Bringing common sense with a grain of salt back to parenting!
Mistake: Broadcasting your baby’s poop habits to the world as if they’re headline-worthy.
Humorous Angle: “Breaking news: Baby poops again. Parents still shocked. Tune in at 11.”
Reality Check: Nobody needs a play-by-play of your child’s digestive system — least of all your child, someday.
Babies poop. A lot. Enough to fill diapers, laundry baskets, and occasionally entire afternoons. But do we really need to post about it? Somewhere along the way, modern parenting blurred the line between private life and public content, and bowel movements became social media updates. Let's talk about why we overshare diaper drama, how it backfires, and how to keep poop where it belongs — in the diaper, not on the timeline.
THE ISSUE
It’s 3 a.m. You’re bleary-eyed, holding a baby who has just produced something that defies physics. Your instinct? Contain the mess, sanitize the battlefield, and maybe cry quietly into the wipes.
But then — another instinct kicks in: document this for the world. A quick snap of the diaper (blurred, if we’re lucky), a caption like, “OMG, explosion at 2:47 a.m.! #momlife #sendhelp,” and suddenly dozens of friends and acquaintances know the intimate details of your child’s digestive health.
Social media has created a bizarre cultural moment: the poop update. Posts range from vague humblebrags (“We finally had a blowout-free day!”) to full-blown (pun intended) play-by-plays with photos, emojis, and hashtags.
In parenting groups, it gets worse. Entire threads analyze poop color like amateur gastroenterologists. Someone posts a picture (again, why?) and ten people chime in:
“Totally normal!”
“Might be teething.”
“Have you tried switching formula?”
It’s as if every parent with Wi-Fi has suddenly earned a medical degree in stool analysis.
The problem? What feels funny and relatable in the moment can cross into TMI — too much intestine.
WHY PARENTS DO THIS
Let’s give ourselves some grace here. Parents don’t share poop updates because we think our friends are dying to know about little Emma’s bowel regularity. We do it because:
It’s Comic Relief in the Chaos. When your life revolves around diapers, sleep deprivation, and laundry, poop is both the bane of your existence and your only material. Posting about it is a way of saying, Look, I’m surviving, and if I don’t laugh about this, I’ll cry.
We’re Desperate for Connection. At 2 a.m., when you’re covered in wipes and wondering if you’ll ever sleep again, hitting “post” feels like reaching out to other humans. And you know what? Someone will respond, “OMG, same.” For a moment, you’re not alone in the trenches.
It Feels Harmless. “It’s just poop, not private,” we tell ourselves. Compared to posting faces or full names, bowel movement reports feel anonymous. Until you realize your child, years later, might not appreciate that 300 people know about their explosive phase.
It’s a Modern Rite of Passage. Our parents had baby books where they documented “first smile” and “first tooth.” We have Facebook timelines filled with “first blowout.” It feels like content — but also memory-keeping.
Because the Internet Rewards Oversharing. Posts about normal things rarely go viral. But a blowout story, complete with emojis? People react. Likes and comments roll in. Suddenly, you feel validated for surviving diaper duty.
We live in a diiferent with different expectations as our own parents did.
Then (1980s/90s):
Parents noted poop in private journals (yes, some had little medical logbooks).
If you told friends, it was during coffee chats, in hushed tones.
No one photographed diapers. Film was expensive, and you saved it for birthdays.
Now (2020s):
Parents broadcast poop updates with emojis, hashtags, and even reels.
“Blowout containment hacks” trend on TikTok.
Entire Instagram accounts are dedicated to baby humor, fueled by diaper stories.
Parents text grandparents mid-change with live commentary.
It’s not that poop became more important. It’s that privacy shrank while performance grew. Parenting once happened in the living room; now it happens on feeds, with audiences ranging from close friends to distant acquaintances to coworkers you barely remember adding on Facebook.
HOW THIS HARMS CHILDREN (AND US)
It may seem funny now, but there are consequences:
Oversharing Breaches Privacy. Someday your child will be old enough to Google themselves. Do you want them discovering detailed updates about their bowel movements preserved in Facebook archives?
Normalizing TMI Culture. When parents broadcast everything, kids grow up thinking privacy doesn’t exist. They learn that their bodies — even the most personal parts — are content.
Encourages Parental One-Upmanship. Poop updates often become humblebrags: “He slept through the night AND had a perfect diaper this morning!” Cue the silent comparison game.
Distracts from Real Connection. We scroll for likes instead of phoning a friend who might actually offer support. Posting replaces authentic conversations.
Can Accidentally Humiliate Kids. Even toddlers sense when their body is a spectacle. Imagine a potty-training child overhearing, “Mommy posted your accident online!” That’s not exactly dignity-building.
Trains Us to Value Reactions Over Presence. Instead of laughing together at the mess, we angle the diaper for a photo. We turn real parenting moments into content opportunities.
WHY IT’S TEMPTING TO KEEP DOING IT
Because poop is universal. Everyone relates. The likes roll in. Someone shares your story, and suddenly your midnight disaster feels like comedy gold.
But short-term validation doesn’t outweigh long-term weirdness. When your child is 14 and moody, they’ll resent knowing Aunt Susan still remembers their “green poop phase” because you documented it in 2010.
AVOIDING THE TRAP
Here’s the good news: We don’t have to give up humor, connection, or memory-keeping. We just have to redirect the urge to overshare into healthier outlets.
Share the Story, Not the Substance. Anecdotes are gold. Photos of the diaper? Not so much. Instead of posting a literal blowout picture, write a funny description. Example: “Today we discovered the true meaning of ‘up to his neck in it.’” Everyone laughs, no one dry-heaves, and your child’s dignity remains intact.
Keep a Private “Poop Log” (For You, Not the World). Doctors actually care about poop. Friends, not so much. Keep a little notebook or app for noting color, frequency, etc., if you’re concerned. This way you get the data you need for pediatric visits without creating a searchable archive of diaper contents.
Create a Parent-Only Group Chat. Need to vent? Start a WhatsApp group with a few trusted parent friends. That’s the place for 2 a.m. “explosion” updates. You’ll still get the solidarity — but without the digital permanence of Instagram. Think of it as the modern equivalent of complaining to your neighbor over the fence. Safe, small, human.
Redirect to Humor That Ages Well. Instead of posting bowel reports, turn the chaos into humor that’s evergreen. “Baby’s new hobby: testing gravity with mashed carrots.” Or, “Sleep is a myth invented by people without babies.” Still relatable, still funny — without one day being mortifying.
Ask Before Posting (Yes, Even Toddlers). This may sound silly, but even small children like being asked, “Can I share this funny story?” It builds respect. Sure, they might not understand at two years old, but it sets a tone: your body, your choice. Fast forward: kids raised with consent culture around posting tend to grow into teens who know their boundaries. That’s a parenting win.
Remember the Golden Rule: Future Embarrassment Test. Before you hit “post,” ask: Would I want this online about me? If the answer is no, don’t share. Imagine your teenager finding that caption in a college group chat. If it makes you cringe, it’ll make them cringe times ten.
Channel It Into Creative Outlets. If storytelling helps you cope, write it down. Start a journal, a private blog, or even sketch cartoons (stick figures work). Humor is healing — but you don’t need likes to make it real.
Save the Camera for the Cute, Not the Crude. By all means, take 300 photos a day of gummy smiles, giggles, and the baby eating spaghetti like a pasta monster. Those are the memories you’ll want in albums. The diaper ones? You’ll delete them later anyway. Spare yourself.
THE PAYOFF
When we stop turning poop into posts, we:
Preserve our child’s dignity (and future sanity).
Still laugh — but together, not for an audience.
Replace comparison culture with real solidarity.
Keep memories that age well (baby giggles, not bowel habits).
Teach our kids from day one that privacy matters.
Because here’s the truth: poop isn’t content. It’s a stage. It feels all-consuming now, but it passes (literally and figuratively).
Years from now, when you scroll back through baby memories, you’ll smile at the silly faces, the first steps, the mashed-banana hairdos — not at the diapers. And your teenager will thank you for not handing their future prom date an easy punchline.
So put down the phone during the blowouts. Grab the wipes. Laugh with your partner. Text a trusted friend if you must. But let poop stay what it is: messy, necessary, fleeting.
Because babies don’t need followers. They need parents who know when to post — and when to just live it.
© Kristijan Musek Lešnik, 2025
