Woman and baby (9-12 months) in plaid on red couch, low section
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He has the sense not to answer the question. There's an unsettling parenting-as-performance aspect to this genre, an effort to elbow one's way into the baby photos. Look, sweetie! Here's me putting you into your Sex Pistols onesie! Here's me making your first mix CD! Once, it was understood that raising kids was about subordinating yourself, recognizing that, as least as far as Darwin and the gene pool were concerned, you were no longer the star. This is not to say the hipster writers are bad parents--or writers; their work can be wise and moving. But the generation that as children was told by TV that "the most important person in the whole wide world is you" is finding it hard to pass that torch.
Which is understandable. Parenting is tough and often lonely. Subordinating one's self is especially fraught for women, who historically often lost their identities in marriage and motherhood. Moms and dads can be unique, creative individuals after they have kids. It's being a unique, creative individual through your kids that's disturbing. Pierce whatever body part you want, having a kid is not alternative: it's been the norm since we stopped reproducing by division. And while toddlers may love punk rock, they crave routine and predictability.
I sympathize with the parents. But I sympathize more with the toddlers whose bouts of playing with themselves, feces hurling and projectile vomiting are being recorded, page by gigabyte, for posterity. Someday, one will write his or her own memoir of growing up in public. I nominate 3-year-old "Sophie," who "dictates" Baby's First Blog at the Cookie website to her mother. In her first post, she asked Mom, sensibly, "Why am I having a blob?" Somebody sign that kid up.