I fell in love with my Ergo baby carrier when Arthur was about one. We went everywhere with it. We walked the upstairs track at the Dipper, hiked the UAF trails, and explored the McGrath bike trail with it.
Arthur gladly accompanied me until he was about three. Then, as he became more and more independent, the less content he was to go for a ride. He wanted to run ahead of me, to prove that he was no longer a baby.
I bought the Ergo second-hand on ebay for $80. It was one of the only baby things that survived the "Great Purge of Unnecessary Baby Gear" in 2009. (The Kelty and the Boppy didn't make the cut.)
I couldn't wait until Balin was about five months old, holding his head up proudly and ready to see the world from my back.
As he nears the age of three, however, his desire to see the world is overshadowing my desire to keep him confined to the backpack.
We've taken to walking the track at the Beloit YMCA three mornings a week. The other patrons think he is adorable. They joke that I must have a strong back or that he's got the right idea. Most days, Balin is content to walk a lap or two before he insists it is time to go to the play area. On rare occasions, I might be able to convince him to stay for another two or three laps.
I've heard mothers say that they wish that their little ones would stay little forever. That they love the baby years, the cuddles, and the sweet kisses that they give so generously when they are young.
I don't miss any of those things. Maybe I will someday.
But I do miss carrying my boys on my back.
I miss hefting them up with an expert hand, the warmth of their little body pressed against mine, and the feel of their tiny fingers grasping my hair or the Ergo straps. I miss the stories they tell me and the songs they would sing with their tiny voices and broken sentences. I miss pointing out animals we'd spot on the trails or the noisy construction trucks that so captivated them.
On the long (and sometimes depressing) journey of motherhood, the Ergo was a truest friend. She is nothing more than worn scraps of fabric, but she maintained my sanity and reminded me that things would not always so difficult: One day your boys will sleep through the night, they will be able to read on their own, and they will be able to ride their bikes.
One day they will not need me.
But I still need you, Ergo. Even if my boys don't.
Blessed be.
I bought the Ergo second-hand on ebay for $80. It was one of the only baby things that survived the "Great Purge of Unnecessary Baby Gear" in 2009. (The Kelty and the Boppy didn't make the cut.)
I couldn't wait until Balin was about five months old, holding his head up proudly and ready to see the world from my back.
As he nears the age of three, however, his desire to see the world is overshadowing my desire to keep him confined to the backpack.
We've taken to walking the track at the Beloit YMCA three mornings a week. The other patrons think he is adorable. They joke that I must have a strong back or that he's got the right idea. Most days, Balin is content to walk a lap or two before he insists it is time to go to the play area. On rare occasions, I might be able to convince him to stay for another two or three laps.
I've heard mothers say that they wish that their little ones would stay little forever. That they love the baby years, the cuddles, and the sweet kisses that they give so generously when they are young.I don't miss any of those things. Maybe I will someday.
But I do miss carrying my boys on my back.
I miss hefting them up with an expert hand, the warmth of their little body pressed against mine, and the feel of their tiny fingers grasping my hair or the Ergo straps. I miss the stories they tell me and the songs they would sing with their tiny voices and broken sentences. I miss pointing out animals we'd spot on the trails or the noisy construction trucks that so captivated them.
On the long (and sometimes depressing) journey of motherhood, the Ergo was a truest friend. She is nothing more than worn scraps of fabric, but she maintained my sanity and reminded me that things would not always so difficult: One day your boys will sleep through the night, they will be able to read on their own, and they will be able to ride their bikes.
One day they will not need me.
But I still need you, Ergo. Even if my boys don't.
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