It’s 6 p.m., the precarious hour between dinner time and bedtime. The kids are in the bathtub begging for more bubbles, I am in the kitchen cleaning up the never-ending array of dishes, and my husband is mindlessly watching Sports Center while scrolling on his phone.
I feel a pang of guilt as I look at my phone and see the missed calls from clients, a text from my mom I haven’t responded to in four hours, and the never-ending tick of unread and unanswered emails.
Then there is the text from the one person who gets it, my best friend.
She doesn’t need an explanation as to why I haven’t been able to text her back. She is in the same boat, the same stage of life. We both wait for that magical hour of 8:00 when the kids are in bed and we can text about what episode we’re on of the latest Netflix show we are both binge-watching.
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I think back to when our friendship started, at the tender age of 15, and think about how much we both have grown. As friends, as wives, and as mothers.
She is every friend I need wrapped up in one: my mom friend, my advice-giving friend, my double-date friend, my karaoke friend, and the friend I can vent to who I know will listen with absolutely no judgment.
Our friendship has morphed throughout the years, being exactly what we needed it to be at the correct time.
High school years were inseparable, being there for each other during the emotional ups and downs a high schooler has. Through college we found our own independence and forged our own paths, yet when we got together it was as if no time had passed. The beginning years of marriage brought us closer again, being a listening ear to each other as we found ourselves in new roles and uncharted territory. But nothing brought us closer than the monumental change of becoming mothers.
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She is way more than “just” my mom friend, although she is that too. Yes, we have shared recipes for homemade diaper cream, talked about our favorite brands of diapers, and offered support during the excruciating days of breastfeeding.
But our friendship goes deeper than that.
She is the person I call when I have a terrible day, when I feel like I am not a good enough mom. She knows the challenges I face while being a stay-at-home mom while juggling a new career as a realtor. I listen as she shares her conflicting feelings of guilt while dropping off her daughter at Grandma’s house, yet also relief for some quiet time at work. We are vulnerable with each other in the most comforting way, to know we are never alone.
We recently went on a long overdue girl’s trip. It was pure bliss of drinking a full cup of warm coffee, enjoying a delicious dinner without a toddler on our laps, and staying up until 2 a.m. in our pajamas laughing about the good old days of the past and sharing wishes for our future.
I came home feeling incredibly recharged and incredibly grateful for the friendship we have.
by Whitney Fleming 
by Jorrie Varney 
