“I’m either the coolest or the strangest dad around,” I joke.
“The wrap is neat, but you’re definitely a dork,” my partner, Emily, replies.
With care, Emily lifts our newborn son, Oliver, and slides one of his legs through the colorful fabric draped over my left shoulder, repeating the process on the other side. Secured to my chest in the vibrant orange wrap, Oliver squirms a bit before settling in, pressing his tiny face against my chest. I can’t help but kiss his sweet little head.
When Emily helps me tie the wrap, it looks streamlined and snug, but on my own, I resemble a cat caught in a ball of yarn. During the week, while she’s at work, I turn to YouTube for assistance. Typing “Moby wrap” into the search bar, I hit play. A cheerful woman effortlessly demonstrates how to wrap the long length of fabric around her body while explaining each step. By the end, her wrap looks like a masterpiece. I try to replicate her technique, but my version barely seems capable of supporting a loaf of bread, let alone a baby. I hit play again, determined to improve.
Throughout his first year, Oliver spends many hours nestled in the wrap. I wear him while cooking dinner, on the subway, at doctor’s appointments, while walking the dog, and even during visits to the art museum. We share cozy naps together with him resting on my chest.
As I stroll through the bustling streets of Chicago with Oliver secured to me, I encounter a wide range of reactions—from delight to outright disdain. I never expected the wrap to serve as a canvas for other people’s opinions on parenting. Men often watch with puzzled expressions. “Now that’s a real man,” whispers a teenage boy to his companion. A scruffy guy in his twenties, perhaps a bit unhinged, points and shouts. A neighborhood police officer leaning against a lamppost approaches me to ask, “The first time I saw you with that thing, I thought you were from the Middle East.” Quite an odd comment for a pale, blue-eyed guy from the South!
When Oliver starts eating solids, we make a trip to the brand-new Whole Foods in our neighborhood. The bright lights reflect off pristine floors and walls, showcasing perfectly arranged organic produce, gourmet cheeses, and a flashy smoothie bar, which buzzes with activity. Knowing that samples are abundant in the afternoons, we seize our chance. The wrap allows us to breeze through the aisles, maximizing our sampling experience. I take a sample, bite half, and feed the rest to Oliver in the wrap. We indulge in black cherries, pineapple, gourmet cheese, chips, pizza bites, and hummus. Oliver keeps asking for more cherries, and we eat to our hearts’ content. I half-expect a manager to kick us out, but it’ll be worth it.
Women often express admiration for the wrap. “Did you tie it yourself?” they inquire. “Yep, I watched that YouTube video about a thousand times,” I reply. While waiting in line at the airport, a stylish young woman approaches to discuss the wrap, sharing her own experiences and her pride in avoiding strollers. We connect as if we’re members of an exclusive “babywearing” society. I nod, feeling like part of a movement.
I don’t wear the wrap to make a statement, but it does allow me to challenge the traditional notions of masculinity that prevail in our society. It’s my way of rejecting the narrow definition of manhood that emphasizes toughness and independence. I already know I’m a man.
Still, I can’t deny that it makes me a bit self-conscious. No matter how progressive I think I am, I still worry about how others perceive me. For someone who advocates for equality in parenting, it may seem trivial, but defying a hyper-masculine culture is no small feat; those old messages are deeply ingrained.
Those messages whisper to me: You look feminine. You seem weak. You’re not manly enough. You might as well turn in your man card. I try to push these thoughts aside, but they linger, always in the background.
I can’t pinpoint when I truly became one with the wrap. I can adjust it according to Oliver’s weight and the day’s demands, which feels like I’ve achieved a master level in the babywearing realm. I even contemplate making my own YouTube tutorial.
Now that Oliver is 17 months old, I dread the day he outgrows the wrap. I will miss having him pressed against me, his little arms reaching for my face and his feet kicking at my sides. It’ll feel like the start of his slow march toward independence.
Just last week, I placed him in the wrap for a lengthy walk through the park. Halfway through, my shoulders began to ache as the lightweight fabric struggled to bear his weight. The days of the wrap are numbered; a growing boy needs more space to stretch out. I will cherish these remaining moments, wearing him until I can no longer do so.
For more insights on parenting and home insemination, check out this informative blog post. And if you’re interested in learning more about fertility journeys, Make a Mom is an excellent resource. Also, CCRM IVF provides valuable information on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, my experience with babywearing has transformed me in unexpected ways. The wrap has not only allowed me to bond with my son but also encouraged me to challenge societal norms surrounding masculinity. As I navigate this journey, I embrace the joy and tenderness of being a dad while preparing for the inevitable changes that come with growing up.