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On the first day of school and baby at school with my 4 year old daughter and my 18 month old son, I found myself separating at the seam: squatting up, gritting their teeth like Kate Middleton reprimanding George once in Canada; trying to corrupt them with cookies and new Enchantimals, to no avail. The cause of all this anguish is pretty pathetic, but I'll tell you anyway: the Tykes refused to cooperate with my needs for Instagram – ideally, a soft, cherubic picture of the back to school. Instead, my daughter was sulking the resistance (that's what I had for taking her to the Women's March) and my son was constantly moving, which obviously makes the pictures blurry.
Of course, I wanted this photo for posterity and send a text message to the grandparents, but if I am perfectly honest and unscrupulous, I also wanted to share it on Instagram. You know, like my friends all over the country apparently, were all their perfectly smocked children, smiling and holding placards on the chalkboard bearing their school and grade level. In comparison, if batshit it could be, I felt like a failure because I could not integrate my own children into an image perfection.
It was not until I posted the picture of my daughter's eye lift and my son had eclipsed and deplored my deplorable lack of skill. to his mischievous (and yet darling) kids – that I understood: I had jumped on the Instagram mom shark. I was so obsessed with getting the gram (and hoping irrationally Zoolander pose of a toddler and a little girl) to the point that it eclipsed the joy and excitement of the morning. It was totally unfair to my children, yes, but it was also a useless pressure: in addition to the amount of breast milk and the short time you spend in front of a screen, getting your kids to catch super instagram is another standard. for modern mothers struggle for, and indeed, feel bad about.
Which brings us to another of Instagram's favorite holidays: Halloween! A certain amount of over-clothing is part of the pleasure and harm of things. But there are special markers, Next Level, that parents can make Halloween on Instagram. The height of glory: a creative and matching sibling costume – a dear and great friend has already won in my book with her toddler in a flowerpot and her little drone sister. Additional points are also awarded in this arena for elaborate family outfits – look no further than Kylie Jenner and her daughter Stormi in the role of "Mom and Me" butterflies.
Then there's the mother who inspired national celebrity media coverage by dressing her 2.5-year-old daughter and her 4- and 6-year-old sons as Kim Kardashian West, Kanye West. . . and, uh, Kim's makeup artist, Mario Dedivanovic. I am reluctant to judge – not judging is a little the purpose of this story – and I will not share my personal thoughts to equip my own son with a MAGA hat, but it's hard to imagine a child if asked what he wants to be for Halloween, avoid Batman or Thomas the Tank Engine and would beg to be a Kardashian West staff member. And yet, I do not blame the player, but the game: this ambient pressure to produce costumes that will also produce great content.
To be perfectly clear, I do not think that all the elaborate child costumes are from fishing to Instagram, not at all! Some people really love Halloween and are creative and creative Pinterest goddesses with fluffy and pampered kids who do not mind being nested in dinosaur or giraffe costumes. I greet you and I will love all your photos with delight. But for those of us who do not have these influencing skills and / or whose kids do not want to be part of our dreams on social networks, consider this as a motion to reduce the stress. I'm certainly not cured by magic of wanting pretty pictures of my kids, but I'm all for a merry medium pressure Halloween: break pictures, anyway, and go back to the usual deception and treatment. (Go away, candy redemption programs by a dentist! We will eat all the Fun Size Twix.)
I keep the impression of the back-to-school photo as our family prepares for this Halloween. My children do not wear matching suits, as long as my daughter wanted my son to be a mouse adjacent to her Cinderella, godmother before the fairy, with her broom and her handkerchief. My son leaves as a count Sesame Streetalthough there is a 99% chance that he will not tolerate the hat / mask that makes this costume identifiable. And so be it! Because Halloween is for them – neither for me nor for my Instagram followers.
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