Dear Mom Friend,
I think you’re amazing. Smart, beautiful… funnier than Conan even. I love hanging out on the front porch with you and sharing a bottle of wine. I don’t mind making a dozen Rachel Ray casseroles to help you out, and I enjoy going out with our mom friends with you, and you make hitting the gym more fun than the funeral it would usually feel like.
I love you to death. But my lock-my-mouth-swallow-the-key secret? I don’t like your kids. (Insert appropriate emoji here). I know they’re just kids and not the pint-sized Biff Tannen and Regina George that pop up in my head when I see their faces. But honestly, I’d rather meet you out. Without them.
I’ve never known you without kids. The whole reason we met in the first place was thanks to a mom group. I like talking about kids with you. But I just don’t like being around yours. Heck, I’m sure other moms in our group don’t like my kids. I probably wouldn’t be friends with them anymore if I knew that — fer sure. Which is why I feel bad even writing this. But I have to get it off my nursed-to-death, tennis-ball-in-a-tube-sock-looking chest.
I feel hangover-sick when your kids start playing with my baby instead of someone else’s tiny terror at the playground. I get mad spending money on your kids’ birthday presents (but I do it). I cross my fingers that when my kids ask for a playdate, they don’t ask for your kids — or if they do, I tell them with my fingers crossed behind my back that I think you’ve got plans already. I’m sure your kids will grow up to be nice people. After all, you are a really great mom — better even than Carol Brady (without the mullet). I really mean it. I just don’t like your kids.
I feel like Mean Girls right now. Our Starbucks-and-boxed-wine-fueled friendship would die if you knew. And I don’t want it to be murdered. You’re awesome, and I don’t want to you to cry, and I love that you’re in my life. We’re on the same how-to-make-your-kids-eat-their-organic-veggies page in Parents magazine. We get each other. We’re as close as Elsa and Anna… at the end of the movie. You (and pre-gaming) make recitals bearable. We see you everywhere all the time. It’s like Pokemon Go with you and your kids and me and my kids. And I really do want to see you. Just not with your kids.
Don’t worry, I don’t take it out on your kids. We are not on Toddlers and Tiaras or Real Housewives. I know I’m the adult here. I promise your kids won’t ever find out how I really feel. I swear you won’t know I feel this way ever, too. ‘Cause I love being friends with you. I just don’t like your kids.
Your BFF4Evah,
Me
