Not to sound like Regina’s mother in Mean Girls, but I wasn’t your regular mum, I was, once, a cool mum. My kid wanted to be “YouTube Famous”, he wanted to be a household name. He wanted to be a star of screen and press. And I delivered. I happen to have some cool access. I write for some of Australia’s best loved brands and they are always hungry for parenting content littered with the image of a gorgeous little boy. He loved it. LOVED IT. Clients loved it. I loved fun, sponsored family activities and events where we received all the bells and whistles on the client’s dime. It was a win-win-win situation.

The Ultimate in Cool Parenting

On one occasion, I was invited to write about, and attend a meet and greet with a world-famous kid’s YouTuber. This guy has more subscribers than Australia has population…by a goodly amount. My son’s all-time favourite. I endured hours and hours of this guy talking about playing video games. His voice was like nails on a chalk board to me.

But, he was my child’s own hero. A squeaky clean, well-spoken gaming expert who made wholesome videos for kids aged four – eight. The project included a trip to Sydney, plenty of Ubers (at age six, riding in Ubers was my child’s favourite activity), a nice hotel, front row centre tickets and after show meet and greet passes. The media were delighted with the little boy who played up to the camera, who pulled faces, and engaged in hijinks with the top tier kiddy influencer. They snapped their photos and rolled their cameras.

I was the coolest mum ever and my kid had the time of his life. The happiest mini-break in the history of kiddy outings. I was, in short, a great mum.

Until I wasn’t. And then I really wasn’t.

The ultimate in embarrassing mums

Fast forward to the first year of high school and I’m sitting in a meeting when my phone starts to ping. A rapid succession of text messages. And, a call – it’s got to be urgent if my child is actually calling me. I excuse myself thinking my child has been abducted. I dial him back in a panic.

Mum, you’ve got to take down all those photos of me with the YouTuber.

What?

The YouTuber. From when we went to Sydney that time. Take them down PLEASE.

Wait, what?

The kids at school saw it. They’re teasing me. Please mum.

See, it turns out when you’re 12, there’s nothing so deeply unhip as a kiddy YouTuber. If anyone found out you watched a childhood influencer, you would be ostracized. My son was at risk of becoming a social pariah in his first few weeks of school… over a YouTuber.

I realized one thing… I had no idea how to parent and of this.

I tried explaining that the kids at school may have once loved the influencer too (they had, they knew exactly who he was) and were likely just jealous. I tried explaining that this was a precious memory, something that most people don’t get to experience, and he should be proud. I tried explaining that I had done it for him, that I’d never seen him so happy as he was on that trip. I tried to explain that it would pass and that the kids would grow bored of it. I tried to explain resilience. I tried everything. He was inconsolable. And, it was my fault.

In terms of damage control, there wasn’t much I could do. The media had been at the event and he’d really played it up. He’d been the perfect little model and he was lapped up by national media, gaming industry media, parenting media – everyone was there. The horse had bolted. I had no control over locking the gate.

It came to tears. Both of us. It was awful.

Like I had suggested the kids at school eventually moved on. Now and then they flick a comment his way but he now grits his teeth and tries to laugh it off. But he’s still not happy. He feels I have betrayed him. And in a sense, I have.

What I didn’t know back then

Back when he was little, I shared all kinds of pictures on my socials. He was gorgeous. I was a fully fledged baby spammer. My socials are locked down to friends only, but in reality, there’s a lot of images of him out on the web. There’s information about him. Birthdays. School. The name of his first dog. Identity stuff that is on the web forever.

If I knew then what I know now…. It’s more common now to protect kids’ privacy on socials and the internet. It’s no longer a “cool mum” who splashes moments of her kid’s life all over the published world. When my child was little, there were fewer rules. When my child was born, there was this “cool new site called Facebook but I’m sticking with MySpace for now”… Blogging wasn’t about the cash, it was about sharing stories from your life, which included your kids. I was an early adopter. I was writing for mainstream websites and media early on, when it was a lawless place to work.

I have regrets. And that’s why this story comes without a picture of my dear child – enjoy the stock photo, and without any identifying marks. I’ve learned my lesson now.