Story 22 | A Day In The Life: Motherhood As Content Creation
A personal essay likening early motherhood to social media content creation.
I had the idea for this essay while engaged in the activities described below, a sort of a meta moment. Even using the word meta here feels meta, given the topic. Get back on track, Elisabeth.
Some weeks ago, I made an observation about motherhood I thought grounds for a cheeky Instagram comment. Maybe a Reel. But only recently did I see the full essay possible. It immediately wrote itself from there.
Enough vagaries. Get to reading!
A Day In The Life: Motherhood As Content Creation, An Essay
I recently realized that I am my daughter’s own, personal YouTube. Not just a channel – for her, I am all of YouTube, or insert your social media platform of choice.
Given her life stage, four-month-old Celine cannot yet roll over or crawl to move with purpose in a direction. She does not yet have the dexterity to intentionally pick up toys. We’re still warming up her muscles with tummy time, observation and overall life experience. I infer her imagination is at work, while her curiosity is plain.
In short, Celine cannot yet really entertain herself, though chewing on her fingers is pretty captivating, for a while, at any rate. I, her primary caregiver, am therefore her main source of entertainment. Like any network or social media platform, I provide a deep well of content, organized into countless series to satisfy whatever whim or mood.
Perhaps because I am a single mother and do not have a partner to hand her off to, Celine witnesses every part of my day. Certainly, she has nap breaks, and I keep her away from screens, but otherwise, there she is, along for the ride.
From the crook of my arm, she watches me brush my teeth. She lays on my bed while I do my hair and makeup and while I get dressed. She sits in a bouncy chair in the kitchen while I cook. There are other times when we do more baby-oriented activities – play on the floor, read books and stroll through our neighborhood – but she is very much exposed to my life as well.
I try not to thank Celine for allowing me to shower or do whatever activity. I sometimes default to saying that but correct myself and shift my sentiment to thanking her for her patience while I accomplished x task. Because, as you may know, babies are patient until they’re not.
When she’s with me, I’m not simply doing my hair and makeup. I’m also keeping her engaged and happy. So, what do I do for my curious, little daughter? I talk her through my actions, share my personal observations and invite her into the details.
Hair and makeup turn into a ASMR skincare tutorial, where I’m tap-tap-tapping on each of my various beauty products and holding them up to reflect in the light, before I demonstratively apply the product and explain the benefits. I’m chattering away, and her bright eyes are watching, arms and legs pumping from excitement – that is, if my performance is satisfactory.
Then, it’s time for a GRWM (get ready with me), in which I offer outfit options for the day – aka try things on that don’t fit, reject them and move on – so we veer into tips on how to adapt various trends to your body type. At some point in this segment, she’s starting to get tired and starts fussing which intensifies into crying, so I shift from the linear process of trying to dress myself, into a full Only-Fans-like striptease, complete with helicoptering clothes over my head, shimmies and peek-a-boo.
During her nap, groceries are delivered, so when she wakes up, I walk her through a grocery haul as I put our purchases away, showcasing each item and citing relevant recipes, which is a natural way to preview our next content series.
When it’s time to cook, we shift to an immersive first-person perspective, and I’m baby-wearing while preparing dinner. I have yet to perfect baby-wearing. Inevitably, it hurts my back, no matter how I adjust the myriad of straps. More crucially in this moment, if I wear her too high, she’s in my line of sight to the countertop below, so I’m craning my head to see past hers to where my hands are blindly chopping. I’m reading the recipe aloud, revealing my hard-earned hacks for ingredient prep and educating her on proper cooking and flavor-building techniques. She never makes it to the end of these segments, so they will probably get deprioritized by the algorithm, ie relegated to a nap-time activity.
Dinner time ends up being a family mukbang, in which Celine is now propped up in her highchair, alternating between sticking toys in her mouth and watching me shovel food into my face at a curiously quick pace. No one knows how long dinner will last, and breastfeeding has made me ravenous, which also accounts for the generous portion sizes and calorie-laden foods.
We’ve finally made it to bedtime, and now Celine has requested a white noise track, akin to a Calm App track hosted by her favorite celebrity, me, in which I relentlessly repeat “shh” in a way I hope is soothing. The internet tells me that “shh”-ing should be loud, but that feels counterintuitive. I have learned that I cannot “shh” while leaning over the bassinet because it will cause me to drool, and, really, we can’t both be drooling. Someone has to set an example.
I have occasional moments of clarity where I can see myself from an outsider’s perspective and understand why one might regard my actions as slightly deranged. The thing is, I’m in on the joke. There’s no embarrassment. I am a willing participant, and I am handsomely paid for my antics. Celine doles out smiles, a crinkled nose, joyful eyes, happy body language. I’ve been working hard to earn a belly laugh. Soon!
Social media strategists and growth experts debate whether content creators should niche down to one topic or play within a few spaces. A mother of a months-old baby enjoys no such luxuries; she cycles through each and every genre, all at the mercy of her audience of one.
And all Celine has to do to change the channel is cry.
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