Pre-baby, Facebook was fun. Post-baby, Facebook is hell. The status updates from the non-baby crew are: Exotic travel! References to music! Checked-in at hipster pizzeria slash tequila bar! Mommy longs for the days where she was part of that elite crew who put their night back together through tagged photos and foursquare. And what the fuck is “Pinterest”? Mommy can’t keep up. The status updates from the baby-crew are: My baby! Don’t you love my profile pic that’s of my baby! Check out another upload of my baby! Below the photo there are comments from other parents about how cute the baby is, followed by many exclamation points. Mommy only wishes she could post what everyone’s really thinking: that kid ain’t right. Hey look, Mommy has a friend request! Sadly, it’s Insert Baby’s Name Here’s Mom from playgroup (Ignore). After commenting on a link to the latest OK Go video in an effort to project an image that she’s still cool, Mommy was tagged covered in regurgitated rice cereal at Rainbow Songs. Mommy’s status update: feeling as relevant as MySpace (wait, three friends “like” this?).
DRINK: The Friend Request. 5oz sparkling wine, 1oz raspberry vodka, splash of Chambord. Garnish with fresh berries and enjoy the instant friends you make when you serve it.
it’s so true! My non-child friends have much more interesting pictures and adventures on FB. I started a page for my daughter…it’s called Sh*t My Daughter Does. I figure if I have to post about my children, I can at least try and entertain the masses.
I should start one called “shit my baby shits”.
Ha ha very true!!! I know Ive been guilty on both sides.
Totally. My Facebook timeline is a tale of two people (who would hate each other…)
I started a twitter account for my 2-yr-old son, who does indeed merit such: the stuff he comes out with is priceless. I thought it might make me feel literary or something. Sadly, my sleep-deprived brain forgot the password and who the heck has time to entertain everyone else? As he says, “Look Mama, there’s a poo on the floor.” Exactly.
It’s hard to tweet when you’re knee deep in poo.