Seems like every child under the sun has had a glowing school report.
Like many proud parents I shared my joy on Facebook, without a second thought.
So why do I feel like a bit of a show off? Especially when other friends did not opt to go viral with their success.
I try to limit 'kiddy talk' on Facebook to show that I am interesting, have my own identity and am independent of the children.
Hmm, my recent posts have been about cats, meatballs and Alan Partridge....
Guilty as charged
But I've noticed more kiddy posts creeping in. Updates involving the Tooth Fairy, Thomas Land and the Mekon style Easter Egg hats (which I will shamelessly plug again, because I usually have all the crafting prowess of Anthea Turner circumnavigating Tracy Island).
I do my fair share of Facebragging. Uploading endless albums - originally named 'Randoms' or 'Parties' - featuring a selection of the same shot.
Because we are always out doing exciting activities. Never lolling about with Fleabag Monkeyface on loop and wiping chocolate handprints off the walls.
Einstein a go-go
The occasional bit of boasting is forgivable. But repeat offenders seem to compose tedious status updates every time little Chloe doodles a stickman, receives a book token or finishes a Petit Filous.
Of course I love to share in loved ones' pride and joy - and hopefully vice versa. Just not with a running commentary for every Crayolamazing moment.
It's a kiddy centric society and I can't imagine my Mom switching off Beadle's About to announce: 'OMG, little Anna has just started menstruating. LOL.' With a 'Like' on Dr White's Heavy Flow and Lil-Lets FB pages. Period.
At times there is an underlying rivalry.
Serial bragging about league tables, exam results, parents evening, reports.
Clearly, every culprit has produced child prodigies who attend elite schools. Like Hogwarts.
I'm aware such enthusiasm can be perceived as boasting and I try to refrain. Even if I think it's worthy of a phone call to Mensa (see, at it again).
After all, it's only interesting to me. Modesty is a humble trait. So I'm told.
Competitive Mom syndrome
This One-upwomanship is far from new.
It starts with pregnancy: Who has the biggest bump? The worst sickness? Who worked right up until their waters broke in Meeting Room 1?
I bet I had the worst piles, if that counts.....
Birth: Who had the most gruesome? The longest ? Stitches anyone?
We checked in at our leisure on a set date. The boys popped out the sunroof and I took every drug going.
Babies: Who uses real nappies? Who sleeps through? Who has the worst case of mastitis?
Surely you don't use dummies (sorry, pacifiers)?
Toddlers: Who can eat a four course meal of pureed beige stuff? Who crawls/walks/completes a decathlon? Who can go "wee wee" on the big toilet while reciting Chaucer?
School: How many clubs are you in? What do you mean you don't play the piccolo? Surely you're on Kipper book stage 999 where Biff (a girl) gets divorced from Wilf (yes, Wilf) because he had a 'great idea' to let Aneena stroke Floppy (a dog...) and his magic key began to glow.
Recently a solicitor claimed her son had the brain of Steven Hawking, the creativity of da Vinci and the athleticism of Bolt (the athlete, not the CGI dog).
When another mother casually mentioned her child was on a particular colour of reading book, Competitive Mom manically ransacked her boy's 'library'. Aghast that he was only on a minor colour, she marched into school to have it out with the head.
Glazed and confused
Sometimes we are so caught up in our world that we fail to see the glaze.
On Facebook you can just 'Like' something without really digesting it.
Pre FB I had to endure a 'real time' recording of a child's first birthday, from the dawn breast feed to the "Oohs and Ahs" at the mounds of Iggle Piggle presents, to falling asleep in their dribble (the baby, not the parents. Although...).
Another couple produced a calendar entitled: 'A Child for All Seasons'. Sweet thought for grandparents. Only they sent it to work colleagues. And teachers. And the builder.
Sorry, but this is boring unless you are a direct blood relative. One generation removed.
Curb your enthusiasm
I must remember, when they are running around with a pair of pants on their head, that they are 6-year-old boys and not geniuses, sorry, genii.
I know how much I love them. It's just that social networking makes it easy to declare our feelings publicly. Just step away from the laptop.
Besides, I can navel gaze on this blog. Mind you, not gazed at my navel since that sunroof popped up.
I will try to punctuate my outpouring of pride with amusing pictures and animal photos. Rather like 'That's Life'.
Nobody likes a show off.
Did I mention parents' evening took place this week btw?