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Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep (And Damn Do I Feel Old)

The other night I was curled up in bed with my oldest daughter in her bed, which was my childhood bed all my years growing up from as young as I can remember. When I was her age I slept beneath a beautiful crazy quilt backed in pink fabric and I had white eyelet pillow shams and a white eyelet dust ruffle and in the winter I had pastel flannel sheets that got softer with each laundering. And, like Miss C at age seven, I slept with a million stuffed animals. But of course there were some fundamental differences. I was seven years old in 1976.

“Mommy tell me about your room when you were a little girl,” Miss C asked.

“Well, I had this bed in my room,” I said, pointing up to her headboard. “And see that white bookcase? That was in my room, too. And I had a little TV when I was in junior high and high school.”

“Did you have a computer in your room?”

“No, they didn’t really have computers when I was growing up. But I had a stereo with a record player!”

“What’s a record player?”

“It’s a music player. I could listen to my favorite records on it.”

“What’s a record?”

Originally published on BlondeMomBlog


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