Real Life: ‘I actually like my girlfriend's sister much more than my girlfriend’

‘K. and I have been friends for years. We attended pregnancy gym together. We both found it terrible. Everyone took it incredibly seriously and we deliberately didn't look at each other because we would burst into laughter at every puff or sigh. Then we had babies and of course understood everything about each other. She brought me maternity pads (spoiler, if you don't have children yet: don't look up what this is and especially don't Google what it looks like) and I completely understood that she had no sexual desire for six months after ‘the deed’, something her other friends sometimes scolded her about.

The puff club friendship grew into more. We walked together in Vondelpark at least once a week and ate with partners and babies. After the pink cloud period (it wasn't that pink, you know, but it was at least a period dominated by the babies), I also got to know the other side of her. The melancholic K is the type that when the sun shines, will start talking about how annoying it is that it will rain soon. She worried. About the world, her role, her child. Should she have procreated? A second was not an option, she told me, after I had told her I was pregnant again.

In the week before Christmas, K's husband organized a big Christmas dinner with various friends. I sat next to her sister. The opposite of K. A wild mane of brown curls, hips and breasts that betrayed a ‘yes, go ahead’ mentality and a smile like a magnet. You wanted to listen to her, you wanted to be with her. We kept laughing and talking. About that crazy pregnancy, about sex when your baby is nearby, about those blood-irritating managers who can't do anything themselves and flaunt your work. Before I knew it, it was past midnight, the bottle of Sambuca was empty, and I saw K's critical gaze pointing our way. She had all sorts of opinions about this. The timing, the alcoholic consumption, not mixing with others.

The next day I texted W, K's sister, to ask if she was also never going to drink Sambuca again. We texted back and forth all day until I called a halt. It felt a bit like cheating. I was friends with K and now I actually felt much better with W. So nice that I didn't really feel like being with K. W had – unintentionally – held up a mirror to me of a somewhat too complicated friendship and how it can also be between two people.

And now I don't really know what to do. It's clear to me that K and I are no longer a golden match in this phase of life, but to then lose myself in a friendship with W? That is quite painful. I let things with K take their course. Occasionally a walk, a cup of tea. And then we'll see if W and I are meant to be. Strange, right?’