Go Ahead, Take A Platonic Babymoon

The drizzle began as Roshan and I wound through the narrow, cobblestone streets of Stresa, a lakeside town in northern Italy. Huddled under an umbrella, we stopped to enjoy the view: snow-capped mountains and tiny islands topped by colorful historic villages.

I was about to turn back when she held up her phone and said, “Wait! Stand there.” I burst out laughing because I knew exactly what she was thinking. Eleven years ago to the very day, on another rainy beach in Italy, she snapped a pitiful photo of me frowning under a crumpled umbrella.

Re-creating the picture was fitting, because this was no ordinary vacation. It was special because Roshan was seven months pregnant with her first child. We’d traveled a lot together since meeting in college, but this would be the last time before her entire world shifted.

The term “babymoon” was coined in 1996 by Sheila Kitzinger, a childbirth expert, to describe the early days of parents bonding with their newborns. The meaning morphed over time, and today, it’s understood to be a couple’s last trip before an infant’s arrival — a chance to relax and connect. But romantic relationships aren’t the only kind that deserve tending before parenthood.

Friendship is a slippery thing, constantly taking new shapes as you each graduate, move, enter new relationships, and have kids. We rarely pause to appreciate the current moment before it morphs into something else. There are plenty of opportunities to toast to your inner circle (birthdays, bachelorette parties, weddings), but few occasions to honor the relationships themselves. In the absence of a widespread tradition, it’s time to create one: the platonic babymoon.

I live in New York and Roshan lives in Zurich. Another friend was getting married in France in April, and I hoped to swing by Roshan (relatively speaking) on the same trip. Once she got pregnant, I realized how meaningful the timing would be. It’d be one final hurrah, a chance to intentionally celebrate our friendship before her life changed for good.

She and her husband were already planning a long weekend getaway to Stresa, and they invited me to join. I couldn’t wait.

When I met Roshan 11 years ago, we were both college students studying abroad in Paris. For spring break, we planned to visit the Amalfi Coast, hoping to sightsee in the glorious sunshine. Instead — after accidentally buying fraudulent plane tickets, sleeping in the airport, and winding up in a run-down Italian suburb far from our original destination — we found ourselves on a trip so awe-strikingly pathetic, so absurdly miserable, it was kind of incredible. It poured nonstop, everything was closed for Easter, and I discovered a turd in a train bathroom’s sink. On my 21st birthday, I blew out a votive candle over a dish of potato chips. Five days of this transformed us from classmates to diehard friends.

Our second trip to Italy was even better than the vacation we’d dreamed of long ago. We checked into a marble palazzo with a grotto, sweeping views of Lake Maggiore, and more crystal chandeliers than we could count. Over the course of three days, we reminisced about the past and talked about the future. Her husband gave us plenty of girl time, and they treated me to a birthday feast of roasted duck and Nero d’Avola. Every bathroom was spotless.

The stark contrast highlighted how far we’d both come since we met — how much we’d grown, but also, how comforting it is that some things never change. We still played Lana del Rey while getting ready together, but this time, I helped buckle her shoes (she could no longer reach her feet). We still dissected Vanderpump Rules drama over drinks, just swapping bad screw-top wine for good Champagne (me) and pretty mocktails (her). We still trash-talked the moron who dumped her in Paris, but this time, we retold the story to her loving husband.

Meandering through the cobblestone streets of Stresa, I knew her life — and by extension, a slice of mine — would soon look very different. Until that moment, we’d been on mostly parallel tracks, climbing career ladders and traveling in our free time. Now, our paths are diverging, and they’ll stay that way for a while.

Gabriel was born in June. From his dark peach-fuzz hair to his tiny toes, he’s perfect. Roshan is in the thick of newborn chaos, surrounded by diapers and toothless smiles but thriving. Meanwhile, the same day they came home from the hospital, I was out until 1 a.m., bouncing from a Lisa Frank-themed party to a dive bar that played Gossip Girl on TV.

But eventually, I see us traveling together again. Gabriel will be in tow, and maybe a few other little ones, too. I picture us toting baby wipes, kid-safe sunscreen, and plastic shovels on a beach. Our era of mismatched lives will end, and we’ll toast to our next chapter with juice boxes. This time, an oversize umbrella will shield us all from the sun.