A Goodbye to Babywearing?

It was a nice run, but I think I may have worn Tzivia for the last time.

The strange thing about deciding not to have any more kids is all the skills that I’ll never use again.

Like baby-wearing.

The ease with which I could hoist her on my back, the muscle memory.

The applause I would get from strangers when I’d do it in public.

Happy family at Ft. Worden in Port Towsend, WA

The last time I wore her was the airport in February, coming home from Florida. I’ve always worn her in the airport, but now she mostly walks. Now the wearing is more so they don’t try to put her in the radiation machine or (my big fear) try to pat her down whether she wants it or not. When you wear a kid through security, you just walk through the metal detector and then they swab your hands. We don’t have any trips planned, and by the time we do, she’ll be even bigger. Too big to wear?

I loved wearing her. I loved being together like that, bringing her up to see the world from my height. I loved when she’d fall asleep on me and we’d put the hood up. I loved staying out all day in Italy, her napping on me as we’d explore museums in Rome. Climbing those narrow stairs to the top of St. Peter’s Basilica with her on my back, huffing and puffing and no room to stop; then the feeling of pride; I grew her in my body then carried her to (what felt like) the top of the world.

Babywearing in Palermo, Italy, at the Capo neighborhood street market

Now, instead, she wears her own “babies” to the Farmers’ Market, in the tiny rainbow Lenny Lamb toy carrier that looks just like mine.

Maybe we’ll have one more hike in us?

Maybe not.

My baby’s growing up.

In our yard
Post-apocalyptic adventurers using the Baby Bjorn (in Gainesville, FL)

And I would be remiss if I did not mention that her wonderful Dada wore her almost as much as me:

Agave plant in Italy
Babywearing Hikers
10-Day-Old Tzivia in the Sling
Babywearing Dad at La Push
Babywearing Dad in NYC