I used to love working in church nurseries. I can recall being twelve years old, roaming the children’s wing at the Baptist church we attended, stopping to poke my head through the door of the infant room, toddler room, preschool room, asking if they needed an extra pair of hands. I was usually recruited in the toddler room, though, and more often than not it became my specific duty to watch after Trevor. 

Trevor was a sensitive soul with a touch of separation anxiety. In other words, he had to be held. The entire time. So I held him. The entire one-and-a-half-hours of church service. My skinny little twelve-year-old arms carted him around the room, and sometimes up and down the halls, until his parents came to get him. And then my arms felt like wet noodles for the rest of the day. 

When Remy was born, I was really worried of creating the “can’t-put-me-down” monster in my own child. I wasn’t sure how much was nurture and how much was nature, but I knew I at least wanted to be careful. So I made it a point of putting him down, on his own, at least as often as I was holding him. 

I think I can safely say that I have, thus far, avoided the behavior I worried about. The only problem is that, now, I have seemed to have accomplished the opposite. 

Remy is not a very snuggly baby. He is when he’s tired, but not when he’s too tired–then he just gets angry if you try and rock him. His favorite place is on the floor, all stretched out. Or on the changing table. But mostly the floor. Oh, he’s content to be in someone’s arms, mostly. But he really lights up once you set him down.

In the end, I have no regrets, though. He may prefer the floor to my arms, but he still wants me there to talk to him. 🙂 

 

 

*this post is mostly tongue-in-cheek. If you ask my mom (or any family member) they will tell you that I wasn’t exactly a snuggly baby, myself.