I have no problems being called a "mommy blogger." I'm a mom. I blog. The shoe fits. But often I find people quickly apologizing when they label me as so. It's almost as if the very title drips of condescension. Mothers writing about their lives has somehow become regarded as a genre full of gratuitous anecdotes, yoga pants and wine. As if that weren't insulting enough - a recent slew of articles claims that not only is the genre frivolous - it's unethical.
Parental overshare, as I define it, does not refer to parents discussing their kids with friends and family. Private or anonymous communication doesn't count, even if in this day and age, everything could theoretically reach a mass audience. Nor does fiction. Two criteria must be present: First, the children need to be identifiable. That does not necessarily mean full names. The author's full name is plenty, even if the children have a different (i.e. their father's) last name. Next, there needs to be ambition to reach a mass audience.
Readers are meant to celebrate confessional parenting-writing for its courage, perhaps also because it is a rare creative (sometimes lucrative) outlet for women who identify primarily as mothers. Yet these parents' "courage" involves telling stories not theirs to tell.