They say it gets better with the second, that you learn to actually do things and hold the baby at the same time. I wouldn’t know.
I have just the one. And she’s getting too big to carry.
Not that I don’t still try.
I could lean over the car seat – a backless booster now, she’s too big for anything else – and wake her up from her sleep. But I don’t. I pop the seatbelt, shift aside books and stuffed animals, and then I take the weight.
Sometimes I have to stop by the front door to readjust. Usually I park her on the kitchen counter on the way in. I say it’s to remove shoes and coat; it’s really to give my back a rest.
Then I pick her up, again. I can do this. I will do this. I’m her mother. Carrying her has been, for so long, second nature.
I remember a time when I wished for it to end. My back was a mess from pregnancy, and the physical therapist told me I needed to stop carrying things.
Stop carrying things? Who was she kidding? I had a baby at home! I didn’t have a choice about carrying then.
I don’t have a choice about carrying her now. I don’t have a baby anymore. She’s still slim, no bigger really than a bag of cat litter, at least when you put her on the scale. But I can throw a bag of cat litter over my shoulder. I can’t tote long legs and torso like a sack of potatoes.
Nor can I jut out my hip and plop her on for the ride; not anymore.
For nine months I carried her on the inside. For years, I carried her on the outside. But my body can’t do it much longer.
I guess this is growing up …
Can you still carry them?
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