Looking back at ten months worth of my babywearing photos there are so many sweet snuggles, precious forehead kisses, and sleeping babies you wouldn’t dare wake up. What isn’t present is a hard internal struggle of being utterly touched out. Though I am beyond happy that I can look back and see myself with my babies in joyful context, I still feel that some of the narrative about how hard this really is gets lost. For a time, every day was just about surviving, and the part I didn’t foresee was that wearing didn’t help the way I thought it would.

When I carried my now preschooler I longed for newborn snuggles. I remember seeing all the posts in the babywearing groups and feeling my intense jealousy to have a compliant wrappee. I pined for tiny sleeping newborns that looked positively enveloped by even the smallest of carriers. When I learned that my baby was actually babies, thinking about wearing them became an immense comfort. I was stressed and depressed about becoming a mom of multiples, but the thought of wearing them together and separately helped me feel confident and collected.

With the arrival of the twins came a flurry of wraps and wearing. I wore them day in and out. It felt empowering and soothed all my nerves about transitioning from a family of 3 to 5. I remember writing about how carrying them, and even the act of wrapping them, set my mind at ease. Everything was so easy: until the moment it wasn’t. Slowly but surely the twins started to feel heavy on me and it wasn’t just them getting bigger. Emotionally and physically the twins weighed on me and that heaviness polluted me like a poison. There isn’t a specific moment that I admitted to myself that this was harder than I thought it would be, but at some point I just realized it. I wasn’t wearing for snuggles or to do fancy carries - I was touched out and was in survival mode.

On any given day babywearing was simultaneously the one thing that kept me away from postpartum depression and the one thing that pushed me towards it. My babies needed me; they needed to be held and have their emotional needs met, but slowly my own personal needs slipped away. I always romanticized that babywearing was about staying yourself whilst also being a mom, but the more I wore the less I started to feel like myself. Their bodies felt like an invasion on mine and made me truly aware how human touch doesn’t come naturally to all of us. With my toddler there were boundaries and only in my journey with the twins could I realize how healthy those were for the both of us.

At some point between the millionth diaper change and nursing sessions that seemed to have no end, my family felt complete; and this sense of sadness washed over me - these would be my last wearees. Somehow, I felt all this pressure to learn all these new carries and to wear them every second I could because soon they would be toddlers. Only I couldn’t. I would try and would feel overwhelmed almost instantly. In those times I thought a lot about reaching out to the community but seeing posts about the agony of toddler wearing seemed to flood me with guilt that I wasn’t enjoying this stage enough. There were moments I thought a lot about giving up the wrap testing I was doing and retreating into myself, but getting out of the house and making art and memories with my children was when I truly enjoyed this stage.

I’m sure that anyone outside the babywearing community would question why I would keep wearing knowing it was becoming mentally taxing on me. There are plenty of parents that go through the baby stage without wearing and make it out just fine, but those people aren’t me. I had this amazing tool at my disposal, and instead of giving it up completely I had to figure out how to make it work for me. Carriers are one of the many pieces of equipment that parents use for their babies but unlike the others, babywearing is something that we do with our children. It’s much more emotional and complex than a stroller or a bouncer. What I needed to understand and work out was how to balance their needs and mine.

How that materialized in my life was being okay with things being a little chaotic and messy. I no longer tried to wear every single second to accomplish the maximum amount I could; laundry piled up and dishes heaped over, but I started feeling lighter. Just because I could wear didn’t mean I had to. I explored other carriers that didn’t feel as snugly as wraps, counter intuitive to what I thought I wanted. Slowly but surely setting up boundaries and wearing for small bursts of time made me overall happier with the experience. Too much of a good thing was emotionally draining me but finding a balance brought an easygoing peace to life.

Reminiscing on my journey I intensely wanted babywearing to carry me through the hard parts. I wanted an easy solution to the emotional roller coaster that is motherhood, and when it didn’t I crumbled. Remembering the storm I’m grateful for those hard parts; they taught me to look to my full arsenal of parenting tools. It also made me feel at ease that one day my kids will no longer need or want to be worn; a thought that before left me unsettled. My babes will grow out of wanting to be worn and maybe in that time I will be ready for it.

I wrote this piece as rigorous therapy for myself, but I’m hoping that others can relate and maybe open up dialogue that wearing isn’t always the answer. There isn’t a right or wrong way to wear there is just the way that makes sense to your family and helps you survive the day.

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DISCLAIMER

Ankalia’s online journal is written and edited by white Australian women. As such, our articles are written from our cultural standpoint.

To understand and improve our knowledge of the practice of babywearing across a varied dynamic, we may seek input from our friends and peers who identify as belonging to culturally and linguistically diverse groups, and groups who are marginalised within our society.

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