Yesterday on the Today Show, there was a panel discussing how annoying friends with kids are, and their hallmark traits. Well I can tell you this time last year I did not have a kid, and now I do, and somewhere within that time, I’ve transferred from the annoyed team to team annoying.
I remember having a conversation, with a person who has since unfollowed me on instagram where they were sharing their woes about someone else who is a constant kid-stagrammer. ‘Oh you’re not that bad don’t worry’, apparently now I am. It’s not that you want to clog everyone’s feed with pictures of your child doing, well nothing really, it’s just that, as a parent your heart is bursting with love and you assume everyone else will get that same feeling. In my mind I’m just trying to do the community a favour.
Another aspect of the discussion yesterday morning on telly, was parents whose lounge rooms have been overrun by kid’s things. I am conscious of this, I promise. But I do get a star shaped block stuck in my foot every so often and remember the days when there was a couch, a coffee table, a TV and a cabinet. Now we’ve got a couch, a coffee table, a TV a cabinet, kid’s books, a xylophone, stacking wood rings, and a basket of toys all on a piece of pink shag pile and a baby couch (which I always swore I would never buy but I bought one yesterday and I wish I bought it sooner). It’s contained chaos, it is.
Baby conversations. I write this blog for a couple of reasons, one of the biggest is so that I can get out a majority of my necessary daily quota of baby talk out in a forum that people have the choice whether they read or not. But people who constantly talk about their kids to people who don’t have kids, need help. I suggest writing a blog. Can I say though, if you’re at the hairdressers, or talking to someone you’ve never met and they tell you they’ve got kids, that’s immediate permission to whip out your phones and compare photos. It’s like a secret society that once you find another person is a member, you share an instant bond of endless photographs and messy stories. I can feel my childless friends cringing, cringe on.
Mia Freedman, in her wisdom yesterday did make an interesting point, she said something like – we’re programmed to be obsessed with our kids for their own survival. It’s true. They’re completely reliant on their parents to continue living, bear with us in the smiley happy times.