Should I Have Posted This Photo?

Should I have posted this photo?

I mean, it's not the most flattering image of my adorable daughter, Annabelle. She isn't smiling or being particularly cute. The lighting is pretty bad. And she's stuffing her face pretty aggressively with what looks to be pizza.

Will this photo come back to haunt her someday? Will some mean-spirited 12-year-old girl find it online in 11 years and make fun of my daughter? Tell her she chews like a cow? Call her names? 

I sure hope not. But is that a reason not to post a photo? Or a video? Or a story?

A 2010 study four that 92% of US 2-year-olds have an online record. And 2010, at least in technology years, is approximately 250 years ago. A baby's digital footprint has replaced the ink footprint hospitals used to give you as a memento of the miracle. Before babies are born, they show up on Facebook news feeds as fetuses and have their very own email addresses.   

Is creating this digital persona a good idea? Or a horrible one? 

If you're a parent (or you plan to be one someday), you probably wrestle with this question. We all share images and updates and stories because we want to entertain our friends and families, create memories, and, well, market ourselves. (It's sad, but we all have a brand.) But is anything over the line? Is a Twitter account for a 1-year-old an accident waiting to happen? What about a naked photo in the tub on Instagram? What happens if your toddler ends up on a Toys R Us marketing list? 

After some digging, I found a really good New York Times article on the topic. It doesn't necessarily have answers, but it raises lots of important scenarios and questions. And it has this closing line, which really made me pause: If anything, a child today who grow up and discovers he has no photos on Facebook or Instagram might think of himself as an unloved anomaly. In an age of obsessive digital detailing, if a child grows up unrecorded, what is his identity at all?  

This last question seems like it's a little over the line. No identity at all? Still, unless you've blocked me on Facebook, you probably know that Annabelle has a pretty strong online presence. Bridget and I have posted approximately 8,000 photos (most cuter than the one above), written about 100 blog posts, and shared dozens of videos. And Annabelle has an email address that I write to regularly. 

Why? Well, partly because of the reasons above: We want to share, entertain, and strengthen our family brand. (Family brand? Gross, I know. But let's call a spade, a spade.) But the main reason we do all this online sharing is to create memories for ourselves and for Annabelle. Already, we look at old videos and laugh. We look at old images and wonder how things have gone so fast. And, more than anything, we look forward to the day we can show Belle memories from her childhood.

So, should I have posted this photo? I think so. What about you? 

The Pull of the Push Present

The words of the greatest television character of our generation, George Costanza, reverberated in my head when I first heard about this thing called a push present:

"It never ends, this present stuff! Engagement present! Then they get married, you're gonna have to get something for that. Then the baby, there's another present. Then the baby starts getting their presents. I don't even like the Drake."

(Seinfeld fans will remember that no one likes the Drake in the end, especially after charity got all the gifts. Those of you who aren't Seinfeld fans should think long and hard about why you don't like hilarious things.)

Pregnancy comes with lots of opinions. Name your child this. Don't drink that. Eat this. Don't lift that. It's the push present, though, that may be the most polarizing issue. For those of you who don't know, a push present is a gift to a mother that celebrates the birth of a child. Essentially, it's a way to say, "Hey, you just had a really tough 10 months and went through an enormous amount of pain, so here's this token of my love."

The whole push present deal really comes down to two questions:
1. Should I get one for her?
2. What should it be?

(Of course, No. 2 is moot if the answer to No. 1 is "no.")

Let's tackle No. 1 first. Should I get a push present for Bridget? I decided to do some quick research about the push present business and found that it really only started in 1992 -- at least that's the first time the phrase was published. (So much for a long, meaningful tradition.) A 2007 BabyCenter.com survey found that 38% of 30,000 women received a push present. Fifty-five percent wanted one. Forty percent said the baby was enough of a gift.

Hmmm. Good information, but it certainly didn't make the decision for me.

I asked a few people at work and got varied opinions. Some women skipped my first question and just asked what I was getting Bridget. One of my male friends, on the other hand, had a priceless reaction when I asked him if he planned to get a push present for his wife: "A what now? Are you serious? No, I don't think so. No." Other male friends have opted for diamonds. (Thanks, jerks. Isn't there a homemade breakfast-in-bed you should be preparing in your Italian villa?)

I still couldn't decide.

And again, I couldn't help but think of George's wise (and angry) words. He's right about presents, as he was about most things. We're trained to buy gifts for everything. And in my experience, the gesture seems to mean more than the gift nowadays because most people just buy themselves what they want. Sigh.

Still, I decided yes. A first baby is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and my darling Bridget had sacrificed a lot in 2013. I also decided that I'd wait to see her push before I chose a gift.

That brings us to question No. 2: What should I get? I had decided I would get either a massage gift certificate or this Patagonia winter coat. Then, after seeing my tough-as-nails wife endure a great deal of pain and witnessing the amazing moment, I, of course, got both gifts. (Plus, I got her some sour gummy worms because she really likes those.)

Is it the most romantic gift ever? No. But the massage will make Bridget feel wonderful for an hour and the coat will keep her warm when she takes Belle on long walks this fall and winter. Plus, the gift resulted in a lot of happy tears, which is always a good thing.

Of course, now I have to think of a Christmas gift. And that's only if we decide not to exchange gifts on Columbus Day this year ...