Stuck at home during confinement, young mums have taken to posting on the Web streams of photos showing little pink Juniors. They publish detailed digital reports about milk intake, poo and pee, and myriad, mundane musings about parenthood.
My own blog, I confess, is full of self-indulgent posts about my son Julian's quirks and milestones over the past 25 months.
From cooing over his first words ("ball", "papa"), I now poke fun at the hilarious sentences he concocts.
But I've started wondering lately how Julian would react to these online, personal revelations of our lives together, once he is all grown up.
Nothing on the Internet truly goes away. Websites survive in archived forms on multiple servers, floating around for all and sundry to stumble upon and read decades on.
Would Julian appreciate knowing all about his toddler bath-time habits and silly antics?
Would he - in the throes of a painfully self-conscious adolescence - be comfortable with the realisation that all of Mummy's friends, along with other gawkers, had seen cheeky, embarrassing photos of him on her blog?
What will be worse, I suspect, for the young man my son will become, is having to read all the cringe-worthy, mushy things his mother has written about herself. It'd be the equivalent of walking in on your parents making out.
By the time kids grow up, they've formed pre-conceived notions of their parents that are as comforting as a bolster.
Parents acquire the patina of myth and mystery over time. To have that patina stripped away by blog posts that reveal their innermost thoughts... you can imagine how distressing that can be.
A friend of mine, who started her beautifully written chronicle of her three offsprings' growth for the benefit of her husband, tells me she didn't really think about its impact on the kid themselves until recently.
Sitting at the laptop, her three-year-old first-born son saw his photo, read part of her blog and asked: "Mummy, you wrote me into the Internet?"
She added, "Then I realised, one day, he would be able to read it all.
"At different stages in their lives, I imagine they'd react differently.
They might feel proud that I wrote about them, or awkward and embarrassed. Or thankful that I documented it all."
In a way, it is pointless to dwell on how our kids are going to take it. Kids take things whichever way they like, despite our best intentions anyway.
Besides, it's just a sign of the times. While my generation pieced together our childhood and what our parents used to be like through old photographs and VHS home videos, my sons will be downloading theirs on Blogger, Flickr and YouTube - anytime and anywhere.
Just to be safe, I've hoarded a whole bunch of analogue mementos to serve as clues to who
I was, am and will be. When I die, Julian can sort through those if he preferred, instead of surfing the Web, archiving the first woman to ever love him. Megalomania on my part? Maybe.
Then again, it may just help him figure out why he is the man he is in future.
