I find myself spending time in the Third Street Playground again. It’s been years since either of my children were regulars there. But now that Ducky, my niece,  is here, it looks like we’ll be regulars again.

When we first moved to Park Slope in 1991 after my son was born, the playground was under renovation. It took a year, but it was finally transformed from one of those old style New York city playgrounds – prison gray metal equipment – into a child-safe and colorful one.

Once the construction was complete, my son spent many playful hours there. I was working in the city then so much of our playground time was on the weekends. Weekdays he was with our babysitter, who  loved to push him on the swings and watch him play in the sand.

I became a "stay-at-home-mom" when my daughter was born in 1997 and I was able to spend ungodly amounts of time at the playground. By the time she was 1, my daughter was completely fearless and loved to run out of my sight and climb on everything. She rarely hurt herself but gave me a good scare lots of times.

I would meet "mommy friends" at the playground and together we’d push our little toddlers on the swings or watch them run in and out of the sprinkler. Conversations started  easily at the sandbox with questions like "How old is your baby?" and "Where does she go to pre-school?"

My "mommy friends" and I would sit on the benches as our children napped. We’d eat their  Zweibacks and pretzel sticks while discussing attachment parenting (pro or con, discuss) and unhelpful husbands.

The playground is really the town square of Park Slope baby life; a great place to observe local child-rearing customs. An anthropologist could have a field day there listening to the language of discipline and love: "Use your words!" or "You’ve had enough sugar today."

The natives are obsessed with what their children are eating. They slather them with SPF 15 and insist on sun hats. Breastfeeding is de rigeur. Peeing in the sprinkler drains is strictly verboten.

Sleep-deprived parents trail active children from one end of the playground to the other with Zip-lock bags full of carrots or whole grain cheerios. Caribbean nannies sit together a small distance from the stay-at-home-moms who sit a small distance from the working moms, home for the day.  There’s a sprinkling of stay-at-home dads, older parents, and even grandparents running about.

Benches in the shady areas are the most desirable place to sit  – except for the shady spot near the smelly diaper-filled garbage. That spot is the last to be filled for obvious reasons.

Times have changed since 1991 and 1997, there are now many more spiffy strollers and helpful new baby products that weren’t around when my kids were younger. Pirate Booty wasn’t even invented yet and the idea of spending $800 dollars on a stroller was insane.

Yes, times have changed: Even McClaren strollers now come equipped with coffee cup holders and special weights so that the stroller doesn’t tip over when the baby gets out.

But the kids: the kids are the same. Not much has changed in that department. Adorable as ever, they cry and get into tussles over toys. Nap. Cruise about with small baby strollers. Slide down slides and swing vigorously on tire swings. There’s even the occasional kid who runs right into the swinging tire swing. Ouch.

I expect that Ducky will have a great time at the Third Street Playground as will I with her.  It’s where she might take her first steps and will surely give her mother a scare when she runs out of sight. Already she loves to swing and swing and swing, her smile illuminating the playground, brighter than the sun.