A beginner’s guide to strapping a small human to your body without losing a kidney or your will to live
There’s this magical idea that babywearing will bond you with your child, keep your hands free, and turn you into one of those serene, nature-wrapped parenting influencers who somehow manage to sip herbal tea while their baby sleeps peacefully against their chest.
Reality? I’ve never met a baby who peacefully does anything, especially when being strapped into a cloth cocoon with their face jammed against your chest hair.
The Illusion: Babywearing Is Gentle, Earthy, and Zen
This is how it looks online:
You, standing in a sun-dappled forest.
Your baby, sleeping like a tiny woodland angel against your chest.
A carrier that makes you look rugged but nurturing.
You whispering something meaningful about “connection.”
Here’s how it actually goes down:
You, swearing under your breath while wrestling with 15 feet of stretchy fabric that somehow knots itself like a cursed tentacle.
Your baby, screaming like a feral banshee.
You sweating through your shirt while shouting, “Why are there so many loops?!”
Step One: Choose Your Baby Restraint Device
The Wrap
This one looks like a yoga mat and a straightjacket had a lovechild. Great if you’ve got 45 uninterrupted minutes to figure out how to tie a double Windsor knot around your torso without asphyxiating yourself.
Pros: Soft, cozy, and ideal for newborns.
Cons: Folding a fitted sheet is easier. And less dangerous.
The Structured Carrier
The SUV of babywearing. Buckles, straps, lumbar support—basically a hiking backpack with a human in it.
Pros: Quick to put on once you figure it out.
Cons: First-time setup is like assembling IKEA furniture. Comes with clips, buckles, and straps, but no actual instructions—just vibes.
The Sling
One shoulder. One ring. One sweaty armpit.
Pros: Stylish. Feels slightly pirate-y.
Cons: No matter how you wear it, a part of your body will go numb.
Step Two: Insert Baby Without Causing a Diplomatic Incident
Now comes the delicate art of “loading” your baby. This should be simple, except babies are basically uncooked rotisserie chickens with opinions.
They will:
- Go limp like a protester being arrested
- Arch backwards like a caffeinated dolphin
- Punch you in the face mid-wrap
By the time you get them settled, your back is out, your pants are falling down, and the carrier looks like a pretzel that’s lost its will to live. But hey, the baby’s finally in! Upside-down. But in.
Pro Tips from the Trenches
- Start with a teddy bear. Practice on something that won’t scream or pee on you.
- Do it in front of a mirror. Or five. This is a performance art now.
- Lower your expectations. You’re not trying to look cool. You’re trying not to drop a person.
- Layer up. Not clothing—you’ll sweat through that. I mean emotional fortitude.
The Dad Angle
There’s something about a dad in a baby carrier that causes strangers to lose their minds.
“Oh my God! Look at you!” they say, as if you’re juggling flaming torches while solving world hunger.
Truthfully, I enjoy the attention.
It’s the only time in my life I’ve felt like a celebrity for wearing a baby-shaped backpack made of spit-up cloth and Velcro.
Also, it keeps the baby from crawling into the pantry while I try to microwave coffee for the 6th time today.
Final Thoughts from the Dad Who’s Been There
I remember the first time I got our youngest successfully into a carrier. She looked up at me, sighed, and passed out like she’d just finished a full bottle of Pinot Grigio.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t. I just… had something in my eye for a solid 45 minutes.
So yeah, babywearing might start out feeling like babywrestling. But it ends with a soft little head nestled under your chin, a rhythm of breathing that syncs with yours, and a feeling like maybe—just maybe—you’re nailing this whole parenthood thing.
At least until they wake up and projectile vomit down your collar.
