Oil and Water

A friendship died today. Not a real death, but the parting of ways when there are 'irreconcilable differences,' as they say in divorce court. This felt like a divorce. It's a friend who refuses to know my children. Has no interest. And I am no longer a complete person without them. That was that. She sees me now as one of the "others" - a parent of young children, completely obsessed ('as it well should be', she adds). I like to think I have a few more layers, but I can imagine how one-dimensional my life seems through the lens of this blog. Do we inevitably arrive at the point in life where we must divide ourselves into DINKs (double income no kids) and parents? Do we speak such completely different languages that we can no longer understand each other? A family member told me recently that I, "have too much time on my hands," given all the blogging I do. I spend the day changing my children's diapers, and I stay up past my bedtime at night writing about it. I would argue that it's the one thing I do for myself. I make the time to blog because, somehow, its therapy for me. But, my friend's harsh comments remind me that I need to keep my head above water, to not drown in toddlerdom, destined to wash ashore in an empty nest in 20 years and wonder where my life went. As much as her words about my children stung, I wonder: Am I the one being selfish? Should I just casually accept some ebb and flow of devotion over the course of a lifelong friendship? Maybe this is not a death at all. Perhaps the silences, once broken, make us stronger.