“I’m either the coolest dad or the quirkiest one around,” I chuckle.
“The wrap is stylish, but you’re still a dork,” my wife, Emma, shoots back with a playful grin.
Emma gently lifts our newborn, Oliver, and slides one of his legs into the soft fabric draped over my left shoulder, repeating the process on the other side. With Oliver snug against my chest in the vibrant orange wrap, he fusses a bit before burrowing his nose into my breastbone. I can’t resist kissing his sweet little head.
When Emma helps me tie the wrap, it looks neat and secure, but without her, I resemble a cat tangled in a mess of Christmas lights. During the weekdays, after she heads off to work, I turn to YouTube for help. Typing “Moby wrap tutorial” into the search bar, I hit play. A cheerful young woman appears, expertly wrapping the long piece of cloth around herself while providing easy-to-follow instructions. When she finishes, her wrap looks like a masterpiece. I hit play again and try to mimic her moves, but my attempt looks more like an unfit carrier for a frozen turkey than a baby. I hit play once more.
Throughout his first year, Oliver spends a significant amount of time in the wrap. I wear him while cooking dinner, on the subway, at doctor’s appointments, during dog walks, and even at the art museum. We share cozy naps with him resting on my chest.
Strolling through Chicago with Oliver secured to me, I encounter a range of reactions from delight to disdain. I didn’t expect the wrap to serve as a canvas for others’ opinions on parenting. Men often stare at me with puzzled expressions. “Now that’s an image of a real man,” one teen whispers to his companion. A scruffy bearded guy in his twenties, possibly a little off his rocker, shouts and points at me from a busy street corner. Even the neighborhood cop leaning against the 7-11 stops to ask, “The first time I saw you in ‘this thing,’ I thought you were Middle-Eastern.” Quite the statement for a pale, blue-eyed guy sporting a Southern drawl!
As Oliver starts eating solids, we venture to the shiny new Whole Foods in our area. The bright lights reflect off the pristine floors, and we pass by perfectly organized organic produce, gourmet cheeses, and a fancy smoothie bar. The blender whirrs in the background. Knowing they offer samples in the afternoon, we seize the opportunity. The wrap makes it easy to glide through the aisles, maximizing our snack score. I snag a sample, take a bite, and feed it to Oliver while he’s still in the wrap. We share black cherries, sweet pineapple, gourmet cheese, tortilla chips, mini pizzas, and hummus. Oliver keeps asking for more cherries, and we devour a shameful amount. I half-expect a manager to escort us out, but I’d consider it a worthy trade.
Women generally admire the wrap. “Did you tie it yourself?” they inquire. “Absolutely! I’ve watched that YouTube video a thousand times!” I proudly reply. While waiting in line at O’Hare Airport, a chic young woman approaches to chat about the wrap. For ten minutes, she shares her experiences, expressing her pride in avoiding strollers with her kids. It feels like we’re part of some exclusive “babywearing” club. I nod in agreement, feeling a sense of camaraderie.
I don’t wear the wrap to make a statement, but my inner rebel embraces it as a way to challenge the macho ideals of our society. It’s my way of rejecting the narrow definition of masculinity that equates manhood solely with toughness and self-reliance. I am a man, and this is my choice.
Still, I can’t deny that it sometimes makes me self-conscious. Despite my progressive views on parenting, I often worry about how others perceive me. For someone who champions equality in parenting roles, it might seem silly, but challenging the norms of our hyper-masculine culture isn’t easy. Those old messages are deeply ingrained.
They whisper to me: You look effeminate. You seem weak. You’re losing your man card. I try to brush them off, but they linger in the background.
It’s hard to pinpoint when I truly became one with the wrap. I can adjust it based on Oliver’s weight and the day’s demands, which feels like I’ve reached Jedi Knight status in the babywearing realm. I’m even contemplating making my own YouTube tutorial.
Now that Oliver is 17 months old, I dread the day he outgrows the wrap. I’ll miss his little body pressed against mine, his arms tugging at my face, and his feet kicking against my sides. It’ll mark the beginning of his gradual independence, something he’ll claim more each day.
Recently, I placed him in the wrap for a long walk in the park. Halfway through, my shoulders began to ache as the thin cotton became less supportive. The wrap days are drawing to a close. A growing boy needs more space to roam, so I will cherish every moment left. I’ll wear him until I can’t anymore.
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Summary:
In “Embracing the Wrap,” Jake Thompson shares his humorous and heartfelt journey into the world of babywearing with his son, Oliver. From the challenges of mastering the wrap to the mixed reactions from strangers, Jake reflects on his experiences as a father, embracing the wrap not just as a practical tool but as a means to challenge traditional masculinity. As Oliver grows, Jake treasures the moments they share, knowing that the days of babywearing are limited but filled with love and connection.