There are some bloggers who reveal every little detail of their children’s lives. Dooce, who I’ve been reading since before she had kids (or even lost her job), famously discusses not only the names but also photos, conversations, personal details, and medical challenges of her two daughters. I feel as though I know everything but their shoe sizes, and could probably find that out with some digging.
I have zero judgement to pass on Dooce or thousands of other bloggers who share the details of their kids’ lives, but I’m not sure it’s for me.
Or, more accurately, I’m not sure it’s for me to plaster her ridiculous exploits all over my blog. Do you need to know all about her pooping? What about the face she makes that bears an uncanny resemblance to Grumpy Cat – should I post a picture? What if my daughter turns into a meme?
At the same time, I don’t want to miss out on all these fun stories! People mommy- and daddy-blog for a reason – because children are insane and unfiltered and hilarious and unreasonable. They’re instant entertainment. I’ve spent the entirety of today mostly just laughing at our baby.
What happens when those two things intersect? When in grade two I read her a post, and she says, “I’d rather you not mention that, father,” and then I say, “Oh, shit, hopefully that’s not retroactive, because otherwise I’ve got about six years worth of posts about you eating things you found on the floor to redact now.” What happens when her classmates begin GOOGLING? Aren’t my own exploits embarrassing enough for the both of us?
Parents have to make a lot of decisions for their children, so usually the consent is theirs. But there are some decisions that it’s not really fair for a parent to make. I wouldn’t permanently alter my daughter’s body, or decide who she’ll eventually marry – those things are for her to determine herself, much later. And, I don’t want to tell her story to the entire internet before she even knows it’s her story to tell.
After much deliberation, OCD Godzilla and I have reached a compromise. I will blog about some of her exploits, but nothing medical or blackmail-worthy, and not by name – especially because it is so unique. Since my wife’s moniker has become the brief E, and since my daughter is the sixth E-lady in a row in her family, she will be known as E Version 6.0, or EV6 for short.
In addition to differentiating her from wife E, this is also a terrible pun about her being a sociopathic X-Files villain and/or one of my least-favorite bands of all time. Also, it neatly resolves the possibility of a horrible nothingness being released across the internet because my baby doesn’t have a name.
Finally, in lieu of her actual name, please accept this comprehensive list of her nicknames to date:
Profussor Wiggles, Dean of Fidgets.
Grumpy Cat. Duckie. Smelly Cat. Little Bug. Frogger.
The Fusser. Fussbudget. Fussy Fusser.
Flopsy. T-Rex. Hamster Cage. Grumplepuss. Baby Hiccups. Baby the Hutt. Sidecar.
Captain Poops. Tiny Crazy Person.