We’d vaguely heard about what was then called “crib death,” and is now known as sudden infant death syndrome, but regarded it as a distant tragedy; it might be randomly, mysteriously visited upon you, but we didn’t know it was something you could help prevent.

By the time public health agencies started information campaigns that sharply reduced SIDS, we had a schoolgirl and didn’t need such precautions. But every part of our routine was wrong, and if I used it for Bartola, her parents would react with justifiable horror.

So, as pediatricians recommend, I put the baby on her back, the safest position, in a spartan crib that holds nothing soft or yielding.

This is becoming moot: Her mother heard strange noises at nap time recently and walked in to find the baby standing in the crib, happily attacking the mobile. Still, lesson learned.

On the other hand, today’s new parents have fewer fears about other things.

Germs, for instance. We used to wage war on microbes. For the first three months of our infant’s life, we scrupulously boiled bottles, nipples, pacifiers — anything that might come in contact with her mouth; after that, we sterilized things in the dishwasher.

None of that for Bartola. Her bottles, when she started using them, just got plunked into a bowl of soapy hot water. It appears that our attempts to create pristine environments for children just encouraged allergies and asthma, so our grandchildren are freer to get dirty and develop healthier — to use a phrase unknown to me in days of yore — microbiomes.

I saw this generational divide recently when my daughter and son-in-law traveled out to my New Jersey town for a museum event. They were bringing Bartola, so I invited a few local friends to come meet her.