Earlier in my parenting career, I tried to sell a pitch on a story that got to the bottom of why and how parents forget the earliest part of their kids’ childhood. It seemed impossible to me (while I happened to be in it)—why and how our brains would allow us to forget one of the hardest, scariest, most confusing, exhausting, literally painful parts of our lives. Was this just a natural part of brain function, or was there a particular biology that encouraged us to lose touch with those traumatic feelings in order to have even more kids?
Nobody took me up on the piece and I carried on with life, and my brain did its brain thing, stirring up feelings of nostalgia when the old photos on my phone instead of only remembering things like “I’m so glad I don’t have to do bottles/daycare dropoff/Diaper-Genie-emptying/highchairs/carseats/baby fingernails/baby boogers etc anymore.” This exchange I had with Fred Bryant about parental melancholy gives me comfort. You can’t get out of it!)
But as always, it was products that really let me know my time and place.
First, it was this baby helmet, which a relative of mine had purchased for her child and caused me some mirth (This particular helmet is designed to keep your child from bumping its head while it learns to crawl and toddle, not for skull healing/development, btw):
In my recollection, in my day (2013-2016), we just assumed that if babies bonked their heads, it probably wasn’t from a far enough distance to the ground to do them that much harm. I mean, we weren’t monsters: we babyproofed everything else, just not the baby. The helmet is also a metaphor for the sweet hopefulness of new parents—“This product will prevent everyone’s discomfort, and there is no way my baby will even consider noncompliance.”
But then I learned about the Owlet sock. I edited an article by newer mom
about how hard it is for new moms to find true community when there is so much parenting content going around that say things like you should never say “no” to your child. (If you haven’t done this yet, I highly recommend it. A nice hard “No.” with absolutely no explanation is invigorating1.) Now, of course, this kind of shit was around 10+ years ago — who can forget Evil Witches legend, Bag-of-Flour Man? But it didn’t seem as bad yet.Now tech has penetrated the chat deeper than ever before. You thought it was hot shit that your baby monitor played soothing music and let you know the room’s temperature? The Owlet Sock (look it up; I’m not linking to it) “tracks your baby’s health, safety, and sleep in real time,” with various forms of health data including oxygen levels. As some friends and I joked, whatever happened to just walking into your kid’s bedroom and staring at his back to make sure that he’s still alive? It makes me mad to see “data will save your baby” still being pushed first-time parents to make them think they have much control/knowledge beyond a certain tiny amount. Then I think about what it must be like to be a new mom right now, and there’s fuckin’ TikTok and protein and discovering accidentally via social media your daycare mom-buddy is maybe-okay with acts of fascism.
Caroline’s piece made me realize that I had actually forgotten many of the the pains and uncertainties of new motherhood. But I guess I’d rather take the earned experience in lieu of the older vivid memories if it’s a choice. I have a lot more experience being a parent than I did; they have a lot more experience being humans, and that shared experience to me is more enjoyable than everyone being younger but figuring out more things. But her piece got me riled up to look back on the things that I was/we were feeling witchy about over the years.
I don’t know if “open rate” really correlates to popularity, but according to Substack, these are the most opened Evil Witches issues ever.
If you want the most opened paid issues and/or vote on the next issue, you will have to go beyond the paywall:
A very relatable mom (did this lead indirectly to MAHA? My bad if so!)
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