My parents both grew up raised by people on a salary. I hesitate to say servants. My mother had what they called a nurse, my father had nannies. The most cherished of those was a woman from Scotland whose name he still recalls with ease. He and his mother went to visit her once after she had returned to her home.
My mother raised us with the help of a neighborhood girl from across the street to get her through the late afternoons of 3 under 4, and a housekeeper who came twice a week. I raised my children without babysitters, until I had to go back to work. Once my second child was born my mother took pity on me and paid for a housekeeper who came once a week.
My parents both went to boarding schools. I went to boarding school. My children went to school down the street. Maybe over the generations we hold our children more closely. Certainly we speak more openly to them.
I believe that we have all tried very hard to do the best we can. Freud took the glass snow globe of childrearing and smashed it on the ground, leaving us reeling and picking up shards with our fingers. But we have all tried very hard to do the best we can. Resources or no resources, high or not-so-high, summers in wherever. When you live your life inside your self, no matter what stuff is around you, still you can be filled with anxiety or elation for no good reason. Still your life just feels like a life.