The statistics are staggering. For children born in 2013, the average four-year public college tuition in 2031 will cost a phenomenal $300,900. If you want a private school, plan to put aside $592,400, and you might as well start now buying dorm furniture. Heaven help you if your child also wants a big truck.
But parents can’t even begin to think about that now. If a couple has a baby in today’s world, college is the last expense on their minds. Nor can they begin stressing yet over the price of prom outfits, car insurance or video games. I’m not even talking about the cost of an 18-year supply of Fruity Pebbles.
First they need baby equipment. Tons and tons of insanely expensive equipment. Yes, I mean the massive arsenal of transportation apparatus, rubber-tipped accessories and powder-blue gear without which an infant cannot hope to survive past the croup. You know — the stuff they sell at Babies “R” Us.
Before going any further, I realize that those of us without children are seldom encouraged to make observations about child-raising. In fact, comments about parenting from nonparents are one of the few forms of speech not protected by the Constitution. In the 1997 case of “Clueless versus Tired Parents of Oshkosh,” the Supreme Court ruled 9-0 that a childless man overheard giving suggestions to parents could be pelted with loaded sippy cups while police look on approvingly. So I realize that I am on thin ice here.But somebody has to say it. The amount of baby equipment being forced upon poor parents these days is out of control. Here’s a true story. When my mother was born in Carlsbad, NM in 1934, her parents had very little money. So instead of sleeping in a crib, my mother spent her first months in a bureau drawer. The drawer was lined with a blanket and small pillow and, as best Mom can recall, was rather cozy. That is all her folks could manage during the Depression. I told this story to the cashier at Babies “R” Us one day, and not surprisingly, the poor woman had palpitations and had to sit down. Within minutes, two other clerks were fanning her with organic baby bibs.
I’m still not sure what upset her more — the cruel deprivation my poor mother suffered, or the idea of all that lost revenue because my grandparents couldn’t have afforded a canopied, expandable, padded crib equipped with surround-sound and one of those rotating mobiles that plays “It’s a Small World After All.” At this point, I didn’t have the heart to tell the lady that my mother also made it to 1935 without a bottle tote, training cup, monogrammed diaper bag, rubber pants, rubber changing pad, rubber table-corner guards, tear-proof books, cabinet locks, climate-controlled stroller, Elmo DVDs, Eddie Bauer high chair, portable swing, combo car-seat and carry-all or even a state-of-the-art monitor that can detect sound, movement and the smallest hint of a stinky.
Have you been to Babies “R” Us lately? I used to think Home Depot was intimidating, but the baby superstore makes that hardware giant look like a Quik Trip. No longer do expectant mothers register at Babies “R” Us; they now register at just one aisle of the store, hoping to rack up on plastic bibs and those rubber spoons you can attach to squeezable packets of applesauce.
You may have noticed that shower invitations now generally say “Gifts Early Please.” That’s because by the time most people get in and out of the monstrous Babies “R” Us store, the shower is long over and the child is already comparing iPhones with his preschool buddies.
What are impoverished future parents to do? I might humbly suggest that they go ahead and clear out the sock drawer for a makeshift crib, but then I don’t want to be hit with a jar of Gerber’s chicken and gravy the next time I’m near the nursery.
Dr. Claxton is on sabbatical this semester. This column originally ran on Sept. 15, 2006.
