Don’t Forget About Me

Not long ago, I spent an entire day with two of my best friends who are about to have a baby. I felt privileged to snag such a huge chunk of their time because it would be one of their last pre-parenthood days to enjoy together.

These friends are one of the reasons I decided I absolutely, positively had to live in San Francisco. I love them dearly and want to be as big a part of their lives and their children’s lives as I can.

On the way to their house, though, I had a mild estrogen attack of crying, which, as much as I hate to admit it, came from selfishness. Allow me to explain.

I may very well be the female Joey Tribiani of their lives. You may remember Joey as the only remaining single friend from Friends. Monica and Chandler, two of his best friends, are expecting a baby. They buy a house more conducive to family outside the city. As excited as Joey is for them, he worries where he’ll fit in, when he’ll see them, will they still go to Knicks games together? Can Chandler still fit him in for Baywatch and sandwiches? Will his responsible, permanently employed friends still find time for him, an unstable, unemployed actor? Or would this be the end of their friendship, save a couple of days a year when they meet up to celebrate birthdays?

I started to think about my Joey parallel and I got really sad. I’ve never worried that we wouldn’t be friends anymore. But so many things can change the dynamics of a friendship, things that demand—and deserve—time and attention. Marriage, jobs, new in-laws, and now, kids. I guess I just worried where I’d fit in. (See? I told you it was selfish.) I love these people. They’re like family. I miss them as it is and with the addition of a new baby, I worried I would get to see them even less.

But during my visit we made brunch. We talked. We read the paper. We relaxed and just hung out. We did things that they probably won’t have time to do for a very long time. And I was thrilled just to be part of it.