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On the recent first day of pre-K and baby “school” with my 4-year-old daughter and 18-month-old son, I found myself coming apart at the seams: squatting down to their level, gritting my teeth like Kate Middleton scolding George that one time in Canada; attempting to bribe them with cookies and new Enchantimals, to no avail. The cause of all of this angst is pretty pathetic but I’ll tell you anyway: The tykes were refusing to cooperate with my Instagram needs—ideally, a sweet, cherubic back-to-school photo. Instead, my daughter was pouting in resistance (this is what I get for taking her to the Women’s March) and my son was in constant motion, which obviously makes for blurry photos.
Sure, I wanted this picture for posterity and to text to the grandparents, but if I’m being perfectly, shamelessly honest, I also wanted to be able to share it on Instagram. You know, like my friends all over the country seemingly were, all of their children perfectly smocked, smiling and holding chalkboard signs bearing their school and grade level. By comparison, batshit though it may have been, I felt like a failure for not being able to corral my own kids into picture-perfection.
It was only once I posted the photo of my daughter’s eye-roll and my son bolting out of frame and lamented my pitiful lack of skill, and received tons of supportive DMs—including one from one of my best friends who was similarly hanging her head at her roguish (yet darling) kids—that I realized: I’d jumped the Instagram Mom shark. I was so obsessed with getting the ’gram (and irrationally expecting Zoolander poses from a toddler and a little girl) to the point where it was overshadowing the joy and excitement of the morning. That was totally unfair to my kids, yes, but it also heaped unnecessary pressure on me: In addition to how much bad milk and how little screen time you provide, getting your kids to mug for great Instagrams is yet another standard for modern mothers to strive for, and indeed, feel bad about.
Which brings us to another one of Instagram’s favorite, high-pressure holidays: Halloween! A certain amount of costume one-upmanship is part of the fun and mischief of things. But there are particular, Next Level markers for parents to achieve on Halloween on Instagram. The crowning glory: a creative, matching siblings costume—one dear and genius friend has already won in my book with her toddler daughter in a flowerpot and her baby sister as a bumblebee. Extra points are also awarded in this arena for elaborate family costumes—look no further than Kylie Jenner and her daughter Stormi as mommy-and-me butterflies.
Then there is the mom who inspired national celebrity media coverage by dressing her 2.5-year-old daughter and 4- and 6-year-old sons as Kim Kardashian West, Kanye West . . . and, um, Kim’s makeup artist, Mario Dedivanovic. I am loath to judge—not judging is kind of the point of this story—nor will I share my personal thoughts on ever outfitting my own son in a MAGA hat, but it’s hard to imagine any child, when asked what he wants to be for Halloween, would eschew Batman or Thomas the Tank Engine and beg to be a Kardashian West staffer. And yet, I don’t blame the player, but the game: that ambient pressure to produce costumes that will also make for great content.
To be perfectly clear, I don’t think all elaborate kids’ costumes are Instagram angling, not at all! Some people just really love Halloween and are crafty, and creative Pinterest goddesses with mellow, smushy children who don’t mind being nestled into dinosaur or giraffe costumes. I salute you and will be Liking all of your photos with relish. But for those of us who lack those influencer skills, and/or whose kids want no part of our social media dreams, consider this a motion to take the stress off. I am definitely not magically recovered from wanting cute pictures of my children, but I’m all for a lesser-pressure, happy-medium Halloween: Snap some pics, come what may, and get back to the regularly scheduled tricking and treating. (Be gone, dentist candy buyback programs! We’ll be eating all the Fun Size Twix.)
I’m keeping Back-to-School Photo-gate top of mind as our family readies for this Halloween. My kids are not wearing matching costumes, as much as my daughter wanted my son to be an adjacent mouse to her Cinderella, pre-Fairy Godmother, complete with kid-size broom and head kerchief. My son is going as the Count from Sesame Street, though there is a 99 percent chance he will not tolerate the hat/mask that makes said costume identifiable at all. And so be it! Because Halloween is for them—not for me or my Instagram followers.
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