I can’t be the only parent relieved that my children weren’t born under the microscope of social media. While I admire pictures of glowing pregnant women, there was nothing photogenic about my Volkswagen Bug body. Still, I might have felt compelled to document even ugly moments for the world to see.
While I’d have avoided delivery room photos, everything after that would have been fair game. I’m certain I’d have posted pictures of first teeth, first steps, first birthday parties.
I’d be guilty of posting an embarrassing bathtub picture or a photo of my toddler on a plastic potty chair. I’d tout evidence that my children were cuter, smarter, kinder, and more adorable than any other toddler to grace Instagram or Facebook.
I’d have forgotten that not every moment needs to be shared.
It would create stress for all of us. Even without social media I felt immense pressure to present perfect faces to the world, especially with my eldest. As soon as she had hair, it was pulled tightly into ponytails and gelled into place. I touched up her shoes with a black Sharpie, making sure scuffs didn’t show. Her clothes, if not ironed, were at least shaken out and smoothed when taken out of the dryer. Her socks and hair bow matched her outfit. Anyone could look at her and see that I was a good mother.
Even without a filter, she was picture-perfect.
That usually lasted the first ten minutes of a day, before she got food on her face, walked through wet grass, rubbed her fingertips along the length of the dusty car. By the time she got to day care or school, she looked like she’d been dragged through the yard by her ponytails. By late afternoon, she’d added sand and markers and the remains of lunch to her personal style. Few people seeing me with my child in tow would think, “There’s a good mom.”
When my son was born a few years a later, I knew better than to strive for perfection.
After watching a football game at age two, he acquired the habit of throwing himself to the floor and yelling, “Tackle!” A toddler who tackles himself doesn’t stay clean long. I snapped photos of him in his odd outfit of cowboy boots, Santa Claus hat, and Chinese vest, but I don’t know that they’d have been posted unless I found the perfect caption to indicate that his eccentricity was voluntary and charming, a sign of intelligence.
Luckily for all of us, this was before social media.
By the time cell phones and social media were prevalent, my children were old enough to have opinions about their social media presence. While my daughter never met a camera she didn’t love, my son was quick to roll his eyes and mutter, “Mo-o-o-om, don’t post this!” Eventually it became “Don’t take my picture.” There are gaps in family albums which would lead you to believe I have only one child, punctuated by sporadic photos of a smiling girl and a grouchy boy. On rare occasions when I would ignore his stated wishes and post video of band performances or school award ceremonies, he would grumble until I deleted the offending media.
As my children have gotten older, it’s gotten more complicated. They have their own social media, and post for the pleasure or approval of their friends. I post less of their lives, and more carefully.
Not everything needs to be shared. Not everyone wants to see the adorable moments, and not everyone needs to see the difficult ones.
My social media feeds are currently full of my parent peers posting end of the year cap-and-gown photos. Their newly minted graduates clutch fistfuls of awards or acceptance letters to universities. Of course they’re proud and want to share.
I’m briefly jealous. As my son finishes high school, we’ve done a lot of negotiating about photos. Senior pictures? He wasn’t interested. Cap and gown photos? Nope. I got a thumbs up for prom photos, much to my relief. As a bartering chip, he promised he would smile for an unlimited quantity of photos upon his graduation from boot camp in a few months. I grudgingly agreed, but inside I secretly wished for a showy sunsplashed photo of us living what looks to the world like our best lives.
The pressure to have children who present impeccably is still immense, magnified by the fact that our lives are now visible to so many people. Now it’s not just the first ten minutes of the day that I feel compelled to present a picture perfect life, no filter needed, to the world. But the truth is we are messy and complicated, and no amount of filter can erase that.
Maybe that needs to be shared.
