Every night I try to go out and walk my baby. No, not on a leash.
On good nights (or bad, depends how you look at it) we can do two miles around the apartment complex. I take him either in the sling, or wrapped with severe snugness to my tummy. I wait for dusk or later, so it’s not so oppressively hot (it’s only 28C right now), and I remember to wear my sneakers (I did the first two mile walk in my flip flops and regretted it the next day.)
I do this because dusk is his fussy hour. He doesn’t always have a fussy period in the evenings, and a long walk doesn’t always solve it. But it usually helps, and that’s enough for me. What’s more…
I like it.
I’ve always hated going out and doing endless laps around the apartment complex. In the summer it’s hot and humid. In the winter it’s damp and unpleasant. It’s always boring. If I’m going to walk, I need to be going somewhere. But while my objections still hold, I like walking with GeekBaby. It’s just nice to be outside, walking, with his little snoozing body snuggled up to me in the sling.
Before he was born, I joked that I would never want to put him down. Now I’m faced with a baby that doesn’t like being put down either, a heavy baby, who is gassy and likes to be upright. He clings to my shoulder like a little monkey. And I desperately don’t want to put him down. But I need to eat. The cooking and washing up need to get done. And the laundry, especially those cloth diapers. Trash needs to be taken out. We have visitors to see the new baby, so the public areas of the apartment need to be navigable, bare minimum. I have paperwork to file and am shamefully behind on thank you notes. (And blog posts.) I still have the hem embroidery of the baptismal gown to finish.
None of which I can do with GeekBaby snuggled, blissfully, obliviously, onto my shoulder or against my breast.
…I’m not all that sure I care.
(This post was written over the past three days, because it was typed one handed, the other was busy holding the baby. QED.)