The Babywearers

Wearing a baby in a sling takes a bit of getting used to, for sure. The first time we tried it, I eased Max in and he started screaming immediately. His neck looked funny. We were convinced we'd nearly killed him. It took us a lot longer to get him out again, too. I felt like I experienced my own version of birth. And the screaming! We hadn't killed him yet, but we were killing him now.

So we left it for a few days. And then we tried again. We waited until he was tired and fed and ambushed him, throwing him in the sling and letting him settle like a 5-pound sack of potatoes. He didn't budge, or scream, or fidget, or even wake up.

I attracted some stares and giggles from passers-by as I walked downtown around Dunedin with Max slung across my front in my stylish Argyle sling. But that's okay. If I'm weird, I'm weird. It was a complete success: no stroller, no backpack with a baby stuck in it, no screaming. He feels close to us this way, sleeping near our hearts, and we feel close to him.

Today, Emeline got her turn, walking along the windy beach at Aramoana, in front of a wall of surf, wearing Max like a piece of baggage. Not a peep for half an hour.

Decision: It's good to be a babywearer.