Admittedly, it’s my own fault for checking Facebook, which I’ve learned to do less and less but from time to time still succumb to. But I can’t help but think that it’s also a little bit their fault.
And I’m not saying it’s a personal attack, I’m just saying that I’m choosing to take it that way. Because when I log in I see that not one, not two, but THREE separate people in my network have just announced the birth, or impending birth, of their, wait for it, THIRD child, well, how else do you interpret such an aggressive move?
My thoughts quickly deteriorate and become increasingly ungracious.
What’s the goal here, I want to ask? Are you starting a little league team? Are you trying to staff a small independent farm? Have you become hasidic without the wig and the long sleeved shirt/dress combo and the general religious dedication? Was it an accident? Because if so, fuck you. Or is this a contest? And if so do you think that you’re winning? Wait, are you winning? Shit, you might actually be winning.
And does anyone even care by the time number three rolls around? Because listen, I’m going to be honest with you. You definitely don’t deserve a baby shower (we all know you’ve already got all the shit), and truthfully we’ve barely kept track of your second kid, whom, and I mean this in the most loving way possible, seems to have about 1/3 of the personality as your first kid and whose name we, from time to time, sometimes remember. And while I’m sure that you think that the 4,386 pictures you take EVERY WEEK (FYI I’m unfollowing you on Instagram) of your new baby lying in various positions in various outfits with various rolls of visible bodily fat are just FASCINATING, for some of us you are – and I truly mean this – literally killing us.