Technology is anything that wasn’t around when you were born.
~Alan Kay

Grandparenting these days is all about technology. I’m not talking about e-mail, Facebook, iPads and tweeting. We’re pretty good at that. It’s those strollers and car seats. When our kids were little, life was simple. We had carriages that got pushed around the block, but never entered an automobile. They were as big as a car themselves. And we used lightweight fold-up umbrella strollers when we travelled by car or bus, and then switched to a child carrier when we got where we were going. Sure, babies slumped over like a sack of potatoes from little support in those strollers, and fingers got pinched when they folded up, but they were cheap and replaceable.

Now the SUV strollers come with airline pilot-type instructions, and we need the coordination of a NASA astronaut to open them, install a child and prepare for takeoff.

When I was telling a friend and fellow grandmother that I was babysitting my grandchildren for a week, she confided that she has been afraid she’d never get her grandchild out of his car seat. I’ve felt the same about high chairs, double strollers, single strollers, automatic indoor baby swings, and outdoor baby swings. The grandchild had to show me how to stick my finger inside to release the shoulder clasp on the swing’s seatbelt mechanism. This newest generation will never conceive of doing anything at all without a seat belt and shoulder harness. My two-year-old granddaughter is able to climb in and out of her stroller herself, and when she climbs in she immediately secures the safety belt herself.

When my daughter gave me my child-minding instructions, she told me the four-month-old drinks when he’s thirsty and sleeps when he’s tired; no need to follow a schedule. She was right; he smiled his way through the day while sucking his two middle fingers. The challenge was the single stroller in which I had to place his car seat with him buckled in, while remembering the diaper bag, rain cover, sun cover and assorted paraphernalia. And that was only when his sister was at Montessori, and I was just taking him on an outing to No Frills, cramming the groceries into the bottom of the stroller.

Early morning and late afternoon, the transportation of the day was the double stroller, with options for which way each could face. Of course, each child had to be buckled in and adjusted so that kicking each other was not an option. It wasn’t easy to maneuver the stroller on city streets and get through traffic lights. I felt like a long-haul truck driver, with the arm muscles to match.

After a week of it, I was getting pretty good, and had a new appreciation for those Strollercize mothers who pack the coffee shops. I salivated outside the Starbucks, but the thought of negotiating the stairs and the lineup with my two-person spaceship had me drinking from a sippy cup outside.

— Louise Rachlis —