There’s a new frontier in the throes of marital and postmarital powerplay and it lies in the deeply personal and earnest letter written by a parent to a child on their birthday each year and posted for all the world to witness the boundless, unfaltering, selfless love reserved for mothers. And also… they fucking hate their ex.
Heather Howell, mother of three, has a colorful Instagram feed full of beautiful children doing cartwheels through sprinklers, eating popsicles on the Cape, back-to-school outfits and so much more suburban bliss. But what has really captivated audiences is her captions fraught with layered wordplay and double meanings. When looking with a critical eye, we can examine: What is she saying? What is she not saying? And what is the story of the space in between?
In a birthday post for her youngest child — an old skin-to-skin photo post-birth in which she looks at the camera, seemingly held by her husband, exhausted, proud, with a modicum of irritation, “put that camera way” — accompanied by a caption:
“Ginsburg, I can’t believe you’re 9! Time is so twisty and bendy. It moves both fast and slow. Where have the years gone? I realize what I’ve been missing and what I deserve. Love. Keep teaching me how to love myself. The past year has been hard on you and on me, but never stop making me laugh, even when it’s through the tears. #time #fast #slow #twist #bend #tears”
On its surface, a tribute to a growing girl and the unpredictable shape of motherhood. But a palpable disillusionment bubbles beneath. She keeps us guessing in one for her eldest:
“Happy birthday, my sweet Maddox. We’re both learning to set boundaries and say no this year. Bullies take many forms regardless of our age. We must forgive ourselves and others. I’ll always be there for you, you’ll always have me.”
The interpretive process would suggest she is as fond of her husband as Orwell was with the Bolsheviks. The wordsmith then dazzled us with her most recent biting post:
“Dear Luca, you’re 11 years old today. I never would have known I had the strength to be a single parent, the way a cactus stands alone in the dry unforgiving desert wind, without you showing me I could. When I feel like I can’t do it, I’m going to remind myself of today at Legoland (your birthday gift from me and only me) when I saw a sign that read, ‘Build happiness, one Lego at a time.’ …One lego at a time, Luca. Show me how…”
Some speculate that Heather has her sights set on publishing her work, a Pulitzer dangling in the distance. But children are useful literary tools in conveying a deeper message about marriage as the ultimate performance, making this her perfect platform. In pressing Heather for comment, she simply smiled, “I don’t know what you mean…? I just love celebrating their birthdays.” …She’s good.