In the spirit of commitment, here I am on a Saturday, writing to you. You who may or may not open it week to week, and that is your prerogative, but I have made a rule for myself, that I will email on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and unless all hell is breaking loose I follow my own rules. Except for when I don’t, or when I think I have but I haven’t, and then realise that perhaps I’m not functioning as well as I thought I was.
This week I was speaking with a friend about why I don’t share my children online (I’m partway through writing a piece related to this so won’t go into why right now, but one day you will get the scoop). I haven’t shared pictures of my eldest’s face for many years online, and I confidently told my friend about how a while ago I had gone back through old reels and posts and deleted anything I’d posted publicly of my second baby’s face as well. A couple of days later I reinstalled Instagram temporarily to archive some other things on my grid that were bugging me and saw that actually no, I hadn’t deleted the photos of my baby at all. I was convinced I had, but there she was, smiling back at me, big eyes wide and trusting. How did this happen?
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Default Parent Project with Anna Cusack to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.