Friendly Fire

We took the girls to a new soft play centre this morning. They adore soft play and it is a rarity to go with J, as it’s usually my sister who comes with us. We will ignore the fact that he declared himself to be ‘so bored’ after half an hour, as that is not the point of tonight’s post.

If I had taken them alone, which is a future possibility, I would have been the only solo person there. Literally everyone else was there with a friend, their kids knew each other, there was talk of play dates and summer trips to Drusillas and I felt unutterably jealous. And very sad.

I don’t have any friends.

I did have friends. When I left work to have my girls, I had lots of friends, when I announced I was having twins, I had a huge number of people, people I knew personally, who wished me well. Wished us well. When I announced this pregnancy, I had lots of messages of congratulations, all of them very welcome and heartfelt, but they were from internet friends, people I have never met, will never meet but people who I know consider to be friends. And whilst that is the way of the world now, it is a weird thing to acknowledge that there are no real people in my life that I am not related to that I could talk to.

While I was sitting there today, on the floor with my girls, playing with what I would call baby toys but they would consider amazing toys that I am doing them a great disservice in not having at home, I thought about letting an old friend, an ex friend to be honest, know about this session. She has recently had a baby and there was a section for really small babies, bouncers and play mats and all sorts and it was perfect. And then i realised, almost simultaneously, that I couldn’t do that. That she would not want to hear from me, that i would probably, definitely, be ignored.

I am not a bad person. Not at all. I am kind and generous with my time, I would be good with your kids, I am good with kids, I adore my own. I would be shy, I think, out of practice at conversation, but I would get there. I would probably not know how often friends text each other, I might ignore you for a day or two thinking this was the done thing but it wouldn’t be malicious, just not really knowing what I’m doing.

I understand loneliness, I have been incredibly lonely in my life, and I am not lonely in the traditional sense. I have J and he is just wonderful, we had a day together today and we took a long walk while my parents saw the girls for a few hours and we still have so much to say, so much to look forward to. He has friends, both very good ones that he sees rarely but is close to and ones that he worked with and now sees fairly regularly. He is out on Friday night with a group of old work mates and I am happy that he has that, happy that he is able to talk to people other than me. I have two sisters, one I see all the time who absolutely has my back and one who is busier, has tons of friends, but I see in school holidays and it’s always good.

I am lonely in the sense that I have opinions, I have views, I have things that I want to say. I want to get things off my chest, ask advice, I want to be silly and giggly and muck about and not be a serious parent for a little while. I want someone to tell me that I’m doing a good job, that I am a good mum, a good person. I want to be thought about, I suppose, at any given time and I’d like to be remembered.

I suppose it could start with a hello. It could start with me initiating a conversation with any one of these people in any number of scenarios I find myself in every week. But I’ll not do that. I know that.

I’ll just play with plastics cars on the floor of a soft play centre.