THE BMF- it sounds like the title of a new Disney movie about a magical, mystical giant. Or a knife-wielding super ninja Bad-ass Motherf—- well, you know… and it’s kind of both. As rare as a unicorn. It’s the BEST MOM FRIEND.
In order to become the best mom friend, you must be born into the role, or somehow get past that mysterious, awkward stage of being “so and so’s mom” in another woman’s phone. You have to jump through flaming hurdles, and limbo under the lowest bars imaginable to reach that level with another mom. It’s the only time in life being “friend-zoned” is the ULTIMATE BE-ALL, END-ALL GOAL.
This isn’t just a friend of convenience, it’s someone you actually look forward to setting up play-dates with. It’s not just someone you have awkward conversations with while your kids run around screaming, but someone you can chat with about anything. She has to be a lady you are close enough with, who knows you and your kids well enough, to have your backs–but who also isn’t scared to call your kid on their shit, or tell you when you’re being nuts. Someone who you won’t instantly snap back at because you know she isn’t judging you or your parenting, she can just tell you’re about to lose your damn mind.
The BMF is a Best Friend PLUS, because it isn’t just you she has to be besties with. It’s your kids. And your kids have to be besties. Well, I guess they don’t have to be, but it sure makes things better. You basically become second moms to each other’s kids. You’re gonna trade them like cards when one of you needs a break, or wants to go out. Hell, you’re gonna go out together without the kids.
She has to be your ride-or-die chick. She has to be the kind of person who, even if she disagrees with how you choose to raise your children, respects you enough to let you do you.
It’s basically like finding the holy grail, because more often than not, if we aren’t gifted a BMF by our pre-kids selves, we find ourselves searching for one and coming across so many sanctimonious, judgy, “I would never do that” types. The “how dare you discipline my child?”, condescending, stick-up-the-butt types, that we just stop looking.
Finding your BMF isn’t as easy just wandering through the forest and bumping into her. The title may be bad-ass, but this isn’t Disney. It takes time, years, even. Dedication. Sifting through a lot of judgy bullshit and pointless drama. So if you have a BMF, go to her right now and tell her the following words:
“Thank you so much for being my BMF, and not a sanctimonious twat.”
Not all of us are so lucky.
@AtypicalMiriam I am frightening *and* tall 😂
@AtypicalMiriam He fears me. I am the only female I this house. All penis people live in fear.
Me: Just ripped the ass out of my pants. I mean, they were OLD pants, but I feel like it's because I was bigger than I was 10 years ago. 10yo: Everyone's bigger than they were 10 years ago! I am! Me: YOU WERE AN INFANT 10 YEARS AGO 10yo: ... 10yo: *slowly backs out of room*
Person on tv: Age is just a number! 10yo: Yeah, a number that pulls you closer to death.
Party animal over here pic.twitter.com/OVpKPuu4Yc
Proving to my kids that they ARE Friends goo.gl/fb/QbSSNp
Writing my next book Me: My period inspired a whole new chapter! Husband: Your lack of period inspired a whole book... Me: pic.twitter.com/fpNHwnYeAF
The card my kid made me at school. I truly don't know why I expected anything different 😂😂 pic.twitter.com/T7nai0ycqS