It’s happened to all of you at least a few times now. You pull up Facebook and there’s a status update from one of your exes, touting pounds and inches, trendy three-part names like Isadora Elaina or Hunter Montgomery. Maybe even a bleak hospital scene photo with the washed-out, epiduraled wife holding a wrinkly swaddled thing – and your ex, grinning like he’s just killed it in beer pong. Because that was the last time you saw him so idiotically thrilled.
Reactions to these posts can vary. You might be happy for their successful execution of the miracle of life. You might wonder how someone who used to drink a case of Shlitz on a casual Tuesday night can now be responsible for another human being. My usual reaction? A full body shudder and a thought that chills me to the bone: That could have been me.
I’m a fairly suggestible person. I majored in Advertising because someone said I’d be good at “slogans”. I switched careers at the suggestion of a random we met in our condo complex’s hot tub who thought I had the personality for Human Resources (insult or compliment?). I almost agreed to move to Seattle last year because Drew went through a phase where he was “into” rain.
And if I’d been able to stick it out with any one of these Facebook-friended exes, I can only assume I might’ve gotten roped into birthing a litter of children before my thirtieth birthday (please remember: I’m originally from Indiana). As in, those Facebook babies could’ve been mine! Literally, in the case of those exes with the crazily dominant genes – the ones who’ve produced mini-me’s that are, presumably, exactly what our child would have looked like. (Is this happening to anyone else?)
It probably won’t comfort you to know that this is just the beginning. You’ll be getting Twitter-esque updates of their whereabouts, their preferences, their astonishing ability to roll over or sit up.
Emma Taylor loves Coffee Bean! Emma Taylor loves taking naps!
You’ll have to wonder over and over again: Could that have been ME putting those status updates out there into the world?
Perhaps it’s best not to think about it. In the meantime, keep posting about REALLY important things. Like settling in for an uninterrupted eight-hour Wonder Years marathon, the joys of Fruity Pebbles sprinkled over your Yogurtland Guava Pineapple Tart, your ever-waning, paper-thin resistance to flipping over conference tables mid-meeting.
And when the day comes where they make their profile picture a sole pic of the baby (as if THEY have become the baby?!), well…that’s an entry for another day.
No, seriously – that’s an entry for another day. We’ll get to it, I promise.
Want to read more? Visit my blog at: www.maybebabymaybenot.com
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