“I must be the coolest dad around,” I joke.
“Cool, maybe; but still a bit of a dork,” my partner, Lisa, retorts with a smile.
Lisa gently lifts our newborn, Ethan, guiding his tiny legs through the soft fabric draped over my shoulder. With him snugly secured to my chest in a vibrant orange wrap, he nestles against me, fussing slightly. I can’t help but plant a kiss on his fuzzy little head.
While the wrap looks flawless when Lisa ties it, my attempts without her help resemble a cat caught in a tangle of holiday lights. During the weekdays, when she heads to work, I turn to YouTube for assistance. Typing “Moby wrap tutorial” into the search bar, I hit play. A cheerful woman appears, expertly demonstrating how to wrap the fabric around her body. Her final product looks like a masterpiece. I follow her instructions, but my creation seems more suited for carrying a sack of potatoes than an infant. After several tries, I keep replaying the video.
Throughout his first year, Ethan spends a significant amount of time in the wrap. I wear him while cooking dinner, riding the subway, visiting the doctor, and even strolling through the park. We share cozy naps, him resting on my chest.
Walking the streets of our city with Ethan wrapped close, I draw a wide array of reactions from passersby, ranging from delight to outright disdain. I hadn’t anticipated the wrap would serve as a canvas for others’ opinions on parenting. Men often regard me with puzzled expressions. “Now, that’s what a real man looks like,” whispers one young guy to his friend. Another scruffy man on the corner shouts something unintelligible. A police officer leaning against a nearby store stops me to ask about the wrap. “The first time I saw you in that thing, I thought you were Middle-Eastern,” he remarks, a curious comment for a pale, blue-eyed guy like me.
As Ethan begins to eat solids, we venture into the newly opened Whole Foods. The store shines under the bright lights, showcasing beautifully arranged organic produce, gourmet cheeses, and a bustling smoothie bar. Knowing that afternoon samples are plentiful, we dive in. The wrap allows us to glide through the aisles effortlessly, maximizing our sampling experience. I take a sample, bite half, and feed the other half to Ethan in the wrap. We indulge in cherries, pineapple, artisanal cheese, tortilla chips, and hummus, with Ethan eagerly demanding more cherries. I feel a tinge of guilt for our gluttony, anticipating a manager might ask us to leave, but I’d gladly take the risk.
Most women express admiration for my wrap skills. “Did you tie it yourself?” they inquire. “Absolutely, I watched the tutorial a thousand times,” I reply. While waiting in line at the airport, a stylish young woman strikes up a conversation, sharing her babywearing experiences and how she proudly avoided using a stroller. We exchange nods, feeling like we belong to a special “babywearing” community.
I don’t wear the wrap to make a statement. Yet, on some level, I feel it reflects my desire to challenge the hyper-masculine ideals that dominate our culture. This act represents my rejection of the narrow definition of masculinity tied to toughness and self-reliance. It is an assertion of my identity as a father. Still, I must admit that I occasionally feel self-conscious. Despite my progressive views on parenting, I grapple with societal perceptions.
Messages from the past echo in my mind: You look weak. You’re emasculated. You should be ashamed. I try to dismiss these thoughts, but they linger, often resurfacing.
It’s unclear when I truly became at one with the wrap. Now, I can adjust it seamlessly based on Ethan’s weight and the day’s demands, which I see as a sign of expertise in the world of babywearing. I’m even contemplating creating my own instructional video.
At 17 months, I dread the day Ethan outgrows the wrap. I will miss his warmth against me, the little tugging at my face, and his little kicks. It signals the start of his gradual independence, a bittersweet reality.
Just the other day, I placed him in the wrap for a lengthy stroll through the park. Midway through, I began to feel the strain in my shoulders. The lightweight cotton wrap struggles to support his growing weight. The days of babywearing are nearing their conclusion, but I will cherish the moments we have left together.
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In summary, babywearing is not just a practical approach to parenting; it fosters a unique bond between father and child while also allowing for personal growth and societal reflection.
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