Motherhood made me a terrible friend. Or perhaps I should stop blaming external circumstances and take ownership of my actions.
I was a terrible friend.
There, you have it.
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When I became a mother, I became a lousy friend.
At 26, I was the first of my close friends to have a baby.
Before my 30th birthday, I was already a mother of two. When I got married, I had every intention of enjoying marital bliss and life as a young professional for a long time prior to even thinking about starting a family.
But as luck — and life — would have it, I found myself strapped with the responsibilities of caring for a newborn exactly nine months after my wedding.
It was a Friday night when I finally took a pregnancy test. My increasingly aching breasts and late menstrual cycle had been causing me concern for a week, but I was still sure there was no possible way we could have conceived the one time we slipped up and didn’t use protection.
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