I know this sounds stupid, like, really stupid. It’s not a big deal but… it IS a big deal, you know? Like, it’s eating me alive. I’m sitting here, 2 AM, kid finally asleep, husband snoring next to me like a goddamn freight train, and all I can think about is this. This thing I keep doing. My kid, little Leo, he’s… he’s amazing. Smart, funny, always doing something new. And I, I’m obsessed with keeping him off the internet, right? Like, no face pics, no name, nothing. We had this huge talk, my husband and I, before he was even born. We agreed. His privacy is paramount. We’re not those parents. We’re not posting every little thing, making him a performance. That was the plan. My plan. But then… then he started doing all these cute things. First steps, first word, that goofy laugh where he scrunches his nose. And my mom, my aunt, my second cousin twice removed in Idaho, they all live so far. They keep asking, “How’s Leo? Send pictures!” And at first, I’d send them privately, WhatsApp, family group chat, whatever. Just to them. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. My aunt Marge, god bless her cotton socks, would always be like, “Oh, he’s so adorable! You should post this on Facebook! Everyone needs to see this!” And I’d just smile and say, “Oh, you know, we’re trying to keep him a bit private,” all prim and proper. But inside? Something was twisting. A little… ache. Because here’s the thing. I’m a stay-at-home mom. My whole identity, everything I used to be, it’s just… gone. Swallowed up by playdates and purees and endless laundry. I used to be good at my job. I used to have people praise me for my work. Now, the biggest compliment I get is “Oh, Leo’s so well-behaved!” Which, don’t get me wrong, it’s nice. But it’s not *me*. It’s him. So, one day, Leo did this hilarious thing with a piece of broccoli – looked like a tiny green microphone, he was trying to sing into it. And I took a video, just for me. And then… I posted it. Not his face, just the back of his head, his little hand holding the broccoli. And I wrote something cutesy, like, “Future rockstar in training!” And the LIKES. Oh my god, the comments. “So precious!” “What a character!” “He gets it from his mama!” That last one, that’s what got me. “He gets it from his mama.” Suddenly, I wasn’t just Leo’s mom. I was… *I* was funny. *I* was raising a clever kid. *I* was doing something right. It was like a hit, you know? Like a tiny shot of whatever I used to get from a good performance review. And now? Now it’s every other day. Not his face, never his face, I tell myself that. But his hands building blocks, his feet splashing in a puddle, the top of his head buried in a book. And the captions are getting longer, more detailed, little anecdotes about his day, about *my* day with him. And the comments, they keep coming. “You’re such a great mom!” “He’s so lucky to have you!” It’s this… pathetic little echo chamber of strangers telling me I’m not completely invisible. I see other moms, actual cool moms, talking about digital footprint and consent and all that. And I’m over here, literally selling my kid’s tiny, anonymous moments for a fleeting hit of… recognition. Of being seen. I’m so disgusted with myself. I promised. I PROMISED him. We talked about it. But when my cousin Bethany, who literally unfriended me years ago because I didn’t invite her to my engagement party, comments “So sweet!” I feel this pathetic little flutter. Like, even Bethany thinks I’m doing okay. And that’s what I crave. That’s what I’m doing this for. I’m a fraud. And a bad mom for even considering this a “not a big deal” thing. It feels huge. It feels like I’m betraying him already, before he can even talk and tell me to stop. What the hell is wrong with me?