when I thought we were friends.  And that is it.

And it is.

Or it will be once I get over it.