While childbirth is famously onerous, one of the lesser-known traumas of becoming a new mother is trying to make “mum friends”. Comparable with searching for a love interest, but with the added stress of trying not to seem flirty, horny, or creepy; it is one of the more awkward paths a person can endeavour to navigate. There often isn’t enough time in baby groups to get to know people, and the politics of trying to single anyone out in NCT groups can be complicated and confusing. With this in mind, the tech world has taken it upon itself to lend a helping hand to marooned mothers by developing “mum friend” apps. While aimed mainly at those newly entering motherhood, many claim to be a tool for women up until menopause - and so, as a woman with more children than friends, I thought I’d test my emotional endurance and give one of the apps a whirl.
I tried Peanut, simply because I had been targeted with about 800 Instagram ads for it. At first glance, it was a nightmare. I was made to describe myself via harrowing classifications such as “fashion killa”, “glam guru”, and “city chick”. I chose “hot mess” because that felt like the least offensive option, and “astrology wizz” because I believe in ghosts and think it’s important to be upfront about that. Once past the torture of labelling myself via #girlboss categories, I then descended into the next circle of Hell where I had to swipe left or right on the kindly faces of other mothers. Almost immediately I felt myself being dragged back into the fetid swamp of my Tinder days, with flashbacks popping into my head like an unwanted firework display. Previously repressed images of Bens, Jims, and Barnabys resurfaced in their fly-fishing gear with a gormless look in their eyes, ready to pounce on unsuspecting women with details of their fitness regimen.
I was immediately repulsed by the swiping feature until, of course, I started to find it completely addictive. Once you’re hooked, they try to squeeze the pennies out of you by charging to see who has swiped right or “waved” at you. As I do not have any spare limbs available to hawk for “mum friend” app purchases, I chose the free option to just swipe endlessly until there’s been a mutual wave and you match with someone. Alternatively, you are also able to message someone directly without any kind of friendship foreplay like a brazen lunatic.
While I understood the purpose of swiping, when I did eventually match with someone I panicked and almost threw my phone out of the window. Sensing that a one-on-one conversation wasn’t within my level of comfortability, I moved on to the group chat area of the app. I’d been placed in some forums according to my children’s ages, and I added myself to a local group. Here, I found myself scrolling through useful questions about nearby pools, birthday party locations, and school recommendations. My personal favourite, however, was a woman asking if anyone could recommend a fortune teller, a question that only received one response that instructed her to step away from the mediums and go back to Jesus instead. An answer, of sorts, although I don’t remember Jesus being particularly good with tarot cards.
I ended up sending out one query to the mothering masses about my daughter’s horrific new habit of invading my bedroom at four am. I received a slew of responses - mostly very helpful, although one involved jazz so take that as you will. It felt like here, in this little community beyond the swipes, it might be possible to stomach the app. But, ultimately, the experience mainly felt like a strange combination of Tinder and Mumsnet - a weird and unexpected coupling akin to Liz Hurley and Billy Ray Cyrus. While I’d like to have a few more mum friends, I don’t think that, for me, it’s worth the spiritual anguish of platonically dating married women. For now, it seems that I’ll just have to stick to scaring other mothers in person.
