On November 7, 2012, I took a break from four months of posting messages about men and heartbreak—in addition to my usual commentary on culture, identity, and politics—to make an announcement.
The closing scenes of a complicated long-term relationship had resulted in a pregnancy that deserves a word more comprehensive than “unplanned” to describe it. And to describe my pregnancy as challenging would be an understatement. But on March 29, 2013, the denouement came in the form of a brief, painful labor and, a day later, in a brief, sweet tweet.
More photos and status updates tagged #MiniMilah quickly followed, because I felt right away that the world needed to know about this magical girl—and she then became one of the growing number of children to be raised firmly in the social media spotlight. One study suggests that the average parent posts almost 1,000 images of their child before they turn 5.
With more than 170,000 Twitter followers, I realize that I’m slightly more visible than the average oversharing parent. However, I’ve been telling folks my business on the internet since 2007, starting with MySpace, Blogger, and Facebook, and eventually expanding to include Twitter, where I routinely share both mundane and monumental moments. As a result, I’ve built up a cybervillage of (beloved) strangers across the globe who’ve been cheering me on for the majority of my adult life. Sharing my motherhood journey with them felt second nature.
The earliest versions of coparenting that my ex and I were able to summon were all about function. I was formal, he was cordial, and we behaved as strangers who’d been introduced for the sole purpose of raising a child together, but separately, at once. In the absence of a traditional partner, the internet became my second coparent, with my cybervillage providing affirmation, emotional support, encouragement, and a place to talk about my child at length with people who seemed to find her as delightful as I did. Whenever I’ve so much as alluded to any stress, sadness, or frustration, there’s always been a chorus of voices there to tell me, “You’re doing great, you got this.”
#MiniMilah became part of the personal “brand” of mine that came together quite by accident. She even had her own viral moment in 2016, when a video of her complaining about the setting of the sun managed to garner press around the world. (This still confounds me—she’s got way better clips, IJS.) And while there are scores of photos, videos, and quotes on social media documenting my baby girl’s exploration of the world around her, there’s been no strategy behind how and what I choose to disclose publicly. I’ve been pretty transparent about some of my shortcomings and missteps as a parent—and there have been plenty of them, my God—but I’ve learned that putting our business on the public stage means extending an invitation for the public to judge. I mean, maybe I shouldn’t tell anyone about the time she went to school in (clean!) pajamas because she and I were in the middle of a move and I’d misplaced her clothes. However, I know that other parents (particularly other young, single moms) are often in need of a reminder that they aren’t the only ones who are struggling.
I am friends with a married couple who obscure the faces of their beautiful little girls in public posts, because they feel their kids should have the right to consent to when and where their images will be seen. I’ve been asked more than a few times how my daughter will react to seeing how much of her early life I’ve shared online. I won’t know for certain until she’s older, but considering that she now asks me to record her latest song and dance number, or commands that I share one of her thoughts with my followers (“Tell ‘the people’ I said …”), I’m not too worried.
Still: As #MiniMilah, the person and the hashtag, recently celebrated their fifth birthdays, we are rapidly approaching the point where I have to be far more stingy with the videos and photos that bring the two together. This fall she’ll be moving from a private day care to a much larger school, and that increases the likelihood that someone, well, unseemly might recognize her from my social posts. While there have been more than a few instances of “Look, it’s #MiniMilah” while we’re out together, the handful that have happened while she was with her father or other relatives left me a little bit on edge.
I used to worry that her dad would stumble upon the hashtag and have me in a courtroom faster than I could blink, making a case that I was exploiting our child for retweets. The logical thing to do would have been to discuss it with him, but I feared that even if he didn’t want to change our peaceful arrangement, a discussion might have ended my ability to share #MiniMilah as I saw fit. It would’ve been the end of my relationship with my beloved second coparent. But time heals and changes the shape of wounds and people alike, and my coparent and I have developed a healthier relationship, complete with frequent and open communication, honesty, and affirmation. Turns out he doesn’t mind the social media posts.
#MiniMilah healed my broken heart and brought me something I needed so desperately at the time. As I prepare to bring my daughter’s social media presence down a notch, I’m grateful for all the memories I’ve been able to share with the World Wide Web. I’ll continue to lean on my virtual village, like so many other parents and caregivers, for support. But the daily picture updates will likely be limited to my offline world—and my #real coparent.
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Jamilah Lemieux (@JamilahLemieux) is a writer living in New York City. This is her first piece for WIRED.
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