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For the past 20 years or so the decision to have a child has taken on bizarre intimations of heroic selflessness, the distinct possibility that this child may be the next Mozart or Freud (forgetting that Stalin and Vlad the Impaler had parents too), and an unspoken pact that we the childless should shut up, admire, and allow parents their indulgences. I'm done. I see articles like this and am sickened. Had this story been written about suburban parents, there would be the implicit class-consciousness angle, the grasping and crawling for status, while if it concerned middle- and working-class parents it would have had to address the anxiety of not being able to afford what is best for baby. Rich urban parents (one or two of whom are among my acquaintances) get away with merely looking slightly silly; some are even allowed to express a "what are you going to do?" attitude while snatching up all this pricey junk. The author does a good job detailing the idiocy, but I feel like a dope for having read it. I do, however, feel better for having written this.
