The Year of Babies

2026 was the year of the baby in my group of friends. I knew of a baby due to be born every month from March 2026 to November 2026, with mine due in June.

Alongside my week-by-week countdown, I was acutely aware of my own journey because all of my pregnant friends were reaching milestones with me at different times, depending on when their babies were due. Someone was always a little further ahead, moving through the same stage, or just behind me so we could share what to expect.

During pregnancy, I would have insomnia, and I jokingly sent “You up?” texts to my pregnant friends asking if they were awake too, feeling stressed, excited, anxious, or possibly throwing up.

We talked about the middle-of-the-night texts we would send once our babies were born. We pictured ourselves awake together through feeds, exhaustion, and whatever problem one of us would be frantically trying to solve.

There was so much communication with all these girlfriends and even the partners who were excited to be welcoming their babies. My non-pregnant and childless-by-choice friends shared in the excitement of knowing that this big change was coming.

I looked forward to entering motherhood with people I already loved.

Jordan and I have been fortunate over the years to have such good friends in our village.

We both still have high school friends. Jordan’s high school friend group has expanded over the years to include wives and girlfriends, and we have travelled together, attended one another’s celebrations, and spent time with each other’s families. The men had already been there for one another through loss and difficult experiences long before many of us were around, and they have bonded through times of both rejoicing and mourning.

Jordan and I also have close friends from our years at university together, as well as family friends and work friends. Across that collection of people, there are friendships ranging from approximately six years to more than 30 years. My chosen family of girlfriends, in particular, has really come together in the last four years.

I know that not every bereaved parent has a village this large or relationships with this much history. I share what our friends have meant to us because it is part of our experience, while understanding that not everyone will have or need this many people, and that support does not have to look one particular way.

Not every close friendship was part of my pregnancy in the same way.

One of my closest friends has been navigating infertility, and I did not talk about my pregnancy journey with her as much as I did with some of my other friends. In the season of my pregnancy, our friendship had to adapt as we both managed our own sensitivities and experiences. Yet, she was one of the first people to know when Nathan was born.

Since he died, I have noticed that I share more of the details with people who were a bigger part of my experience while I was pregnant. For me, it makes sense that I have turned to the people who understand the biggest part of my loss because they were also in the details of the biggest part of my joy.

We are both still supporting each other through different situations, and our friendship has not become any less meaningful. Like this one, some of my friendships through pregnancy already showed me that closeness could change shape without disappearing. After Nathan died, I began to see that across many of my relationships.

One of my close girlfriends was due in April. She went past her due date, and by the time she gave birth to her son, my son had already arrived and passed away. The timing was disorienting. I wanted to be her so bad.

Only days earlier, I had been recovering from my C-section while Nathan was in the NICU, and we were texting excitedly about our baby boys. We had talked about how special it would be for their birthdays to be so close together. I told my friend that I would tell her all about my emergency C-section and that we could share our birth stories.

We did not have that conversation until months later. We were in a big group when we saw each other for the first time, and it was difficult for me to see our friends, and Jordan especially, admire her beautiful little boy when I was missing mine. So, I reached out to ask if we could have a call, just us.

We talked about our sons and cried together about the beauty, the strength, the pain, and the loss in our experiences. We had brought new life into the world and changed through our emergency C-sections, recovery, and postpartum.

We both had things change unexpectedly: her birth did not go as planned, while my pregnancy ended abruptly and my first experience of giving birth happened so quickly that I struggled to be fully present. Neither of us had the experience we imagined.

And, of course, I was in sorrow, grieving Nathan and his death.

It would have been easy for us to contrast our experiences, pull away from the awkwardness, or feel separated by how our experiences of motherhood diverged. Our friendship is even more special to me now because of what we have been through and because our experiences did not need to be compared for us to recognize pieces of each other’s.

It could have felt profoundly isolating to have Nathan born and die in April with so many more babies still to come. 2026 was not only the year of babies; it was also the year of my friends making big moves, changing and growing their careers, and getting married. The greatest joys and biggest milestones continued to happen around us while Jordan and I were going through the most devastating sorrow of our lives.

Friendship after loss required all of us to become more comfortable with contradiction. We had already tried to name that tension in the message we shared after Nathan died: we wanted to be included, but we also needed room to manage how that might change moment by moment. Communicating that early helped us trust one another to be honest about what felt possible.

I could be relieved that my friend’s baby was safe and devastated that mine was not. I could attend a baby shower because I wanted to support someone I loved and leave early because staying had become too much. I could ask for my friends’ pregnancy updates and feel anxious whenever one appeared on my phone.

I did not want to be left out of the mom club we had all been excited to enter just because my baby was not here.

If I wanted to participate in conversations about C-sections, physical recovery, breastfeeding, or motherhood, I sometimes had to remind people, and myself, that those experiences belonged to me too.

I have said to my people, “You are never going to remind me that I am grieving and that my son died.”

I would rather they talk openly about their pregnancies, babies, and children than avoid the subject because they are worried about upsetting me. I am learning to integrate my grief with my remembrance of Nathan as my life goes on.

That does not mean every conversation is easy. I have friends who are hoping to become pregnant, so that anticipation remains part of our conversations even before there is news to share. Two people have told me that they are pregnant since Nathan died; both told me in ways that allowed me to manage my feelings privately. One told me in a private conversation and the other intentionally told me over text so I did not have to manage my reaction while I processed the news.

My friends also ask permission before sending me pictures of their newborns, and I appreciate this thoughtfulness. Hospital settings are especially heavy for me to see. I have also felt activated hearing stories about my friends’ children being unwell, whether it is a toddler getting sick with an infection or a baby needing extra care. Those details can bring me quickly back to what Nathan went through and the NICU, even though I care deeply about my friends and their kids.

When my friends ask first about capacity and provide different disclaimers or content warnings, I am able to take a moment to decide what details I can take in at that time. By being thoughtful about topics that may be difficult for me, my friends help me stay involved in their lives without pushing me beyond what I can handle.

I am mindful of not wanting to be “the sad friend” or make my friends feel as though they have to censor themselves, so what has worked for us is communicating openly. Some friends have told me they have caught themselves before saying something about their baby or children because they wanted to be sensitive. Others have asked how to support me if a group conversation becomes heavily focused on babies.

For me, it is less about censorship and more about empathy.

I try to be honest about what I can manage. Sometimes I step away or try to change the subject, and my friends have offered to notice and help redirect the conversation too. It can be harder in a large group, but most people have awareness and can empathize. I also have to feel comfortable recognizing and communicating my own boundaries.

I have not held any of the new babies yet, and everyone has been understanding about that. I have found “surprise babies” more difficult, like unexpectedly seeing the child of a friend of a friend at a large gathering, and people have also understood when I needed to create some distance.

Several of my friends are expecting sons, and I have been honest that little baby boys are still especially difficult for me. My friends have trusted me to know my limits, and I have trusted them to communicate theirs.

We all have to manage ourselves accordingly, be respectful of ourselves and each other, and recognize what everyone is going through.

My pregnant friends have also reassured me that my grief and anxiety do not scare them away. When they ask how I am doing, they want an honest answer, even if I am having a difficult day or feeling afraid for them. They have reminded me that they want to be there for me while I am trying to be there for them.

One of my girlfriends gave birth early after Nathan died. Her son was also born by emergency C-section and admitted to the NICU. After hearing her update, I spent the rest of the day sobbing and worrying about their family. I felt completely helpless and was surprised by the intensity of my sadness and fear.

The circumstances brought me back to Nathan’s birth, even though I knew there were important differences. Her baby had been born much later in gestation, his outlook was good, and he is now home and safe. Again, two things could be true: I could feel deeply triggered and still want to be there for my girlfriend.

Some friends who became mothers after Nathan died have told me that having their own baby helped them understand the depth of my love and grief differently. That can be hard to hear because their understanding comes from having the very thing I am grieving: their baby with them.

And you do not have to be a parent to be a good friend to someone who is grieving. I have friends who do not have children, or who never want children, who have shown up incredibly well because they care about me as a person. They know that I have been irreversibly changed, even if they cannot relate to my experience of parenthood. They continue showing up for the friend they have always known while fully recognizing me as Nathan’s mom.

One of my closest girlfriends does not want children and would definitely be the auntie helping my child get into just enough trouble. During my pregnancy, she joked that she would be at the hospital holding one of my legs and buying a new hat for the baptism. She was the only friend I spoke to on the phone when Nathan was born, calling in shock after we texted her smiling photos of us with our baby boy, and she was the first friend whose call I was willing to take after he died. Over the last few months, she has continued showing up through calls, time together, and the same humour that has helped me find moments of myself within my grief.

Our friends’ babies have continued to arrive. After Nathan died, more friends became pregnant, extending the list of babies who will be part of our lives through December and into 2027. Babies, motherhood, and pregnancy will continue to exist around me, and I do not want grief to remove me from every relationship or experience connected to them. 

Even though what we expected has changed, my friends and I continue to meet one another with trust, care, and openness. I find comfort in now knowing how much our relationships can hold, gratitude for the motherhood we share, and for the friendships that continue alongside it.