My Son Has a Better Social Life Than Me – and Honestly, I’m OK With It

There was a time when I was the one with the busy calendar. The brunches, the drinks, the dinners that started on a Thursday night and somehow stretched into Sunday.

I remember group chats where we debated what we were wearing and what beach club had the best cocktails. Now, the most active group chat on my phone is ‘Community Mums’ and the biggest dilemma of the day is whether anyone can give little Amelia a lift to piano lessons.

My son, Rafferty, has an ECA every single day (that’s Extra Curricular Activity, but if you’re in the same situation as me, you already know this.) Then there are the playdates, the after school park trips, and the impromptu weekday dinners that only kids seem to be able to do without planning weeks in advance. And don’t get me started on school holiday schedules - his is stacked. And the best bit? I didn’t plan a single one. I’m just the unpaid PA with a family calendar that now rivals my work one. And I have one child. Just one. I’m scared to imagine how my calendar might look with anymore!

During half term, I watched his social diary fill faster than mine has in years. While I was still deciding whether I could get out of that dinner I had planned months ago, he had daily plans, all organised via the nannie’s grapevine. They’re slick. Efficient. They’ve got this down to a fine art. Not once have I heard one of them say, “Let’s definitely plan something soon’, and then forget all about it.

I used to be the one with the packed diary. I loved it, the evenings out, the getting ready with a glass of wine and a wardrobe dilemma. But somewhere between becoming a mum, managing a full-time job, and working out what on earth to make for dinner every night, I quietly stopped chasing plans. And now? I quite like being at home. I like quiet. I like crashing on the sofa to watch the latest Netflix drama. If that makes me boring, so be it. The irony is when I do manage to meet up with friends, it's usually because our kids are at the same birthday party. Some of my closest friends are now the parents of my son’s friends, because that’s who I see the most.

But here’s the thing, I’m not resentful. My son is happy. He loves his friends. He loves his packed diary. He’s thriving. My season of peak socialising had its time, and it was great. But this season? This quiet-ish, unhurried, watch-from-the-sidelines stage? It’s kind of perfect too.