“What’s an answering machine?” “So there was no iCloud and you had to store stuff on a floppy disk… that wasn’t actually floppy?” “Wait, you were allowed to ride your bike to the store BY YOURSELF when you were my age?”
Ah, yes, my son. Life? Was easy back THEN. (Unless you were waiting for a phone call from Richie Thompson and your sister would NOT GET OFF THE PHONE and your cheap parents WOULD NOT GET CALL WAITING.)
Then: Highfalutin families might be lucky enough to wedge le bébé between 2 suitcases, but the average Slim Jim and applesauce crowd would hold their babes in their arms with only a hug buckling them in.
Now: Enroll in an online training class to figure out which car seat is appropriate, and how to buckle that Chinese finger trap of a belt. Your child will need a booster seat until he reaches a height of 6’2″ OR is old enough to be kicked off your health insurance OR has an infant of his own and starts the whole damn cycle over again.
Then: Moms would serve up fried bologna sandwiches and Dads would offer sips of foam off their MGDs. Moms kept a measuring cup in the sugar canister so that the kids could easily whip up a batch of Kool-aid and chug themselves into an ADD frenzy.
Now: Forget it. Everything you do is wrong, Grab a squeezy pouch of mashed up fruit slime and freeze dried kale chips and wait for the Apocalypse.
Baby Bath & Body
Then: “This baby shampoo hurts your eyes? Liar. It says No More Tears. Stick your face under the faucet and then I will rub you with this pink lotion that smells like unicorn DNA and Care Bears.”
Now: “I paid $34 for this lotion that smells like someone has been living in a yurt for 3 months without a shower. But you will not get armpit cancer when you are 40, and I expect a thank you note since I can’t hug you without wanting to put on a poncho and listen to jam bands.”
Then: Yell BYE out the car window and thank the baby Jesus someone else is responsible for your kid today.
Now: Call off work to chaperone with all 27 other mothers, because your kid might get stolen by terrorists or fall in the gazelle exhibit. Make sure he has a cell phone programmed with emergency contacts from his doctor to Cousin Ruth, who currently has a suspended license but in a pinch would have no problem driving her RV through a police barricade.
Then: Put the baby in the crib (full of suspicious metal latches that make noise similar to a 747 attempting takeoff when lowering the side) and let her cry. She will learn – and if not, that’s why God made Benadryl.
Now: Research what position is safest to lay baby in, wrap her in her Sleep Bandage, sing her a Croatian lullaby thought by monks to soothe infant ears, and hire a sleep therapist to coach her through the first 3 years of unconsciousness.
…And that, Dear Son, is why NOW Moms are tired.
© Calling All Cool Moms 2017