I watch them and I laugh, because apparently neither of us are particularly evolved. This is part of our relationship now. Someone eats shit while trying to unload their groceries, and my son thinks of me, and a little notification pops up on my phone.
I’m not sure it's the exact mother-son bonding activity I envisioned when he was a baby, but here we are. I was reluctant to let him have Instagram. It took a lot of begging and persuading for all the reasons you are already thinking, plus a few more because my brain likes to work overdrive at night.
Strangers, doomscrolling, brain development — you get it. I know how quickly “I’m just checking one thing” turns into three hours of watching a farmer shave his horse’s hooves in order to find potential infection. It’s a whole world that I wasn’t exactly eager to let my eighth grader wade into.
But eventually, I agreed to let him have it with close monitoring and plenty of rules. I expected to spend a lot of time reminding him to put his phone away. I expected a lot of check-ins where I had to set more limits and teach him lessons.
What I didn’t expect was that he would start sending me DMs. Without needing a ride, or permission, or a snack. He sent them just because!
At first, it was funny videos. The kind of dumb content that makes you laugh even when you shouldn’t. Then came the lacrosse clips.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
