"Are your friends' little ones ruining your friendship? The problem is probably you," says the 30-something woman, who is not currently planning motherhood
Decades of progress have not helped
Part of me wanted to respond sharply. It would have preferred to say "no" with a look of contempt and Medusa-like hair. I'm too busy trying to pay the rent and find someone to date who isn't completely awful. I don't have time to think about whether I want "any of it" because "any of it" is a fantasy so far removed from my reality that I can't even imagine what it's like to want it. I won't let myself. How rude. How pretentious. How arrogant.
There's a whole cultural canon that has taught me to react this way, and it's based on dividing women in their thirties: those with children and those without. It's a constant conflict that really hasn't changed in decades despite all the social progress - just take those annoying, perpetually arriving married couples in Bridget Jones's Diary. It's one of the things that is constantly pointed out to me. And it's not just because so many of my friends have had children; three of them are due to give birth this month.
Zdroj: Giphy
Is it really "us versus them"?
In 2023, an article by Allison P. Davis documenting for The Cut how friend groups are torn apart by the arrival of tiny, crying human beings went viral, and earlier this month another article from The Cut on the subject went viral. It's clear that people want to talk about it and read about it, which keeps the "us versus them" dynamic at its very core, as well as the level of relevance.
The idea of this "great baby split" is, I suppose, based on the theory that someone like me - single, childless and living in a rented apartment - is unable to find common ground with friends who have become mothers. Our lives are simply too different, defined by dramatically different vectors with almost zero intersection. We can't talk to each other anymore because we don't understand each other. What would we do? What would we talk about? What would we laugh and cry about? This narrative seems ubiquitous and I'm frankly sick of it. Mostly because I don't identify with it at all.
Pushed away or bitter? Not the least bit
Of course, the kids have changed the dynamic within our group. Mothers get together with their offspring, and at the first birthday party a friend threw for her son, only those with children of their own were invited. When it comes to childcare, they have debates to which I have nothing to contribute and share experiences I know nothing about. But if any of this is supposed to upset me or evoke any bitterness in me, it doesn't.
I have never felt judged, pushed away or pitied by any of my mother friends. When we do get together, which I admit is less often now, though it has more to do with the fact that we're in our thirties than whether or not we have kids, we still have a great time. I don't feel that my life is any less than theirs, nor do I consider it somehow superior. It's equal, as it always has been. It just happens that our lives look a little different.
Solid foundations don't fail
I should clarify that friends who have children have been a part of my life for a very long time - one of them has been my best friend for 27 years and I've known the others since I was 12. I realise that this has a bit of an effect on things and puts me in a fairly fortunate position; when the foundation of a friendship is so strong, because it is built on years of memories, ups and downs, it tends to be quite unshakable. But that doesn't mean I'm going to hold less strict views on the "great baby split".
Let's break it down a bit. If women with children are supposedly envious of those without, and vice versa, why is that? And what does that say about the expectations we have of womanhood? And about our views on female friendships?
Friendships of single women? Different, but not worse.
At its core, this divide is based on a set of ideologies rooted in misogynistic stereotypes that dictate who is a "good" woman based on conforming to societal expectations (which is true for mothers) and who is not (hello). The conflict, I think, comes from the fact that the two are in opposition to each other, and thus one side feels compelled to constantly justify their version of womanhood to the other. Because all of us want to do everything and want to do it right, right? How dare anyone make us feel like we're not.
When you look at it that way, it's hard not to see the "great baby split" as just another way to pit women against each other. That's why I hate it and will continue to refuse to engage in it. Sure, maybe I don't have as much in common with my female friends who have children as I do with those without. But they're also not my only friends. Since leaving a long-term relationship three years ago, I've worked hard to build a network of single girlfriends. We share the same financial, romantic and emotional challenges. We are in the same WhatsApp groups. We go to parties together. We support each other. These friendships are no better than the ones with my friends with kids, they are just different.
So when my friend asked me if I wanted "any of that", I quieted my hissing hair and didn't react in the least bit harshly. I simply explained that I wasn't thinking about it right now. Not out of fear, avoidance, or resentment; I'm just focusing on something else. And that - between you and me - I feel quite happy and fulfilled as I am, without envying my friend. This shouldn't sound like a groundbreaking or even surprising statement. But it sounds like it. A lot.
© Independent Digital News & Media Ltd
Prepared for the Independent by Olivia Petter.
