Dear Facebook friend,
I humbly invite you to to unbaby yourself.
I know that my posts about such silly life moments such as the birth of my own children and their subsequent milestones are tedious humdrum nothings compared to that delicious looking sandwich you’re about to eat. Mmmm. Is that kale? Or arugula? Or maybe it’s swiss chard…I never can tell which one is which (this is directly due to successful contraception, so for god’s sake PLEASE don’t forget to take your birth control or you could find yourself frantically examining your greens at that next big dinner party, knowing that your uncouthness will result in public humiliation when the host asks you to post that shit on Instagram).
Oh hey, congratulations on that new pair of shoes. They make you look taller. TALLER! Amazing.
Speaking of taller – remember when my daughter took her first steps at 9 months old? This creature, who had only been on this earth for roughly 270 days, managed to perfect a trick that you haven’t been able to achieve on a Saturday night for the past decade – walking in a straight line. Yowza. Don’t you wish you had a downvote button for things as inconsequential as that?
In all honesty, I get where you’re coming from. I really do. I, too, spent years and years of my life in a boozy haze, spending my money freely and lavishly on myself, sleeping in whenever I wanted. (Fun fact: do you know that I haven’t slept past 7:30 in over two years?) So us parents, who have given up those pizza-in-bed Sunday mornings for restless little feet kicking at caesarian scars under the covers, we’re actually quite jealous of you. Maybe even a little angry. Because we were you once, until we drank the “Let’s have a baby!” kool-aid and did the nasty at the right time of the month. Don’t get me wrong, we’re happy. We love our little kids. We’re just so damn tired.
This exhaustion has led us right to Facebook’s front door, where we can take these gloriously happy victories and hold them up a la Simba for all the world to see. These wonderful shining moments are the ones that keep us from jumping out the window at 3am when they wake up screaming for the third time since you put them down. That first little giggle is a reminder to us that each throaty angry scream is just a phase that will eventually go away, when our children are in their early 30s. We need this.
Just like you need to share the important things in your life too. Like those shoes, (you spent how much???) our little triumphs must also be celebrated.
Anyway, none of this matters anymore. The point is moot. Some computer guy came up with a solution: Unbaby.me. This handy little Facebook app takes all my annoying Mombook photos and replaces my infant’s gummy grin with a pic of a cat. Or, not a cat. You can replace my kid with pictures of leafy greens, Jägerbombs, or Manolo Blahniks – you decide.
So let’s both wave our white flags of submission, and accept that this is a war that can’t (and shouldn’t) be won. But remember this, if and when you choose to have kids: you may just find yourself fighting your compulsion to share, share, share things you never would before.