The Girl Can't Take It: Women Need Women and Little Black Dresses

Is there any such thing as a guiltless mother?

When I quit my job to stay home with the kids I thought I would have all this time on my hands. I honestly did. Don’t laugh at me, Mothers. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to be home. I thought I’d be able to organize things around here, finish decorating the renovations to make it feel like home, and spend time writing what I wanted to write—not what clients or bosses needed me to write. I started my blog around this time. And I got back to my journalistic roots—I began pitching stories to news outlets again. I had things I wanted to accomplish. I had lofty goals.

Things that inhibit creativity. Of course, you Mothers are snickering at me right now because you know what I didn't—I can hardly do anything. I can’t take on the work I want, or the work will suffer. And if the work is good, the kids suffer, because that means they were neglected. And my husband doesn’t think we should have a child care expense if I am home. So I feel kinda stuck. It’s a super hard thing to admit, cause the kids are so deliciously adorable. But everything I read tells me this feeling is normal. It's all that guilt that comes with motherhood and wanting to fulfill your childhood dreams of what you thought you'd be when you grew up. I’m finding that I am losing a little bit of me more and more every day, but my kids must be gaining because they are pretty happy. Especially the teenager, who now has a personal chauffeur to take her all over town. Still, I can’t help but miss myself.

Things you can't live without. Truth is, I think about writing all the time. To me, it's like this great girlfriend you want to spend more time with, but can’t because things keep coming up. Pretty soon, six months go by and you still haven’t seen each other. As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what happens with my girlfriends. But you do keep in touch. Because you text these ridiculously long conversations about daily life. I love texting. It's just convenient and fast. (And technically, I am writing something.) It’s so much better than email ever was. Kind of like how some laud Lady Gaga as a better version of Madonna. People everywhere are inspired by rare Grade A beef head pieces, bubbles, and sparks coming out of their crotch. It got us to totally forget about that weird sex book and pointy bustier. I remember in high school how we suntanned on the tennis courts, uniforms hiked, listening to "Borderline." Those were the days...lace gloves were cool and so was your Boy Toy belt. But trends fade. Email got formal. IM was fun for awhile, but who wants to be tied down to a computer? Then along came texting, and now I can't imagine a life without my iPhone.

Things that take too long and sounds you never want to hear. Anyway you want to debate it (pointy bustiers vs. meat), I do realize this is a sad commentary on language and friendship (and fashion—yeah, I said it). Madonna got old, so did the girls that worshipped her, and so did conversation and getting together. Or so it seems in my world. I think a majority of me and my friends just don’t have time to talk. I hardly ever answer the phone. An actual speaking conversation doesn’t fit into my life right now. It takes too long. With texting, you can pick up wherever you left off, whenever you want. And that really works when you have a baby that always wants to be held. (A gr8 workout, btw. My rms r totally pumped.)

Of course, you can’t hear someone’s inflection, tonality, or cadence—or see their forehead rise when they utter, “OMG! What the heck is she wearing?”

Cadence and tonality are especially important. I once broke up with a guy over the way he said my name, “KaRRRRReNNNN.” His consonants were so hard it sounded like he was smashing metal cans in his mouth.

Girlfriends are good for our health.

Things that keep friends connected. The other day my girlfriend and I texted: “Hey, let’s get together in an hour.” And we did. So I packed up my two youngest, grabbed the double stroller, and headed over to her house for a long walk along the beach. It was so great to catch up in person. Last time I saw her, I was pregnant and it was our 25^th high school reunion. The baby is now 7 months. This is possibly my oldest friend. We were part of a girlfriend group that went Friday night ice skating together in grammar school, survived Sister Mary’s Latin class in high school, were cheerleaders for the boys school, visited each other in college, introduced each other to boyfriends, husbands, were in each other’s weddings, grew apart, came back together, grew apart, only to find a common ground in technology so we can text long conversations about—absolutely everything and nothing.

Points important to make but take too long. The point of all this rambling is: Women need women. We need girlfriends to guide us, to console us, to bond with over similar interests, to introduce us new to things, to text with during Glee, to brag to about our kids, to get ridiculously silly with over wine—while we whine about how life is too busy to see each other because the kids keep us so busy. And, most importantly, to help us through the rough times when you feel guilty because you feel like you have lost a bit of yourself in motherhood. Husbands are nice to have, but they’ll never be your girlfriend. And they'll never feel that same guilt we do. Plus, they’ll never go to your favorite movie unless you strike a deal to see three of theirs. That’s one “Old School,” one “Wedding Crashers,” and a “two-for-one” Hangover DOUBLE to a single viewing of “When Harry Met Sally.” Long live Frank the Tank and the Wolf Pack.

Things we need. Women have been forming posses long before bromance movies came along. And apparently it’s good for our health. No, really. This article I read recently discussed reasons why hanging out with your girlfriends is imperative. It actually cited a UCLA study that concluded “girlfriends are stress-busters for women and have an impact on overall mood.” When we’re together, we release oxytocin and some serious euphoria happens! And if you are a new to this staying-at-home mother stuff like me, a little euphoria can go a long way. The study also goes on to say that our risk of death decreases the more we are around our girlfriends. You need your girlfriends to talk you down off that ledge.

Conversations so silly, they're needed. So, ladies, I wanted to share a fun night me and my girlfriends had years ago but could absolutely be relevant today. Naturally it started with alcohol, which led to some silly reminiscing, then moved on to more serious conversation that we discussed FOR HOURS. It went something like this: “If you were on a deserted island which cuisine would you bring? What CD would you bring? Which book would you bring? Which shoes would you bring?” "Which of your friend's husbands would you bring? (there's always one troublemaker in the group!)" “Which Little Black Dress would you bring?” And as we each drew our favorite black dress while we sipped our wine (no one answered the husband question), we were connecting and enjoying, releasing oxytocin and developing a pulse again—to help us get through guilty motherhood moments. We really lived it up that night. We had to. Who knows when we'll all see each other again? At least there's texting.

Essentials for a deserted island: Black Dresses