Me and my friend sometimes pretend we've no children

I have a friend who pretty much refuses to chat about her children.

While she worships the ground they walk on, she just doesn’t feel their achievements or progress are appropriate topics of conversation when chatting with another adult, unless of course, it's her partner.

“Parents only ask you about your own kids, so they can start boasting about theirs,” she told me over a glass of wine one evening.

When I started to argue the toss and claimed I was wholly interested in her three beautiful under-tens, she diplomatically talked me down.

“Yes, I know, I know. You think they’re great and I know yours are yadda yadda yadda, but did we really organise a girl’s night out solely to talk about Evan’s report card? I know I didn’t.”

She had a point.

Still not utterly convinced, however, I pleaded: “But what about manners? It’s right to ask how other people’s families are doing.”

With the kind of patience you might reserve for an especially dim-witted dog, she said: “Yes, which is why I say ‘great, thanks’ and then I move on. “

Opening my mouth to protest, she raised a hand and repeated: ”And then I move on.”

Our conversation got me thinking.

Mine and Kate’s friendship is one which has endured.

We’ve seen each other through our teen years, our first foray into the ‘real world’ and we played parts in each other’s bridal parties and family occasions, but when we’re together it comes down to her and I.

How she feels about her new boss. How I feel about my bank manager. What she thinks of my latest manicure. What I think of her latest haircut.

I have many other current friendships which blossomed in my teens, but they appear to revolve solely around our role as mothers these days.

In other words, I only seem to know these women as mums lately, but I know Kate for herself.

The no-kids rule wasn’t strictly implemented by her nor did I get a memo decreeing she wouldn’t share a bottle with me if I so much as mentioned Alex’s latest case of nits, but her silence spoke volumes.

So I stopped asking and she never started.

And I’ll be honest, meeting Kate for dinner or phoning her on the weekend far outweighs any interaction or exchange I have with the rest of my social circle.

We’re not mums when we’re together.

We’re just us and it’s perfect.