Let’s say you met me out and then you went home and Googled me. Maybe that would be a deal-breaker for you. Maybe you’d feel jealous. Maybe you would think these photos meant I was an exhibitionist of some sort and you would expect me to be an exhibitionist for you.
On Wednesday, Google decided that its US users were apparently all diaper babies who couldn't handle seeing accidental breasts now and again. Is this censorship, or am I just being an oversensitive perv?
If my imagination wasn’t enough, the internet fueled my postpartum anxiety. Google was a sick, addictive slot machine of possible life terrors that could harm my baby, the stuff of Steven King’s next chilling bestseller, "CHILDBIRTH."