I’ve made a new friend.

She’s married to a fellow sailor serving with my husband.  They just had their wedding. They’re trying to have kids.

Our husbands were positively giddy to get us together.

So, I made my best chicken parmesan, and they came over, and everything was nice.  She was sweet and kind and she definitely expressed interest in keeping me company during the upcoming deployment.

I, of course, know what it’s like to be new and lonely to this life.  And I would never want someone to be in that position, and I could always enjoy the company of an actual adult, as well.

Except there’s one little problem.

I am a mom with two little girls.

I do this writing gig in my spare evening hours while they sleep.  I have some volunteer work I do. I enjoy reading and shopping and cooking.

But most of my socializing is done with other mothers.

We stand as a tribe at playgrounds, Costco, story time – tired, covered in yoga pants and spit-up food.  We crave coffee and the chance to watch a television show that is not Peppa Pig.  We hope and pray for silence; for floors not covered in Playdough, sandbox dirt and little mismatched socks.

She, meanwhile, has a clean house.  She’s well-rested.  Silence is, often, deafening.  Her kitchen cupboards are filled with foods she likes.  If she wants to go out, she can.  If she wants to stay in, she can.

She has nice clothes and never talks about poop.

And I have absolutely no idea how to hang out with anyone that cool.

Sure, I used to.

I, too, once had nice clothes and clean floors and Saturday mornings to sleep in.

I used to go out.  Get my nails done.  Drink wine and have fun without worrying about paying a babysitter.

I was cool.

But I’ve forgotten how to do that.

I have no idea where to invite her. 

“Would you like to go shopping with my children and me?” is an invitation that lacks a little luster.

“Come on over tonight!  We’ll heat up some leftovers for the kids and sneak bites of cake when they aren’t looking!” sounds downright depressing.

My fellow mothers get it.

But will she?

And just like a teenager nervous on the first day of school, I fear rejection.

If we don’t have little minions clinging to our legs and shrieking like banshees, I’ve forgotten how to bond with other women.

And now I feel beholden to this sweet, deserving girl, who needs a friend. 

And all I can think to invite her to, is Trader Joes.