I’m at that stage in life where boozy weekend brunches have been replaced by 7 a.m. yoga classes, and the group chat reads more like a parenting confessional than a NSFW Reddit thread. If you haven’t guessed, I’m in my 30s, and while many of my friends are enjoying a child-free (by choice) life, a handful of us now fall into one of three categories: new moms, moms-to-be or on the path of trying to conceive.
As I write this, I’m eight months pregnant (and feeling it). Like any new experience, pregnancy comes with a lot of firsts—some you can prep for, many you cannot. When I first found out I was expecting, I went into full-on research mode. I read the books, downloaded the apps and listened to the podcasts, but the biggest hurdle I ended up facing was one I never saw coming: While I was happily pregnant, my best friend was struggling with infertility. And it put a strain on our 20+ year friendship.
Fertility on its own is a sensitive topic. Throw in societal norms, social stressors and a few raging hormones and you’ve got a ticking time bomb of super-charged emotions. As lifelong friends, I knew we’d be able to work through this challenging time (and I’m happy to say, we have). But as I reflect on how I handled the situation over the past few months, there was one major misstep I wish I could take back. Early on in my pregnancy and in the thick of her fertility treatments, I assumed she wanted space. I assumed she didn’t want to be around me.

My plan was to eliminate the pregnant elephant in the room entirely, but by doing so, I also put distance between us—an inadvertent fallout at a time when we both really needed each other.