ONCE again I find myself convinced that I'm living in the wrong century.
It's the eyebrow-raising news that new parents announce the arrival of their bundle of joy on social media within two hours of the birth. I don't think I'd even finished chowing down on my celebratory tea and toast by this time (who knew that this homely treat awaits every new mum?), let alone located my phone. In fact, new research finds that, incredibly, one in 10 mothers has been on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram within 15 minutes of childbirth. Fifteen minutes?! I don't know whether to be impressed or horrified.
Now, I'm not going to fall into my own trap of re-living in print my brush with childbirth. Suffice to say, there were expletives involved, hubby learned to dodge flying water bottles and I learned that root canal is not the most pain a body can bear. If someone had asked me to confirm my own name within 15 minutes of Munchkin's arrival I cannot say with confidence that I would have been capable. To us, the outside world was an alternate universe, a half-forgotten, far-away realm.
My main beef with compulsive "real time" social media updates is that you can't be in two places at once. You are either in the moment - likely one of the most significant in your lifetime - or you are faffing about with the zoom function on your phone and trying to get a signal.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not against the taking of photographs in the labour ward, per se. In fact, one of my most cherished photographs is one which shows me aged four hours with a face like a boxer being held by my chuffed/stunned mother who is dressed in a psychedelic dressing gown and sporting a barely ruffled seventies bouffant.
Difference is, it sits on my bedside table and not on public display. Fair enough, take a nice pic of bambino the next day, once the gunk has gone and you are scrubbed and beaming and send it to your dearest, but not to randoms.
Unbeknown to me, my other half did take snaps in those blurry, surreal 15 minutes after our son was born. My hair is slapped to my head and the angle at which I am slumped means I have three chins in every pic. But there at the centre, with his legs curled beneath him and snoozing away without a care in the world, is the most beautiful sight my eyes have ever taken in. With hindsight, I'm so glad we captured the moment our world changed forever, but it is most definitely for our eyes only.