When I was deep in the trenches of babyhood, my baby carrier was not just a necessity—it was my best friend. Am I being dramatic? Maybe a little. But seriously, let’s title this blog post, "An Ode to My Baby Carrier." Actually, I always called her my "front-pack" for the 6+ years she was my ride-or-die. (Yes, she’s personified, and yes, she’s female—because she’s warm, comforting, and the embodiment of maternal love.)
Our first baby? Hated (!!) the stroller. Like, flat-out refused to be wheeled around like a normal baby. She also wouldn’t sleep unless she was being held, so I logged a lot of steps with her happily snoozing in my front-pack. Bonus: that baby weight just melted off! (Quick sidenote—if that didn’t happen for you, don’t sweat it. Everyone’s body is different. You could scale the Himalayas with a 20-pound baby strapped to your chest and still gain weight because... pregnancy. Am I right??)
One of my favorite (now funny) memories involves my front-pack. My husband was interviewing for a new job in a different city/state, and naturally, we brought along our six-month-old and my trusty front-pack for what we thought would be an exciting adventure! Day one: my husband was off doing his thing, so I decided to explore with baby and front-pack in tow. We didn’t even make it past the hotel lobby before disaster struck—baby threw up everywhere. All over herself, all over me, and of course, all over my beloved front-pack.
Baby was sick, and instead of exploring, we spent the entire day quarantined in the hotel room. Shout-out to the kind hotel staff who helped me clean up the carnage and get my front-pack back in working order! By Day 2, baby was feeling better, but we ended up choosing a different city. That vomit-filled lobby will always hold a special place in my memory, though. And through it all, my trusty front-pack was there, like the true BFF she is.