I have to start this off by saying that I find the term "babywearing" annoying. Your baby is not a t-shirt! But I have no idea what else to call it other than carrying a baby in a baby carrier, and that's a mouthful, so I cave.
I've mentioned it before, but a babywearer I am not. At the risk of having my mom-card revoked, I have to say that I don't understand the appeal whatsoever. Having a baby strapped to me immediately transports me to my ninth month of pregnancy where I was top-heavy, my back screamed, and I sweat and cried a lot. Not to mention, PERSONAL BUBBLE. I love my baby, but the last thing I want to do in the dead of summer is strap her to me.
Yesterday I had to get the mail. The mailbox is a bit of a hike, and it was too much work to carry the baby in my arms, open the mailbox, and then carry the mail and the baby back home, especially since I was expecting a package. The stroller was in the car, so I grabbed the Baby Bjorn, forever giving it extra chances to woo me back into its good graces. I want to be the kind of girl who gleefully rolls around in her collection of wraps and carriers. I do! But the more I try, the more I want to write sonnets to the stroller.
I put the Baby Bjorn on. To this day, it still confuses me. I can never get the straps adjusted just right and something is always too tight or too loose. I grabbed Gracie and got her situated. I squeezed and pulled and tugged and held my breath in an attempt to get everything buckled and buttoned and snapped. I did it. It was so tight I could barely breathe, but I did it. I grabbed the keys and walked out the door, feeling like I had just entered my 6th trimester of pregnancy. The second the door closed behind me, the heavens opened and the rain came pouring down. I thought about going back inside to grab the umbrella until I remembered it was in the car with the stroller. Of course it is! We walked around the front porch for a few minutes waiting for the rain to stop. It finally did, so I started walking toward the mailbox until it suddenly started pouring again, causing me to run back inside.
I unhooked one of the top hooks/snaps/whatchamacallits and tried to unhook the bottom, but to no avail. It was completely jammed. I tried to unfasten the side, but it was jammed too. I had to try to wiggle her free from her cotton-poly blend swaddle while she fussed. The Bjorn finally released her but kept her pants captive.
I sat her down while she started crying since she was tired and had essentially relived her birth while breaking free from the carrier. I got the side sliding-hooking-buttoning-snapping-gizmo free, but I still couldn't get it off because the bottom button was still jammed and pinching my baby weight so I could barely breathe.
I heaved, I pulled, I gasped, I yanked, I tugged. Nothing worked. The baby continued to cry. I was going to die of strangulation. I had visions of calling 911 so they could send the fire department with the jaws of life to break me free. I was afraid I would have to go through the rest of my life with the carcass of a baby carrier forever hanging from my midsection.
Finally, with a scream and all my strength, I broke free from the prison of the Baby Bjorn. It felt a lot like birth. I was sweating, out of breath, exhausted, in pain, and the baby was crying. I kicked the Baby Bjorn over to the corner, its rightful spot, and picked Gracie up.
Then I looked out the window and saw that it had stopped raining.