Personal Essay: I Joined A Facebook Mom Group To Sell A Crib And Now I Know Too Much About The Sheriff
One crib listing became a civic intelligence briefing with stroller recommendations.
I joined the county moms group because I had a crib in the garage and believed, sweetly, that strangers might exchange money for wood without requiring me to learn which sheriff’s deputy refuses to return a borrowed bounce house.
Within 11 minutes, a woman named Traci had asked if the crib came from a smoke-free home, if I was “Team Melissa,” and whether I knew the sheriff’s wife had liked a post about narcissists at 2:14 in the morning.
I now know which pediatrician’s husband owns a boat, which preschool teacher has “bad front-office energy,” and why three mothers believe the sheriff’s campaign sign was moved eight inches toward the easement as a threat.
The crib remains unsold. It has become a shrine where my husband and I place printouts of comment threads and whisper, “Can you believe Deputy Matt’s sister said that?” while our child naps in a bed we bought new to avoid meeting people.
If anyone still wants the crib, it is $60 firm. Pickup only. I will throw in the mattress cover and everything I know about the sheriff’s knee surgery.
