If I could point to the moment our friendship changed, that would be it. Now it was Em's turn to play guidance counselor, to lead me by example. And considering the daunting stack of pregnancy books (spines yet uncracked) on my bedside table, it was a relief to just put myself in her hands.
Over the next seven months, Emma and I grew closer than we'd been in a long time. I think she was enjoying a break from her decades-long pursuit of harder glutes, leaner abs, and 10 percent body fat. And I was grateful to her for watching out for us pregnant ladies in this dangerous new world of polycarbonate plastics and tainted fish.
Honestly, I couldn't remember the last time I'd turned to Emma for advice before this—she'd seemed so wrapped up in her own dramas (the absentee brother, the crooked accountant, the pancake-pushing mother-in-law) that there hadn't been an opportunity. Or had I just been underestimating her? I didn't stop to wonder, just touched her name on my cell whenever I needed to know: Was hard goat cheese okay? (Yes.) Could I order the steamed mussels? (No.) How many times per month, again, could I eat tuna? (Four.) Never impatient with my questions, Emma would even call me back the next day to follow up on what I'd eaten. None of this struck me as the least bit weird. It was a full-access friendship, and I loved it.
Then our babies were born, two months apart. Emma's could have been a poster child for La Leche League, while my little ingrate was staunchly antiboob. I became depressed about my failure to breast-feed, but when Emma tried to help, I was surprised to find, I only felt worse. "You have to hold it like a sandwich," she said one day as I sat in her living room, attempting to convince my newborn that breast was best. "Do you mind...?"
I shrugged, and Emma, grabbing my breast as if it were a hoagie, shoved it into Finn's squalling mouth. Miraculously, he started to suck.
"There!" said Emma, beaming. "See, he wasn't latching on properly, and you're obviously stressed, so your letdown was probably too slow. Have you tried fenugreek?"
Next Page: "I hated her a little..."








