Yes, I have a problem: I do not want to hear about your parenting style. I donít care where your children sleep, what they call their private parts, when they learned to play the violin, what they eat and for how long, whether you discovered your discipline ideas in China, France, kindergarten, or the belly of a spaceship.
Donít get me wrong — this kind of stuff can make for entertaining reading, and itís great fodder for satire. (Itís also a challenge: When I was writing ďMilkshake,Ē my novel about the breastfeeding wars, my biggest problem was inventing outrageous things for characters to do that hadnít already happened real life.) People love to get worked up, which is why magazines and publishers try so hard to get them angry.
But I think weíve hit our limit. We aren't helping each other or helping ourselves; we're simply making noise. So Iím hoping that the current cover of Time, carefully calibrated for to freak out the most people possible, represents some sort of high-water mark for parental exhibitionism.
Yes, thatís a pipe dream. And yes, of course, I still want you to post this on Twitter. But if you are one of the 3.9 million mothers who have read or commented on a mommy blog in the past month, and if you are now wondering when it will be your turn to cash in, here are some simple questions about that photo in Time:
- Would they have put this woman on the cover if she didnít look like a supermodel?
- What will her son think when heís in junior high and somebody digs up this picture and posts it on Facebook?
- Is there such a thing as a natural act that is also an intimate act? Or are we too busy sharing to care about that?