Pia Hansen: You can miss out on a lot by not keeping in touch

Last week, my friend Elizabeth had a baby. I’ve known Elizabeth since I moved to Spokane in 1993, and her oldest son is my son’s best friend. The two boys have known one another since before they could walk.

Elizabeth’s household is much bigger than mine, now counting five children ages newborn to 14, the corresponding dad and various pets.

My household counts one kid and one cat.

We were both stay-at-home moms when we met. Soon, I went back to school and on to work, but as our lives took different paths we remained friends.

Our boys grew up playing soccer, attending summer camps and slumber parties together, riding bikes, building with Legos and watching movies, and as they grew older they took to traveling freely between each other’s houses – equally at home in both places.

So, when my son called from Elizabeth’s house announcing that she had a new baby, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

But I was, because I didn’t know she was pregnant.

Go ahead, spit out your coffee – I just about choked on my tuna sandwich when I got the call. My lunch companion thought the president had died, judging from the expression on my face.

How could my friend be pregnant without me knowing about it?

As I drove over to her house, I tried to remember the last time I’d actually seen Elizabeth. Sure, we’d talked on the phone, coordinated a soccer run here or a weekend stay there, but I hadn’t actually seen her outside of her minivan since before Christmas.

At that time she didn’t look pregnant.

Know this: Elizabeth is a small person so there’s no way the normal full-term pregnancy she had would disappear on her.

I just hadn’t seen her.

This winter, we’d missed each other at a couple of gatherings, but I attributed that to a busy schedule of dance recitals, school work and band practice – it never occurred to me that she was laying low because she was pregnant.

Reluctantly I had to admit it: My winter was a busy one, and I’d lost touch. Ouch.

And I felt bad. Is this what it means when you take a friend for – please say it isn’t so – granted? Ouch, once more.

And what kind of parent am I when I don’t know what’s going on in the household where my son spends a good part of his free time? Oh, horror.

The backseat of my car was full of guilt as I headed to the flower shop.

It all vanished 20 minutes later as I got to hold the baby. I hugged Elizabeth and we looked at each other and said simultaneously, “You just forget how small they are,” and my heart sang because everything we always had was still there.

Then Elizabeth began to explain: She is over 40, and this beautiful little blond boy was a surprise.

She worried that something could go wrong. She worried about the questions people would ask – considering that she already has a big family by today’s standards, and considering the unbelievable bluntness with which strangers plow intimate questions into your life.

She didn’t feel like explaining or justifying, so a decision was made to not make a big announcement or a lot of fuss over the pregnancy.

It all made sense to me.

As my shock wore off, I began to realize that there was one person in the room who should have caught on: my son.

“How could you not notice? Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you keep this a secret?” I pelted him with questions.

My otherwise super-perceptive son said he simply didn’t notice.

No, he was not sworn to secrecy.

“Perhaps not noticing a huge pregnant belly is a boy thing?” I asked, not letting him off the hook.

That’s when he finally said, “Mom, it’s not my fault that you hadn’t seen Elizabeth in a long time.”

Ouch one last time, but how true that is.