"I became a mum and lost my friends."

They used to be there.

Around, available, interested.

Thrilled when I fell pregnant, happy to hear of scans and dates and growing breasts, interested in baby names and colour schemes and celebrity bump comparisons. Not so interested to hear of aching feet and leaking discharge and the stretch marks.

When I went into labour they were the first people I texted, updating them between contractions, waiting in anticipation when they came to visit the very first time.

When my baby was very very young there were visits with much coo-ing and clucking over my delightful daughter. There were gifts and offers of help, they seemed interested.

But it soon became longer between drop ins and the conversations in person changed. No more confidences shared; instead my partner had become the one who shared the load.

In turn I couldn’t quite remember the buzz of office gossip or why anyone cared enough about reality TV to discuss it.

I know it was partly my fault. It’s hard to return calls or text messages that seem so unimportant when you are in the throws of your baby bubble. It’s hard to see outside your world.

I think they also got fed up with coming to me. It being on my terms. I can see that, but I found it hurtful to lose my friends. I took it personally.

The one that surprised me the most was my best friend.

We had grown up knowing each other inside out.

Always together.

We knew each other’s schedule. The best time to call when one of us would be out fetching coffee. The signal for 'lets get out of here' at a bar. The knowledge not to call on certain mornings but to wait in anticipation for a text message instead.

There one minute. Gone the next.

Well that’s how it feels.

I always thought our friendship would last forever. Bound at the hip. Soul mates.

We found each other through at school. She was my protector, my entertainer, my crutch. It was love at first sight. Did you have that kind of friendship too?

Nothing could come between us.

Until it did.

Kids.

I had them. She didn’t.

She was the first to drift away and then the rest.

She visited with them to begin, but never wanted to hold my daughter, only asked after her when prompted, and it left me confused and puzzled as to why she didn't seem to cherish my daughter as much as I did.

Our contact became limited to Facebook likes and promises though messenger to catch up soon.

But we never did.

Oh there were the mummy friends - those I was thrust together with by a local baby clinic in the hopes that because we had all recently given birth we would bond.

Some did.

Some didn’t. But they arent’ real friends are they? It’s hard to even talk to them through the fog of exhaustion and when you do the conversations are simply about “baby”.

It’s all that can occupy your brain space.

By the time I had my second child my old friends were almost non-existent. They liked my baby announcement, one sent a card after the birth but that was it.

I think if I looked back fifteen years I would have been stunned to think our friendships could fall apart so easily, that they were so flimsy. So built on nothing.

Alone – and with only my partner as my friend our relationship became strained until he begged me to stop being so solitary.

I tried. I reached out to my oldest friend. She still hadn’t had children. She had never confided why and I didn’t ask but I wonder if whatever that struggle was had contributed to her pulling away.

This time I tried something radical.

I phoned.

No more Facebook, no text messages – a voice.

She seemed more interested in my children and selfishly I must confess that helped.

We reconnected. While we aren’t what we used to be it’s a different type of friendship one more mature, mellower, less intense.

I think my tale isn’t a new one - many women retreat into themselves, become insular and focused primarily on their babies after birth it seems almost natural.

The friends I have now are fewer but more meaningful.  It’s not a new tale, but it is one with a happy ending.

Did you find your friendships changed when you became a mother?