Just When You think It's Over...

It seems I am in the twilight of my wearing phase.  This, while sad, given that it implies that the People Who Live Here are all getting older and needing me less, is not actually sad, as it, well, implies the People Who Live Here are all getting older and needing me less.  I cannot tell a lie.  I love the prospect of mobility and appropriate parking lot behavior demonstrated by all offspring.  I long for everyone to have the dexterity and restraint devices to allow for the loading of passengers to be accomplished with orders not involvement.  I dream of the day I can open the van door and yell  “Out out out out out!” as though they were a bunch of paratroopers bailing out over the drop zone with backpacks and lunch boxes (and hopefully completed homework).  
But there is still a wistful sadness.  Babywearing has been good to me.  I have met a group of the most wonderful people.  I have added tools to my arsenal of Survival Parenting.  And I do love my gear. I am, at heart, a practical babywearer- is it easier for me to attach you to myself or buckle you in to a stroller, or best yet, leave you home?  These are the questions that have shaped my parenting-in-public decisions, and the answer is always a toss up.  As I have started to get rid of my stash of carriers, though, I have, in fact, gotten a bit nostalgic.  As I let each go, I do say good-bye to a little piece of the babies they carried who are now much larger people in all senses, and the memories they contain.




Last month, I swung by the library on my way home from work to run in some books that may or may not have been overdue.  I only had my 2 ½ year old, so logistically speaking, I figured we’d be okay, provided we stayed focused on our solitary mission and didn't try anything crazy like trying to get out new books.  As I parked, I heard “Mommy.  I goalkweurmack?”  Which, obviously, meant something.  But what?  I had no idea.  “What, baby?  Tell me again.”  “MAH-MEE.  I goaliweurmack!”  Hunh.  Still nothing.  It occurred to me that perhaps I should, you know, make eye contact with him while he was speaking so maybe I could get a visual clue as to what the heck he was saying.  So I turned around (I know, gracious of me).  “Be patient with me, buddy.  Tell me again.”  “MAHHHH-MEEE.  I GOALIWEURMACK!”  Big smile.  

Hmmm. 
Ah-hah!  Pointing.  At the floor.  Pointing at the Kozy on the floor.  I am a genius.  Please hold your applause.  “You go on my back?”  “YAH!  I GO ALI WEUR MACK.  We need DAT.”  Well, clear as a bell when you listen for it.  “DAT?  You meant that?  The Kozy?”  “YAH!  We need Dat TOZY.  I Go ALI WEUR MACK.  We Need Dat TOZY!”


Well, you’ll be prying that Kozy out of my cold dead hands.  While one cannot deny the snuggle factor of a wee one settling in for a nap on your back, one cannot deny the joy in your heart brought about by an outright request for something that makes your life easier, and the accompanying  hysterical giggle when you reach the height of the Santa Toss.  And if you’re very very lucky, a quick around-the-neck hug and a fully body snuggle before you disembark.  Our days are not done.  There are many rivers to cross and pickups to survive, and it’s always easier to navigate a parking lot with someone tied to you who wants to be there.   

Posted by Nancy