There are too many babies on Facebook today.

So, I log in to Facebook.
Okay, that was a lie.
I am always logged into Facebook.
Anyway, that is when I realise that there has been a little crack in the space-time continuum through which I have landed into childhood.
Not my childhood, apparently. The childhoods of all the people on my friend list. Mysteriously, all of them are sporting baby pictures on their displays. Of course, their baby pictures, not random ones.
In order to amp up some massive hipster-irony points, I wanted to post a wry status about it. That didn’t happen. So I spent my time looking at the numerous babies in varied postures. Some of them are crawling, some have thrown their arms in the air in oddly adult expressions of confusion and bewilderment. The others are dressed in clothes that made me cry at our entire generation of parents. Orange pants, yellow spotty shirts and strange poky sunglasses. Seriously, what were our folks thinking? Na
(You don’t need to brace yourself. There’s no meaningful philosophical observation following this. There, now you know.)
There’s also the other kind of baby pictures on Facebook that’s a little more scary for a twenty-something on the dotted line of 25. They belong to the peers who are married and have children. My peers are taking care of little persons! I still consider myself a little person!
All that empowered liberated singledom is just for the image stats, I assure you. Don’t get me wrong, though. I love babies.
I am such a stereotypical millennial, it’s not even funny.