The value of friendship

My best friend from high school, John, called yesterday. It'd been ages since we'd talked, and I felt pretty guilty about the time apart after we chatted.
There's a tendency to say not much changed since the last time we talked. That's what I said at first. Then, as we tried to hammer out exactly how long it'd been, it became pretty clear that quite a bit had happened.
It appears October must've been the last time we talked. He didn't know my wife was pregnant. He didn't know we'd moved to a nearby town. He wasn't aware I was about halfway through the adoptions proceedings with Lissie. He really wasn't even aware I had my current job, although we'd obviously chatted several times since then. (Heck, he was in my wedding since I got this job.)
This isn't intended to slam John, by any means. Quite the contrary. It's to slam me. I've become quite the slacker about keeping in touch with people who mean something to me.
I've taken the "my wife is pregnant" excuse to put on about 15 pounds, which is probably just repressed conversations. I don't e-mail. I don't call. And when I do see people, I tend to be a bit withdrawn.
When we went to my parents' house for Father's Day, I realized we hadn't visited their home in at least three months, given the carbon-dating method of knowing when my dad installed a new fish tank.
What've I been doing in all that time? Pulling back into myself, really. I'm worried about the future of the newspaper industry and whether my ideas are enough to keep my little corner of the universe afloat. I'm concerned about the world we'll be bringing our child into. And I'm a little bit terrified if I'm ready to parent a newborn.
I'll work it all out, in due time. I usually do. I just hope once I do I can be the type of friend I've had to help pull me through my doubts and worries.