So one of the "steps," if you will, in the book Attachment Parenting by Dr. Sears is babywearing. Babywearing promotes a greater understanding of and closeness to your child. It can also make a caring mom a bit less stressed--if baby Noah is crying and wanting to be held, but that pile of laundry really needs to be folded, or I would like a few minutes to put on some makeup, I can slip Noah into my Moby wrap and we can both be happy. A lot of moms will swear that it is also an easy way to breastfeed in public--though I'm not quite that brave yet.
One thing I think is rather funny about babywearing fans: they'll go on and on about the endless benefits that scientific studies show when babies are worn by their parents all day, but I have yet to hear someone mention the price of wearing a baby--wearing their messes along with it. I honestly can't count the number of times Noah spits up on me per day, but I'm getting pretty good at strategically placing burpcloths between him and me.
This afternoon, Noah did not want to be put down. He was tired and cranky. I didn't feel much like sitting around and holding him, though (I've had my fair share of sitting and holding for today), so I popped him in the wrap. Within minutes, he was asleep. I still felt like being up and about, but dinner was too high-tech to prepare with a baby obstructing my onion-chopping vision, so I decided to take a walk.
I'd taken walks with Tyler when Noah was in the Moby, but not by myself. It felt a little odd. I kept wondering what my neighbors thought I was carrying in that blue bundle, especially since his head was covered to keep the light out of his eyes. But I kept walking, all the way to the park.
It so happens that I have a passion for green grass. Not green sprinkled with yellow, but the cool, jewel-green type. When I walked past this park when I was younger, I would take my shoes off to walk the whole length of the it barefoot. Now that I'm older and more "grown-up," I have resisted the urge many times this summer. But today I indulged and walked around the park, carrying my shoes (they were Crocs, to boot--albeit cute ones). I realized that I must have looked like the earthiest granola girl in our subdivision, carrying a baby in a complicated twist of blue jersey fabric and my Crocs dangling from my fingertips, but I felt like the happiest mother in the world.