Absolutely, I joyfully carry my little one everywhere.
When my son, Max, asks, “Pick me up, please,” it tugs at my heartstrings. Other times, he’s not so subtle: “Carry me!” he demands, halting in his tracks, causing me to nearly trip. There are moments when he simply raises his arms to me in silence. And then there are times when I’m the one asking him if he’d like to be carried, or if his tiny legs are tired. In an instant, I scoop him up, feeling his warm body against mine, his legs draped around my waist, his little head nestled on my shoulder.
Max is 3 and a half, and I find myself carrying him all the time.
People often suggest I let him walk. I can feel their judgmental stares, as if they’re thinking, “He’s too big for that,” or “Why not just use a stroller?” But I really don’t want a stroller, and I cherish these moments of carrying Max. Just last week, I carried him two blocks from a museum to our car. I held him through the exhibits, not just because he was tired, but because I wanted to.
My arms are still strong enough to embrace his little weight. He craves those extra cuddles from me, especially in new situations. For now, he’s still my little baby, a wonderfully clingy 3-year-old. Soon, he’ll be a curious 4, then a speedy 5, just like his brother, Ethan. Before long, he won’t ask to be carried anymore. So, I’ll carry Max for as long as I can, because with a blink, he’ll be all grown up.
Even my partner, Sam, thinks I should let him walk, especially when he sees me shifting Max from one hip to the other as he grows heavier. But instead of insisting Max should walk, Sam picks him up, cradling him close. When his arms tire, Max rides on Sam’s shoulders. Sam, too, relishes these snuggles, knowing that soon we’ll just be walking side by side with our arms empty while our three boys race ahead.
He has seen our eldest, now 7, transition from a cuddly baby to an independent toddler, and now to a speedy little guy who loves to explore. I treasure those fleeting moments when he holds my hand. Our middle child, Leo, took a bit longer to run freely, but he eventually did. Now, while he still enjoys holding hands, he’s too big for the warm embrace of being carried.
With Leo, I often have to carry him differently now. When he needs it, I give him a piggyback ride or wrap him on my back. He still loves the warmth and security of being close, but he’s not as eager to be held in my arms anymore.
Max, on the other hand, thrives on being carried. He frequently asks his older brother, Ethan, for piggyback rides, and Ethan is more than happy to oblige. It’s a win-win; he enjoys showing off his strength. Each morning, I lift Max out of bed and carry him to the couch to watch his favorite show. I help him get dressed and find his shoes, lifting him at every opportunity. The scent of his hair, the softness of his little arms around my neck, are moments I cherish.
Whenever he cries, I scoop him up without hesitation. After all, you must hold your last baby close when they’re upset. I sway gently, calming him with shushing sounds, reminding myself that these moments are fleeting.
The day will come when Max won’t want to be carried anymore. He’ll no longer need me to navigate through places like the aquarium or the museum. He’ll start to run ahead with his brothers, exploring the world on his own terms. He’ll still hold my hand occasionally—but it won’t compare to the warmth of having him nestled in my arms.
Carrying my toddler serves as a sweet reminder of how close he is to being my baby. One day he will grow into a complete little boy, and while that’s a wonderful milestone, I’ll always remember the joy of holding him close. Time really does fly; they say “blink, and they’re grown.” So I keep my eyes wide open and embrace every opportunity to carry Max.
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In summary, carrying my toddler is a cherished experience, filled with warmth and a reminder of how quickly time passes. I’ll embrace these moments for as long as I can.
Keyphrase: joyful toddler carrying
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