I'm so happy the Boychick didn't nap

Normally, I hate no-nap days. And I really, really wasn’t expecting today to be one, after the 2 mile hike at a local state park (two hours of running around a forest with five other 2-5 year olds), tiring out enough to want up in the sling (! and I almost didn’t bother bringing it, it’s been so long since he’s wanted it) at the very end, then a nice looooong drive home. He didn’t quite tucker out in the car as we’d hoped, but came home nicely worn out. And then he voluntarily climbed in to bed and yelled at me to come nap with him. Sweet! I thought. Alas, not so much. The Man comes home at 4:30pm, not calling even though he’s home early, because he was sure the Boychick would be asleep. Hah! No such luck.

So why am I so happy? Because right now, the cat and I have the house to ourselves, while The Man and the Boychick and the dog take a walk — with the Boychick happily riding on his father’s back.

Twice in one day! Since the time about four months ago he discovered he could walk in stores, and started insisting on walking everywhere “my own self!”, babywearing tanked from something we did 1-12 times a day to something measured in times per month. As in maybe twice a month.

I haven’t really written about the cessation of babywearing, although it’s something I think about a lot. I smile in melancholy remembrance when I see a sleeping toddler on a back in the library, an alert infant on a hip in a pouch, a tell-tale bump of baby under a stretchy wrap. It actually hurts to think about not having that anymore.

I sometimes put off the hurt by joking “Didn’t he get the memo that babywearing leads to over dependence?” I mean, really. Worn every single day for the first 1.5+ years of life, napped exclusively in a lap or carrier or in bed with us (ok, sometimes in the carseat, though only in the car!) until well over a year, never bothered with or needed a stroller or pram, still breastfeeding at 2 with no end in sight… He should be the poster child for all the “ONOZ, AP=clingy spoiled brat that’ll never let you put hir down!!” types, right?

I wish. No, really, I do; at least, a part of me does. I miss wearing him, miss that physical closeness, the snuggles, the weight and feel and smell of him. So, maybe my back doesn’t miss it, but it was always worth it.

And I miss seeing him and The Man together. Although they still have so many sweet, caring moments together, so many hugs and kisses and snuggles, I miss the pure joy of watching my two favorite people together like that, enjoying the sight of the at once utterly mundane and sublime expression of love that babywearing is.

So even though a late nap (for they returned, the Boychick’s eyes oh so heavily lidded, and he nursed to sleep at last in my arms) means a hard night, and a hard tomorrow, it was worth it; the hard night, the closet full of carriers kept just in case, the emergency carrier stashed in the car, the chiropractor visits for wearing 30 squirming pounds: it’s all worth it, just to have him close, to see that joy, to be able to say “yes, even though you walk everywhere your own self now, we will still be here to carry you whenever you wish, as long as you need”. That, as they say, is priceless.