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This
essay was originally printed in Loving Mama: Essays on Natural
Parenting and Mothering, Edited by Tiffany Palisi (Hats Off
Books)
It’s
a Sling Thing
Tiffany Palisi
The first
time I saw a sling was at a La Leche League meeting. I was
holding my then 16 pound son in my very tired arms and wondered
if the hippie-like contraption was worth a shot.
My son
was about six weeks old and we had already, unsuccessfully,
tried using a front carrier. If you’ve never used a
front carrier, let me explain. It is this complex padded thing
with lots of ins and outs for a baby’s arms, legs, and
head. Very confusing. Our problems all began while I first
tried to figure out the snaps and straps. My son started to
cry in my arms so my husband, Johnny, held and rocked him
for a bit, and then, after minutes of my trying to work the
front carrier and failing, my husband took over and passed
my son to me. Johnny got everything in order and laid the
front carrier, just so, on the couch. He took our son back
in his arms and told me to slide the carrier over my arms
without moving anything else or he’d have to readjust
everything. I got it on but couldn’t get my son’s
legs through the straps properly. Again, my husband and I
worked as a team to get him into it. When we finally did,
all I kept thinking was that his testicles were being crushed.
He was screaming, I was crying. I frantically asked my husband
to help undo the stupid thing, which really irked him since
he’d just paid $85 for it.
So when
I checked out the sling, I immediately thought about the trouble
it would be to get my son in it and figure out how to work
it. Throughout the meeting, I saw two mothers actively using
their slings. One mom had a toddler in hers; the toddler would
ride in the sling for a while and then, when she wanted to
explore she would easily be released into the welcoming group
of mothers and children. Later, when she wished to nurse she
approached her mother, who’d spent most of the meeting
standing, and asked, “Nuss?” Her mother picked
her up, put her in the sling and began nursing. She made it
look so easy. The other mother had her four month old daughter
in her sling. This mother sat for most of the meeting and
looked pretty comfortable. Her child was sleeping soundly
while she ate a bagel, drank some juice and chatted. She had
both hands free while her child was just inches from her heart.
After
the meeting I spoke separately to each of the mothers to ask
them about their slings. They each told me how they could
easily get things done around the house with their children
“on board” and loved the fact that their babies
were so close to them. Both were using the same brand and
raved about the sling’s ease of use. It cost just over
$30, so I thought it was worth a try.On
my ride home, I thought about the joy these mothers had. Their
babies were always so close to them, listening to adult conversations
and watching people talk. They were learning how people communicate.
Further, because they were upright, bending when mom did and
turning when mom did, they were getting their vestibular apparatus
stimulated, which would later help with balance when they
would learn to crawl and walk. It all made sense. But it looked
so sixties. I went home and told my husband about the Mayan-inspired
slings. He looked at me, laughed, and said, “Oh yeah,
it’ll be just like the Baby Bjorn. It’ll sit in
a ball somewhere until you find the time to return it.”
Actually, I had about as much faith in my ability to use the
sling as he did, but I was feeling desperate. So I called
the 800 number and ordered the sling. Instead of choosing
a colorful paisley or tie-dyed pattern (God forbid), I requested
black. The woman explained that the black slings were on backorder
for three weeks. Since three weeks would be three weeks too
long, she suggested I go with an un-dyed fabric (think pale
wheat). And that’s what I did.
Three
days later, my sling arrived. It was in one straight piece
– a long, thick gathering of fabric with two brass rings
on one end. I immediately regretted buying it. It looked nothing
like the little hammocks the mothers at the LLL meeting had
worn. I began to get flustered and quickly scrambled for the
instruction manual. It was nothing more than a sheet of paper
with a person holding a baby in a sling and arrows telling
me, the reader, exactly what to do. I am not very good with
instructions (just ask my mom), and so, after a horrifying
IKEA flashback, I plunged back into the box in search for
more help. By the Grace of God, I discovered a how-to video
tucked in the bottom of the box. I popped it into my VCR with
the hope of finding the answer to slinging my son. While it
was very helpful, and I was able to get the sling on and my
baby in without any help (Bravo!), I felt as though he was
getting lost in the sling. Was I doing something wrong? I called
Liz, one of the two sling-wearers I’d met at the LLL meeting.
She wasn’t home, so I left a long, detailed list of questions
on her answering machine. When she finally called me back hours
later, she offered me the gift of a lifetime: a personal visit
to my house to help me with my sling. It was a few days before
Liz arrived, and each day I’d try to put my son in the
sling. I was able to get him in, but I felt that he was slipping
out of the bottom. So I’d hold onto his rear end the whole
time he was in the sling, concerned that he’d drop out
the bottom. I would have canned the sling entirely, were it
not for Liz. She explained that I had pulled the fabric through
improperly, preventing the sling from allowing the weight of
the baby to be countered by the tail of the sling. I’d
also had the two rings at nipple level when they really should
have been sitting just below my shoulder. She tweaked my technique
and got my son and me slinging.
At first, I felt embarrassed by wearing my sling. It seemed
I was the only person outside of the LLL meetings using my sling.
I’d go to the mall, the bookstore, or to a restaurant
and people would stare, or at least I thought they did. I wondered
if they thought I was “crunchy” (I am) and if they
judged my ability to mother my child based on the fact that
he wasn’t in a stroller. It seemed all the other babies
I saw were in some form of plastic equipment (stroller, car
seat, highchair). People inside our social circle asked why
we were opposed to using our brand new stroller. I explained
that we had tried it once but it was awful. The baby was so
far away, at eye level with cigarettes held by passers-by, and
always looking at people’s knees. Outside, bugs flew at
his face and the sun’s rays blinded him. In the sling,
he was safe and content. He could block out the sun by burrowing
his nose into my shoulder. I could always see what he was doing,
and would quickly notice if he was uncomfortable. Best of all,
I could nurse him without anyone even knowing.
When I’d go grocery shopping, I’d never have to
worry about the cart tipping with him in it or be concerned
about someone taking him because he’d be in the sling,
attached to me. And when I went into the cold sections of the
store, I’d drape the tail of the sling around his neck
and over his head to keep him from getting a chill.
People
everywhere warned that I’d spoil him, or that by carrying
him “so much” I’d prevent him from learning
to crawl or walk. The fact is that since he was always upright,
he had no problem holding up his head. He both sat up and
walked at around the same time that most of his peers did.
And he was walking, without holding onto anything, at eleven
months. Clearly, sling wearing did not cause a problem with
gross motor functions.
“But
what if you fall?” someone asked with a trace of concern.
At that point, I had already fallen with my son in the sling,
down four steps actually. My mother was in the house with
me, and as I began to fall I vividly remember calling out
to my mom, “I’m falling!” As I tumbled,
everything went in slow motion. If you’ve ever had a
car accident, you know what I mean. Thoughts of my son’s
head, bloodied and split open, ran through my mind. I envisioned
the paramedics taking him away in an ambulance with my mother
and me beside him. But somehow (my pediatrician calls it maternal
instinct), I fell just beside him, cradling him tightly in
the sling. We were both just fine.
You know,
I cannot tell you how many times mothers have told me about
incidents where their babies, while being held in the portable
car seat/carrier have fallen out (after not being properly
strapped in) or when the mother, unaware of just how close
the car seat was to the wall/door/railing, smacked the seat/carrier
right into something hard, thus injuring the baby. The way
I look at it, it’s a whole lot safer wearing your baby
on your body than pushing him in a stroller or carrying her
in a car seat.
* It’s
been just over two years, and my son and I are still happily
using our sling. We use our first one and have three more
for backup. While he often prefers walking or running to riding
in the sling, it is still useful. When we enter a new situation,
he likes the safety of the sling. When he’s tired of
walking (like for four hours at the Bronx Zoo) he says, “Mama,
sling please.” Or at the supermarket when there are
no “little carts” or racecar carts, he’ll
often opt for the sling. And of course, when he just wakes
up from his nap he wants the closeness that the sling offers.
Rarely
is a sling out of my reach. I keep one in the car at all times
because we often use one while running errands. It’s
also great if I need to walk from store to store, because
I don’t have to worry about my son running into the
street or getting lost. I know that, as he begins to grow
and approach the 40 pound mark, the sling will be a thing
of the past. For now, though, we enjoy every minute of behaving
like kangaroos. Tiffany
Palisi is the proud mother of John Henry, who, at
two and a half years old, loves co-sleeping, nursing, and
riding in the sling. She functions as a NOCIRC center and
loves educating people on natural attachment parenting. |
