you know that feeling right when you hit a certain age and it’s like a bell goes off only you’re the only one who hears it and it says HEY all those things you thought were temporary all those things you were gonna get around to yeah no that’s just… life now this is it this is your life and suddenly all the mistakes you made start flashing like a bad projector reel in your head all the things you put off for LATER the grand plans the artistic endeavors the big break that never quite broke for me it’s the playgroup thing it really got me it still does sometimes you just throw yourself into something right you become the playgroup person the mom who always has the snacks the one who remembers everyone’s allergies the one who organizes the christmas party and the halloween parade and the park meetups because your kid needs friends and you need adult conversation that isn’t just about nap schedules or pureed carrots you pour yourself into it you paint little signs for the bake sale you make tiny superhero capes for the little ones you do all the things you always wanted to do but never had a reason for before the kids gave you one and you make these friendships these intense beautiful friendships with other parents who are just as sleep deprived and desperate for connection as you are you think these are your people for life you really do you’re sharing the most intimate vulnerable parts of your life the meltdowns the potty training sagas the existential dread of watching your tiny human grow and change and sometimes you’re just sitting there on a picnic blanket drinking lukewarm coffee watching the kids chase pigeons and you think WOW i’m doing it i’m building a community i’m making my mark even if it’s just with glitter glue and juice boxes and then the kids start getting older right they’re not babies anymore they’re not toddlers they’re going to pre-K then kindergarten and suddenly those bonds you thought were ironclad start to fray you hear about other kids going to different schools a few blocks away a different district and it’s like a quiet earthquake you don’t feel it at first but the cracks start to show a playdate gets canceled then another then another the texts become less frequent the group chat goes silent for days you try to rally everyone “let’s do a weekend brunch” you suggest “the kids can play” but the RSVPs trickle in slowly if at all you see them sometimes at the grocery store or the library with their new friends their new school circles and you smile and wave and say “oh my goodness how are you” and it’s always “so busy so much going on” and you know you know what that means it means you’re not part of the “going on” anymore it means your role as the playgroup organizer the glitter glue goddess has expired and suddenly you’re just… you again just the artist who used to do things the dreamer who never quite made it and it hits you how much of your identity was wrapped up in those friendships in being the “playgroup mom” and now that’s gone and it’s not like they did anything wrong right it’s just life it’s how things go kids grow up circumstances change but it feels personal it feels like a rejection of all the effort you put in all the little capes and signs all the lukewarm coffee confessions and you start to wonder if you were ever really friends at all or if it was just a convenient arrangement a temporary alliance forged in the fires of early parenthood a transaction a transaction of shared childcare and adult company that just ran its course and now you’re just… alone again with your art supplies and your half-finished canvas wishing you’d spent less time making superhero capes and more time painting something for yourself something that lasts beyond the next school year you know what the worst part is though it’s not even the loneliness really it’s the knowing that you let yourself believe it that you invested so much of yourself so much of your creative energy into something that was always meant to be fleeting you put your art on hold your dreams on pause because this felt more important more real more immediate and now you’re 56 and the kids are teenagers and they don’t need you to make superhero capes anymore and the canvases are still half-finished and the friends are gone and you’re just standing there holding a glue stick wondering what the hell you did with all that time and all that love you had to give and where it all went wrong or if it was ever right to begin with sometimes you just… you just want someone to tell you it’s okay that you did the best you could even if it wasn’t good enough for anyone to stick around