Warning: this post isn't funny. The sentence before this one is not a joke. I mean, there might be parts that are slightly funny but that is just pure luck.

So I have this best friend and we'll call her Wendy.

We'll call her Wendy because that is her real name. She said I could use it so we are good to go.

I wrote about her once before in my Boys Vs Girls post.

We've been friends since before kids. Before marriage even. So basically forever.

I'll never forget the night we met. It was at a wine tasting that my boyfriend (now my husband) and I were hosting at our apartment.

Our conversation went the usual way, "Blah, blah, what do you do?"

So she tells me she just up and quit her good job to go to culinary school. My reaction was along the lines of, "What? That is allowed?"

I quit my shitty job about six months later to follow my own dreams. (Thank you, Wendy.)

Culinary school! She liked cooking. I liked eating. "Hey, why don't we become friends?" So we did. It was settled.

We were friends, our boyfriends were friends. The four of us hung out often. Dinner parties. New Years. Grilling in the backyard. It was awesome.

Then they got married!

After the wedding and reception, we went back to their hotel room at the winery to share a special bottle of port (because fortified wine is exactly what you need after a night of heavy drinking) with them. The guys were smoking cigars and chasing a bat that flew in through the open door.  Wendy and I kicked off our heels and layed on the couch, slurring our words.

We did eventually leave them alone on their wedding night.

She was right though, he proposed and I got married six months later.

Then she got pregnant. And then so did I. Pregnant at the same time!

But then I had a miscarriage. And that sucked.

She knew just what to say. She was the only one who understood.

(Thank you, Wendy.)

So she had a baby and I eventually got pregnant again.

She was the veteran. I relied on her to keep me sane.

Wendy reacts to my anxiety by reassuring me and making fun of me in equal parts.

Which is exactly what I need 99% of the time.

The other 1% is when I need actual advice. She helped with that too. Like after I pushed a nine pound baby out of my hooha. I called her.

She told me to take care of myself. To take as many sitz baths as possible, several a day. Drink water. Rest. "Take care of yourself and you'll be fine!" She was right. (Thank you, Wendy.)

So she had a baby and then I had one. Then she had two. Then I had another one. It was great that we staggered them this way because we got to share stuff that you can't share with just anyone.

The only bummer was that one of us was either pregnant or nursing or both. For six years. So the binge drinking has been on pause for quite some time. We still pass out on the couch together, but from sleep deprivation instead of wine.

Through these years I have shared with her my deepest, darkest.

And she shines a light on them. (Thank you, Wendy.)

I'm thankful that we've gotten to go on this parenting journey together.

And that we're still having fun.

Getting our families together now creates an instant party!

Add her two golden retrievers in to the mix (and two cats that keep to themselves) and we officially have a zoo. A fun, chaotic, happy zoo.

Zoo schedules can be hard to manage, so we often keep in touch via phone.

One of us calls the other one...

Hours go by...

And we realize we haven't made dinner yet.

We've both admitted to not answering the phone when the other one calls, knowing several hours of conversation are in store. Not that we don't want to chat. Just that sometimes kids need to be fed or bathed or put to bed. Darn things.

So the other day she calls. She asks me how I am and I blab on forever as usual. Then she says...

I sense her unease. And I fear the worst. The worst being that they are moving away.

But it was actually much worst than that.

Much, much worse.

Fuck.

 

My best friend, Wendy, was diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer in March. You know, the worst kind. This means it is "treatable not curable" which means it isn't going away and there is an endless battle ahead of her. She has three young children. She is my age. You can read more of her story in her own words here on Girl Crush.

October is breast cancer awareness month. Did you know that? I didn't. But I'm very aware of breast cancer now so I don't need a month to remind me.

Did you know that one in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime? Do you know how many women are reading this? More than eight I figure. It could be any one of us. Any one of us. I'm guessing some of you are dealing with this right now, already. My heart goes out to you.

Please, go feel yourself up. Please, go tell your friends to feel themselves up. Please make an appointment with your doctor if you haven't lately.  We have to take care of ourselves. Mothers suck ass at taking care of themselves. But you need to. And you deserve it. We all do.

Cross posted with author permission from Parenting. Illustrated With Crappy Pictures.