Ty just turned two. He is the son of a couple I went to high school with and is without a doubt one of the most adorable kids I’ve ever seen. In fact, he’s so cute, he could stand in for one of the Jon & Kate Plus 8 kids, and the ratings would certainly double. Plus, he’s got attitude. He’d probably tell control-freak Kate to step off. But as much as I wish I knew this kid, I don’t. I’m just familiar with his image, and I’ve learned about his habit of goosing his mom’s butt via status messages.
From sonogram stills and pictures of newborns just minutes old to classic first-day-of-school shots and naked toddler tushes, Facebook is the ultimate photo album/“hey, look at my kid!” platform for parents. And I fear it’s making me baby crazy.
While I have two step kids of my own (whom I adore), they are seventeen and twelve. Their pimpled faces are far from the diminutive, innocent, wide-eyed creatures I see every time I login to my Facebook account. I’ve definitely got babies on the brain. But if you would have told me a year ago I’d be thinking about having a child, I would have told you to shut up. And I think it’s all Facebook’s fault. The social networking site and its users bombard me with awe-inducing baby pictures (and video and links to mommy blogs) at least several times a day.
Growing up, I never played with dolls and methodically chopped the blonde locks from any Barbie I received as a birthday present. When I married a much older man, people questioned whether or not he’d want to have a child with me. Over and over again, I repeated the phrase: “I do not want children.” I whole-heartedly believed what I was spewing. But now, thirty is on the horizon and I’m beginning to question my stance. My stepdaughter is considering what college she should attend and my stepson has armpit hair. I’m thinking about babies so often that I’m fully expecting “your biological clock” to show up under the “suggestions” tab next time I sign in to Facebook.
