I woke to the grunt and gurgle of H around 3am. As I scooped him up in my arms and pulled down my top to feed him, I had my cellphone in one hand, ready to scroll through the newsfeed of Facebook.
Facebook in the nether hours is every newborn moms best friend. I don’t have any sort of guilt when it’s dark out and the house is asleep.
So, once again, 3am and I’m eager to check in on some of my Moms groups on the FB- many women are in labor and I love seeing the updates. But – I was denied entry.
See, for reasons going back two years, I have used a variation of my first name on the FB. Ni Cole, Nic O Le, etc. I was reported last month for having a fake name and warned sternly to put my real first and last name in, I ignored it, and now I am being required to submit a photo of my government issued ID to the overlords in order to access my account.
If it wasn’t for FB’s further integration into my everyday life over the past few years- the event feature, the “sign on with FB” option Spotify offered, I’d be done. I have a love/hate relationship with the FB anyway (like most other people I am sure).
But I know my life – socially mainly – is so tied up with the damn website that I have no choice. I have to take my punishment seriously and submit my ID. I feel like a punk. I hate it. I want to unsubscribe to the addiction. Now is the perfect time but —- I’m already craving my next dose of mindless scroll.
One day I will quit. I really will.
Just not yet I guess.