There is nothing more smug than social media. You can check insta-sham to delve into people's filtered lives. See what they are eating and what their thighs look like in front of a sunny swimming pool. Twitter is there for you to tweet inane things like "HAVING A GREAT DAY". And as we all know Facebook is there for you to show the world the 'oh so happy life' you are leading. You can check in on date night, you can upload photos of your kids having the BEST TIME EVER and share an inspirational quote or ten. But thanks to Facebook memories I am being taunted by myself and my former life. I am jealous of a me that once was.

For example two years ago this weekend I was off on a flight to Lanzarote. I read this whilst I was just about to go and clean my bathroom. This morning, as I was about to do the washing up, 'former me' (the b*tch) enjoyed letting me know that three years ago I was holding a very tiny boy. Living it up on maternity leave in Disneyland. It made my womb weep and my heart heavy. I shoved my hands in the washing up and screamed "GET YOUR COAT ON!" extra loudly before rushing out on the school run.


Facebook memories are there to highlight all the ace times in your life. But to me they can bring up a time when I was thinner. Or the excitement of my hen do. They show me how lovely I looked when I was pregnant and what it was like to have a small baby snuggled in my arms. They can often make me feel kinda sad and wistful. Like an old lady looking back on her life. At 38. And a life that was only two years ago. They also can show me that I am sometimes a bit of an arse and that I had far too many opinions about Eastenders and Joey Essex. That I sometimes posted 'in' jokes about work, that I don't even really get anymore. I was an idiot.

Has it made me more mindful of what I post? Nah. Do I upload pictures of my kids having a rip roaring time in LEGOLAND? Hell yeah. Am I going to do a status relating to something that has gone on in Made in Chelsea? Totes. But what I am going to do is make sure that the next time I check Facebook I am not about to go and clean up dog sh*t in the garden or look at it when I have had a row (again) over the washing up with my other half. There is a time and a place for Timehop. And it's just not then.
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