Today is my grandfather's birthday. Even though he is "retired" in Florida, he plays a few sets of tennis a day and has more work as a CPA than he probably had before he moved to Florida.
My grandparents had my dad when they were both in their late teens; I can not even imagine being 17 and having a newborn. Granted, we all make stuff up as we go along, but only now do I think that I have the life skills to effectively fake being a mom. Regardless, my dad and my uncle both turned out okay (yes, they both have long hair and my uncle spent many years following the Grateful Dead - but all things considered they are in the range of 'normal'. Nyah, nyah).
But seriously, think about all the rules we had to follow while pregnant - no smoking, no drinking, limited OTC drugs and caffeine, iron pills, prenatal vitamins, the monitoring and well-mom and baby visits - all of these are relatively recent guidelines. And consider all of the modern conveniences, e.g., disposable diapers and ready-made formula; these weren't available back in the day. Further, even though I am sure my grandfather was an exception, the role of the dad has evolved considerably over the last half century. Even if you think your husband could be more helpful now, anything he does is a giant leap forward compared to the help and support wives received in the 50s. Not only were they responsible for 100% of the child care and housework, dinner was supposed to be on the table at a certain time and you couldn't even rely on ready-made dinners or the microwave. I guess we should count our lucky stars...
Anyway, happy birthday, Poppy! Enjoy the day and thanks for faking it so well.
Earlier this month, after wishing my grandmother a happy birthday via the blog and talking about her excellent baking abilities, she (for some reason) felt guilty and sent me a package of rugelach. Poppy doesn't bake. Oh well.
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