A while back, a friend suggested that we walk together as she pushed her granddaughter’s stroller around the neighborhood where the toddler’s family lives.

The offer lay on the changing table, so to speak, for several months, until one day, over coffee, I resurrected the idea.

My friend set down her blueberry muffin.

“I’d rather wait,” she said.

“For what?” I asked.

“For her to be potty-trained,” she said.

My head tilted in the manner of a dog — or grandchild-less human — who does not understand what she just heard.

My friend explained: Her granddaughter was being toilet-trained in the modern way, with a small portable potty that was to accompany her everywhere she went. Said receptacle was to be planted on any reasonably level surface whenever the baby gave an indication that she needed to go. This was common practice, my friend assured me, adding that some baby johns are so realistic that they appear to have water tanks behind the seat.

“Do they flush?” I asked in jest.

My friend laughed.

“No,” she said, adding under her breath, “not yet.”

My friend further reported that in New York City’s Central Park, it’s not unusual to see families lugging mini-potties around on their daily jaunts, then — when the time comes — scrambling to find privacy for their children’s plastic-lined privies behind rocks or bushes or anywhere one might go for relief in an emergency.

Fine for them, my friend implied, but she was not itching to be known as the pop-up potty lady.

Later, when the subject came up again, this time amongst some newly hatched granny-friends, one astutely observed: “Kinda changes the concept of the stranger lurking in the bushes, doesn’t it? ‘Hey, kid, I got a potty for you over here. Follow me.’” We cackled in the way that every generation hoots at the child-rearing practices of succeeding generations. Our mothers and aunts did the same thing, rolling their eyes at baby monitors and battery-powered bouncy seats.

Now, there’s a whole new crop of baby gadgets and practices to learn. Of course, today’s parents-to-be can turn to a slew of social media channels for tips. Not sure what to do with a newborn? YouTube it. There’s bound to be a Midwesterner who knows how to swaddle with power tools. Then there’s the recently released ninth edition of an old standby, What to Expect When You’re Expecting, the pregnancy bible I used when my at-home test turned pink for the first time in the early ’90s.

I got my mitts on an updated volume. It was oddly reassuring to see that the fundamentals of gestation haven’t changed much in 30 years, though the book reflected societal shifts in life outside the womb: the existence of gender-reveal parties and ultrasound videos; the acknowledgement of unmarried and same-sex partners; and warnings about the use of e-cigs, cannabis and CBD during pregnancy. Heck, there’s even a yellow flag about drinking kombucha.

That got me thinking about another possible niche in pregnancy publishing: a primer for folks my age as we watch our Millennial and Gen Z kids get into the repro game.

So you won’t be clueless at your children’s baby showers and other infant-centric affairs, I give you a pocket version of What to Expect When They’re Expecting.

1. No, that’s not a potholder. That square of fabric with a loop at the corner is a “Twinkle Tent,” which is intended to keep a baby boy from peeing on the person changing his diaper. Same goes for the conical “Pee-pee Teepee.” Eventually, your children — the grown ones — will figure out that by the time the geyser erupts, all you can do is treat it like a Super Soaker, partially block it with your hands, laugh and consider yourself baptized into parenthood. Put on a party hat — the Pee-pee Teepee doubles as one — and celebrate.

2. In related news, a concept called diaper-free, aka naked, potty-training, is making the rounds. According to proponents, when your kids are ready to graduate from nappies, you strip them of their diapers to make them more, um, aware of their bodies. Then you watch their faces for signs that they need to go and hasten them to the proper place, much as you would with a puppy who starts sniffing, scratching and circling the carpet. If you know anyone who plans to try this method, we have two words. OK, technically three words: Kids ’n’ Pets, a stain and odor remover. $5.58 for 27 ounces. But available, with good reason, by the gallon.

3. Blackout is beautiful. Not that our children are trying to raise a generation of vampires, but nursery black-out curtains and black-out tents that stand alone or zip around a crib are officially a thing, supposedly a calming thing because, hey, there’s no light by which to see anything scary. Also German U-boats will never be able to see our coastline, by golly.

4. Pelvic floor trainer. Yes, this is what you think it is. A coach who guides pregnant women through Kegel exercises, mainly, we surmise, so that when they reach our age they will not wet their pants while laughing at the gifts their daughters receive at baby showers.

5. Babymoon. A version of the honeymoon, except this lovey-dovey trip is taken by couples before the baby arrives, usually during the second trimester, before the mama-to-be swells into the stage of Don’t. You. Ever. Touch. Me. Again.

6. Ever.

7. I mean it.

8. Push present. Dang, where was this trend when I was a young mom? The concept is that the new mom deserves some sort of material reward for the physical work she does while having the baby. And no, partners, C-sections do not absolve you. We’re talking baubles. Carats. 14K. Birthstones, at the very least.

Truth: No amount of bling can substitute for what most moms would actually prefer — kindness, admiration and offers of “Here, lemme take the baby while you go out for a while.”

At the same time, this mother of two (bracelets? earrings?) is totally down with the concept of reparation jewelry.