Missy delivered her second daughter yesterday, a tiny little peanut she and her husband named Lauren, which just so happens to be my middle name.
I knew she was being induced in the morning, so I called her on her cell. We were on the phone during her first labor three years ago and that kid turned out to be really incredible, so I figured I better not break tradition. When she picked up the phone yesterday, she had already reached 9 centimeters. For people with limited knowledge about labor and delivery (raising hand), that's pretty close to official baby birthin' time.
"Oh Miss...you're having a baby today!" I squealed.
I don't know if it was the drugs she was on or what, but her immediate reply wasn't "I know! Weird, right?"
It was "I want you to have one too."
We met when we were 18--two sweet, silly college freshmen with interminable energy and few responsibilities beyond making our beds and passing the semester. We shared an apartment and blue jeans and inside jokes. I knew her before I got my first job, before my skin had lines, before I'd ever fallen in love.
Now we are in our thirties and our lives have changed.
She has a mortgage in Dallas, and I rent in Queens.
She is married, and I'd like to be.
She is a mother, and I am not.
I can tell she worries that I find her anecdotes about motherhood dull because I can't relate yet. I hope she knows that I don't find them dull at all, because she is the one telling the stories, and she is still the same funny, animated, silly girl I fell in love with back in college.
But mostly, I know she worries that I will not have children at all, and I will miss out on something wonderful. Sometimes I have a hard time digesting the fact that I am the age that I am and need to start making some big decisions. Sometimes I wish my biggest responsibilities were still making my bed and passing the semester.
I am struggling with these changes, because we are in our thirties, and I feel like we are still the same.
She is spunky and optimistic, and so am I.
I am goofy and playful, and so is she.
We are two friends who feel like sisters.
And for now, I'm happy enough being an auntie to her two little girls. I hope they are sisters who feel like friends.