When C was a baby and going to the day care on campus, I met Amy, whose son was 5 months younger than C. She was working on her PhD and working and I was working campus. Her husband was working on an MBA, my husband was working in IT and they were both working on getting used to being fathers. Amy and I resolved to support each other in reveling in those early days of motherhood so we took our little ones to all sorts of classes, endless playgrounds, and, when the aquarium opened in Denver, we both bought memberships and we took the kids most weekends. We'd see the fishies, the tigers, and the otters. We'd stop at Whole Foods, get a picnic together, and take the kids to the park to eat from random deli containers and enjoy the weather (whatever it might have been). We supported each other, bonded over hours of breastfeeding, and ignored the imminent reality that once their degrees were complete, Amy would be moving. She moved even before she finished her PhD (in-demand overachiever that she is) and I missed her like crazy. I missed her son like crazy. I missed having a partner in mommy crime. She visited once, to defend her dissertation, and until today, we hadn't seen each other in 10 years.
We picked up exactly where we left off. We looked at pictures of our babies finger painting naked in the back yard (yikes we looked young!), recalled good times together, and promised to get together at least once every 10 years. You know, when our little bitty babies are graduating from college. I swear.... time flies.
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