Card Carrying, Baby Carrying Member

Have you ever found yourself a part of a group you didn't even know WAS a group? Going about life, minding your own business, making decisions this way and that way based on convictions, instincts and whims--and suddenly finding that you are a part of a MOVEMENT?

This has happened to me in my parenting world. I am, lo and behold, an Attachment Parent. I am part of a Baby-Wearing Movement.

Who knew?

My wonderful midwives insisted (ok, maybe they strongly suggested) that, postpartum, I stay "in bed for a week, around the bed for a week and near the bed for a week." That math adds up to three pretty mellow weeks of forced body recuperation that comes with the appealing incentive of "do this and you won't pee your pants every time you sneeze for the rest of your life." This prescribed bedrest's main objective is this--to heal mama's body. It's glorious side-effect for Jezebel and me was some serious bonding.

It felt, during that time, that we were in a transition stage; that there was pregnancy and there was birth...and then there was this time in bed-- the two of us--before there was really a baby, external of me, out here in this world. We still shared an energy field so intimate that although the cord had been cut, other connections were still there, just beyond the physical world, but just as real and true. My husband, mom and friends brought me food and drink, my midwife checked in on our health and wellbeing and the time passed as Jezzy and I ate, slept and nourished our beings together in that cacoon of a bed for three weeks.

We emerged, then, and I was happy for it. Happy to move my body, clean my house, enjoy the summer sun. But I noticed that I breathed easier with Jezebel on my body. I noticed that she did, too. She's not much of a crier on my body or off, but she's especially peaceful pushed up against my chest. So that's what we do--I wear her. I work 6 hour days with her strapped to me (we won't talk about how many of those hours are productive working hours). I water the garden with her strapped to me. I do dishes, read books, take walks and hang with friends with my baby girl in one of the three front packs I rotate for both our comforts. Then, when the day is through for her, I put her in her cradle. When the day is through for me, I bring her to my side to sleep. We both breathe easier.

Turns out, I'm an Attachment Parent. I think if I had read about it before it happened to me (and that is how it feels-- like it "happened to me."), I would have been skeptical: Really? Isn't that a little much? I mean, I need my SPACE!

And I do. I do need my space. Sometimes the pack feels heavy. Sometimes I DREAM of a glass of wine at a bar with a friend and no child within 2 miles. But those moments pass and I'm left with an infant who will soon be a baby who will then be a toddler and I just know how fast it all goes by so I'm holding on--holding her close.

And once in a while, when I put her down and she starts to cry I think, "If I didn't do this, if this wasn't our deal, this whole 'attachment parenting' thing, would you be a more cry-y baby? Would you be (gasp!) a HARD baby?" Then I swoop her back up into the sling and pull it tight into me and thank the universe that I just don't have to find out.