I was a Rules girl through and through when my husband and I were dating.
He did the calling, the asking out, and was the one who proposed. Five years ago this summer, I was happily dangling a beautiful diamond ring with a too-large platinum band on my finger that we later had to resize. Josh and I married later that year and had a beautiful son in the summer of 2006.
And then my social life went downhill.
Slowly and surely, like a mountain that erodes away from harsh weather and seaside tidal waves, the friends I’d cultivated over the years began to gravitate away from me. And, just like those girls who make all the wrong choices and start calling and texting men and arranging dates with them in vain, I began to act desperate.
In the relationships I’ve managed to hold on to from my single days, it’s often up to me to call, email, and arrange parties or dinner dates with friends, if I want to see anybody.
When we moved to a new neighborhood and I started my life as a wife, mother, and owner of a single-family home, I reached out enthusiastically to all of the moms with kids, inviting them over for play dates, and to my son’s birthday parties.
Everyone is always very nice, very friendly. They respond with warm smiles and nods of the head when I say, “we should get our kids together.” And then they never call. I reach out time and again, when I run into these women at the supermarket, at the community pool, on our street.
Jenny, “Your Cruise Director,” is getting exhausted here. It would just be so darn nice if someone took the time to call me, arrange a date with me. If one of the neighborhood mummies showed up on my doorstep with their children, I’d probably faint from happiness—and shock.
Why am I having such rotten luck with my social life? I think the answer is I suffer from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Syndrome. I just don’t fit in. Anywhere.
The fact is, I can no longer run off on weekends and spend the day with a girlfriend shopping and having lunch. When you’re single, you don’t have anyone to answer to. Now I have a husband I have to coordinate with, and a son who craves my company on the weekends.
As a working mother, my time with family is limited and precious. And the friends from my single days can sense that. They know that I’ve changed, my life has changed. They know I can’t—and no longer crave—staying out for late dinners and going to clubs. After a long week at work and a weekend filled with activities with my husband and son, I’m ready for bed at 9 p.m.
Aside from the occasional cryptic message on Facebook, and once-in-a-blue moon lunch, I rarely see my single friends anymore. Some have hung in there with me, but most of them have moved on with their lives, making friends with other singletons, or going out on dates.
The stay-at-home moms aren’t interested in me because they want to cultivate friendships with other stay-at-home moms. The weekdays are their time to arrange play dates, so they can benefit from some adult company and break the monotonous routine in their schedule. Play dates on weekends—when a working mom like myself is free—isn’t ideal, because that’s when they catch up on chores and spend time with their husbands.
And, the working moms like myself? Well, they’re all just as isolated as I am. They might be interested in getting together with me, but faced with busy workdays and even busier weekends, arranging a play date with Jen and her son isn’t the foremost thing on their minds. Although, it’s on mine. Am I the only working mom who yearns for a social life?
