One Day, Maybe

I’m a girl’s girl. Always have, always will be. Don’t get me wrong, I can hold my own when it comes to guys – growing up with 5 older brothers will do that for you – but when it comes to friends, I prefer my core group to consist of girls. À la Sex and the City, sad as that may sound (but not as sad as living in a world where Sex and the City seems to become more and more outdated).

I want the brunches, the lunches, the drinks before dinner and the movie nights in. I want the shopping trips, the occasional gossip, the make-up tips, the somewhat arrogant simultaneous snort when a grownup wearing Crocs is spotted. I want to be able to completely bitch something out and have nodding heads instead of raising eyebrows. Because a guy would just not understand, you know?

Maybe you don’t. Maybe I’m weird. But nevertheless, these are things I absolutely need in my life.

The hardest part of moving was leaving my girlfriends behind. Because although it was something I had certainly done before, never had I ever spent such a long period of time in one place. These girls, they were not merely friends. They were my tribe. They had my back as much as I had theirs, and we survived our early twenties because of each other.

Sometimes I miss them so much it physically hurts. We stay in contact, of course, but that doesn’t help me deal with the little pangs of jealousy whenever I see a status update from the lot of them out and about, having fun. Without me. Because I’m oceans away.

I desperately need a new tribe. As much as I adore spending time with Cole and Sadie, as much as I adore my husband, as much as I adore all my sisters-in-law… I need some grown-ass lady friend time with kick ass woman that are not related to me by blood or marriage. Is that too much to ask for?

Apparently so.

Making friends while pregnant is hard. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a relatively young mom, but I don’t seem to fit in anywhere. No 30-something woman is quite on the same wavelength, and no 20-something year-old girl wants to hang out with a pregnant chick who also happens to be caring for a 6 and 2-year-old. I’m still hopeful that there are other misfits like me out there, preferably in my area, but until then…

I miss my tribe.