In the early days of motherhood, I found it incredibly isolating.
It never occurred to me that my childfree friends might feel isolated too.
But then I read an ABC Life story about childfree women, which explained how women without kids often feel excluded from society and forgotten by their parent friends.
The "forgotten" accusation left me wounded. Motherhood can be all-encompassing and it was a blow to feel like I might be letting my friends down.
So I reached out to my childfree colleague Kellie Scott.
We are both in our 30s and have seen how babies change the dynamics of friendships (from different sides of the fence).
We've written letters to our friends about our thoughts.
Since having my daughter almost two years ago, it's been hectic with some soaring highs, new mother worries and tears, and endless nights of broken sleep.
And a lot of time spent alone with the baby.
Before bub arrived I had no idea what this "mother" thing was about.
The load certainly isn't what I expected. It's so much more physically and emotionally demanding sometimes planning beyond today is too much.
But here's a news flash from a new mother: I want to talk to you. I need to get out of the house. But I don't know how I can make that happen as regularly as I once did.
From managing endless loads of washing to seeing their friends less, six mums and dads share what changed in their lives after becoming parents.
There's no doubt my world has changed it's a lot smaller and yours has continued on.
I've pondered the idea that you might feel excluded by me again and again. Maybe it stems from my fear of oversharing or boring you with baby photos and stories.
I didn't mean my lack of sharing about my child's bowel movements and broken English to make you feel excluded.
I remember what it was like when a friend, high on hormones, told me that she never knew the type of love and how deep it could be until she held her newborn. I wanted to vomit on the spot.
I don't want to be that person.
I do, however, need some sort of sign that you're interested. Maybe even being OK with mess, children's music in the background and bath time.
I'd love to have a gin and tonic down at the funky bar on the corner once a week (I'd even settle for once every few months).
But even when all the planets (and shift work rosters) align, my partner is home to care for the tot and dinner is almost on the table, there's a little sense of guilt that I'm leaving at the most crucial and full-on time of the day the dinner, bath, bed routine.
I was lucky not to have to cope with postnatal depression, but a few years back it was clear something else, more insidious had happened to me. Postnatal depletion, Rebecca Huntley writes.
So please, come to me. Realise the demands of a little person are hard to work around, but that I do want to see you.
Join us for a meal because the free one-toddler show is always evolving it's maturing. Pitching food is over and saying cheers and clinking milk cups is in.
After all, in our 20s a little drama at dinner or on a night out was entertaining.
If that's not your thing, maybe doing the dishes and bringing in the clothes from the line when I'm tied up.
I'd love the company of more strong women and I need everyone I can get to be part of my village to help raise an independent girl to become a good-natured, compassionate, friendly human being.
Despite our best attempts to break down some of the barriers facing women, I know my little girl will have to grapple with the same issues we have.
You are a person I have chosen as a friend. You of all people have the kind of traits I would like to instil in her.
How can you stay close as friends when kids come along? Add your thoughts (and frustrations) in the comments.
We've been through a lot we debated children, good and bad boyfriends, and career options over dinner many times. We can do this again, please don't be put off by the interruptions.
I miss you, I need you and I want to be there for you too.
I don't know if I'll ever have a child, but in my mid-30s, I'm one of the last in our friendship group to still be wondering.
My sister-in-law recently told me the best support she had with her newborns was someone just coming around to take washing off the line, or cook dinner funnily enough, the same things Sarah talks about above.
It got me thinking about what kind of friend I've been to mums in my circle.
Maybe you're too kind to say anything, but let's face it, when I visit, I just sit around chatting while sipping my wine, sometimes as chaos ensues around me.
Yes, I come to you, but no, I'm not very useful once there.
I don't really understand how hard it is to simply do washing or cook dinner, because I haven't experienced parenthood for myself.
And you rarely complain. (Maybe that's saved for mums' group, where like-minded parents can sympathise.)
I also feel incapable of helping with a small person.
Women who choose not to have children are often labelled selfish, shallow and immature. But an increasing number are not having kids because of the ridiculous standards around motherhood.
I visited one friend and her two babies not long ago. She got really sick and my partner and I had to step up.
We were so proud we'd survived a few hours alone with the kids, until I realised we hadn't checked if they needed a nappy change.
Then I had to make a bottle and needed the neighbour to come and explain how.
If you haven't been around babies much, something as simple as changing and feeding them can be scary.
You really don't want to f*ck it up.
As for being left out, I've been one of the lucky ones.
We still see each other enough that we haven't become strangers.
Yes, there's some baby chat, but it's not all PG. We still talk about how weird bodies are, how scary Trump is, and that hilarious time we did X, Y and Z.
Like what you're reading? Sign up forthe ABC Life newsletter to see more
At this stage, the kids are still little. Perhaps if I never have children, the divide will become harder to bridge. But if that's the case I hope you are as mindful of that as I will be.
I don't want to be left behind, least of all by you.
Support, judgement, concerns about the environment and mental health, a love of pets, and thoughts about loneliness readers had a lot to say about the childfree life.
What I would say to the wonderful mothers in my life is three things.
One, please don't feel bad about asking for help. I don't get what it's like and maybe never will. I'm sorry I haven't stepped up before, but I'm very open to being bossed around. Ask me to cook your dinner, and I'll do it in a heartbeat.
Two, understand I don't always feel confident around your child. I'm constantly worried I'm going to drop them (it's happened).
Three, know that your little people are important to me. And I'll never get sick of hearing about them as long as you never get sick of hearing me talk about my dog.
Oh, and there is one more thing please find a good babysitter, because just sometimes, I want you all to myself.
Link: