Married Life: play dates are indisputably a lifeline for mothers

Being a parent is challenging, but there is some sweet relief in the play date. On the surface it's about the kids playing; in reality it lets tired mums bond and helps keep them sane.

There’s a fantastic BuzzFeed article that’s been making the rounds: “31 Things No One Tells You About Becoming a Parent”. My favourites are numbers 29 (“You will cram your entire adult life between the time your kid goes down and you go to sleep”) and 30 (“For a while, only you will be able to understand them, so you’ll basically become their interpreter”). This is my life.

Nowhere on that list, however, is the most important thing I’ve recently discovered about being a parent. Here’s how I’d phrase it: “You will rely on your child’s play date for your very survival.”

Play dates, it must be said, are never really for the babies and the toddlers. Play dates are for the overwhelmed, exhausted, sleep-deprived mothers teetering on the edge. Play dates provide a support network with other desperate mothers whose children are also cheerfully putting them through hell.

But here’s the catch: not any play date will do. You have to establish that network first. When I first started venturing into the World of Play Dates, I was making friends with the parents of my daughter’s friends, regardless of whether that person would be someone I’d ordinarily be friends with. Whatever, I’d say to myself. Our kids are the same age and they get along, I can learn to get along for Baby A’s sake, surely. In that sad scenario, the play date is more punishment than pleasure, a cross you have to bear, something to get through for the sake of tiring your kid out enough to ensure that that day’s nap is longer than 40 minutes.

That kind of play date is not the kind I’m talking about. I’m talking about getting lucky enough to find a group of ladies you genuinely enjoy hanging out with, child or no child. The fact that they have a child is a major bonus and allows you to label every get-­together as a “play date”.

It has reached a point where now, if Baby A is too cranky for her play date, if she seems on the verge of sleep or would rather stay at home and eat her lunch, I panic. If I succumb to her whims, then I wouldn’t be able to join that day’s play date and then where’s my fun for the day? Baby A has to be semi-comatose with raging fever for me to even consider missing a play date.

My mum friends, the ones who partake in play dates with me? They’re the ones who console me when I’ve been up all night attending to my daughter’s rib-­shattering cough. They assure me that I will survive this endless horror called teething. They make me feel better about distracting Baby A using the trusted iPad, so I can get my work done. They bring me back from the edge when I am convinced that my daughter will grow up to become a delinquent, considering how much she’s hitting her peers.

My mum friends are my Sex and the City crew. Except, instead of Cosmopolitans and Eggs Benedict at the most happening restaurant in town, we meet over animal crackers and bottles of formula and bowls of unsweetened apple sauce at one of our apartments. We compare war wounds (there’s a continuing competition over who got the least sleep the previous night) and talk about how much dieting sucks and gossip about all the other mums on the playground.

It’s the most therapeutic part of my day.

Hala Khalaf is a freelance writer based in Abu Dhabi