I know. I get it. No really, I do. Hell, up until about a month ago, I was one of you.
But the kid squirted out, your friend doesn’t respond to you as quickly as they used to and you are left with more time on your hands and a serious case of the “you’ve changed,” blues. And the cold hard truth is, they have changed. They now have a kid (or kids) and everyone (including you) has now been knocked down a peg on the ol’ Importance-O-Meter.
How can this be? After all you have done for them? How can they ignore your texts, blow off adult play dates and seemingly be a prick to someone who, at one time, called you your bestie and made a drunken hand heart with you for a picture taken with your phone by your favorite bartender, before you both stumbled back to a house and passed out on the couch, using each other’s heads as pillows? It happens because, quite frankly, they love their child more than you. Sorry, but its the truth. It doesn’t mean they love you any less, they just love the new person more.
But that doesn’t mean we don’t need you in our lives. In fact, we would love to see you. To speak to someone who can speak back, and deal with a person whose ass we don’t have to wipe every three hours. And if you follow the lessons below, you may even find yourself with official “uncle,” or “auntie,” status. So without further adieu, read on and work your way back up the ladder.
Five Lessons For Friends of Friends Who Have Kids
1: Schedule any and all events with us ahead of time…way ahead of time.
Gone are the days of you calling us to go on an impromptu road trip. No more last minute concerts, sporting events or even to go shopping with you. If you want to see us, you are going to have to give us at least a few days to prepare. We need time to figure out what we are going to do with the kid if they aren’t coming with us. Oh, and I need to know what time this event of yours is ending too so I can figure out how much food, diapers, wipes, clothes, books and other bullshit the little one will need while I am gone. And don’t expect me to look too great either because I probably haven’t done my own laundry in a few weeks. In fact, you should consider yourself lucky if I get to your place without some sort of baby bodily fluid being visible to the public eye. And even if you plan everything ahead of time and my laundry is done and the baby bags are all packed with everything possible, chances are I am canceling on you at about a 25% rate. Don’t hate me for that, just realize that this is the new reality of us parents.
2. We will be late to everything, every time.
Don’t you hate when people make plans for say, 5:30 P.M. and they still aren’t there at a quarter to six? Yeah, that’s us now. When you make plans for 5:30 P.M. with a kid, that means you finally get a chance to start getting ready by 5:30 P.M. We will never see the first ten minutes of the movie we said we would meet you for. The chips and salsa will be close to gone when we meet you for dinner at the new Mexican restaurant for dinner and you are just going to have to tell us how the opening act was at the concert because we aren’t going to see or hear more than half of a song from them. In fact, unless you scheduled a nap time for the baby, just feel free to lie to us about the start times of everything. It doesn’t really matter since I am now on baby time (just like Hawaii Time but with a shrieking, miniature version of myself, shitting in her pants, constantly).
3. Don’t Ring the Fucking Doorbell!
Seriously, who the hell do you think you are? I don’t give a shit how many people tell you that getting the kid used to noise is a must and thus, ringing the doorbell is a good thing. Fuck you, no it isn’t. I just got this, self-created monster, to close her eyes and go to sleep, and you go and fuck her entire day up because you can’t help yourself but you touch the lit up button that makes noise, with your finger. Listen, I know when you are coming over. This is clearly planned, discussed and confirmed about ten times over.
I know what time you are going to be here and have made arrangements for the door to be unlocked (most likely). Just come in. And if it isn’t locked? Send a text or call. My phone is on silent or vibrate so there is no fear of you awakening the baby beast. Whatever you do, do not ring that god damned doorbell.
4. The house is a mess, I am aware and don’t really care.
Even if I was a perfectionist (which I am not), the house after having a kid roommate for a few weeks, is going to look more like New Orleans post-Katrina than pre-Katrina. Baby clothes are going to be strewn about, dishes may or may not be in the sink, assuming I haven’t completely resorted to paper everything. Depending on when you come by, you may even find yourself handling a dirty diaper or two to the genie while I change my third one in the last five minutes. Yes, it is probably gross, but I doubt it is any worse than whatever it is you woke up in that morning, and at least I have a cute kid to blame everything on. You just have a bloated liver and a broken bottle of Absolut. Which reminds me…
5. Everything my kid does is cute, hilarious or advanced.
If you learn nothing else from this piece, learn this. Everything my kid does is super cute, fucking funny as hell and/or the most incredibly ingenious thing in the history of ever. If she lifts her leg when she shits, then it is all three of the above. And while it is super annoying when any other parent boasts about y? Because their average offspring’s mediocre achievements, it is different with me. Why? Because it is me, your bestie. The one who did the hand heart with you, remember? Check your phone if you don’t. That was a great night. Remember when we left and you made that weird face because you didn’t like that last shot of tequila? It was almost as funny as the face my kid made right before you got here and woke her up when you rang the doorbell…