Sticky, Sunny, Sweet: How Babywearing Shaped Our Summer Adventures

Some summers are slow and dreamy. Others are loud and full of sweat, sunscreen, and popsicle juice. If you've got little kids, you're definitely familiar with the second kind!

Recently, we found ourselves swapping stories about those wild, sticky, joy-soaked months of parenting two small kids in the heat—and how babywearing made all of it not just possible, but meaningful. What started as a quick chat turned into a full-on story session…and we realized these were the kinds of memories worth sharing.

Because while we were in two different places—one of us navigating Florida playgrounds and ice cream truck chases, the other trekking through Mississippi heat on daily two-mile walks—we both had the same secret weapon: a baby carrier.
 

Joanna's Story

Summer with two kids felt like juggling popsicles in the sun—melting, messy, joyful, and somehow always just on the edge of chaos.

My toddler had the energy of the Energizer Bunny, while my baby was still ruled by naps, feeding, and play; the kind of soft rhythms that don’t care if it’s the middle of a museum, a sidewalk, or the one shady patch at the park. Staying home wasn’t an option…not with a toddler bouncing off the walls…so babywearing became my lifeline.

My youngest would nap on the go, her cheek pressed against my chest or back, the rise and fall of our steps lulling her into sleep while I navigated playgrounds, grocery stores, and impromptu play dates at the children’s garden.

The summer heat was no joke, though. Sometimes I’d gently shift my youngest from front to hip or to my back like adjusting gears on a long bike ride: anything to give us a little breeze and relief. There were moments when I could put her down for a bit, but mostly, she was there with me: anchored to my body as I chased after her sibling, crossed streets, handed out snacks, and kept the day moving.

But when I think of those summers, the first thing that always comes to mind is the ice cream truck. That jingle could spark a neighborhood stampede, and we were always part of it. My toddler would dash ahead, while I walked behind with my youngest strapped to me, both of us giggling as the truck pulled up. Because she was worn, my baby could take the cone right from the vendor’s hand - I remember the first time she did that as if it were today. She was leaning over, her arm and hand outstretched, and then her delight at holding her little cone. And lick by lick, she was so excited. She never finished it, of course, so I often managed a swipe or two; part treat, part tax. More often than not, I’d end up with a sticky chest and an ice cream-drizzled carrier, but it was washable, and on the worst days, I’d take us all to the nearest sprinkler and rinse off with a laugh.

Babywearing made it possible to stretch those days long. We stayed out later. We said yes to more. My kids would run and climb and roll and dig, and when it was finally time for bed, they were sun-drenched and satisfied. Summer had its own rhythm, slower in some ways and wildly fast in others. I genuinely don’t know how I would’ve made it through without it. Babywearing was the rhythm keeper, the anchor, and I wouldn’t give up a day of it.

Elise couldn’t help laughing as I told that story—because while her summer looked totally different, it felt exactly the same. We were many miles and years apart, dealing with different carriers and different kids, but we were both in the thick of it with a toddler who wouldn’t stop moving and a baby who needed to be close.

Elise's Story

Being from California, I thought I understood summer heat…but when I found myself trying to wear my daughter in the swampy Mississippi heat, it felt like a whole new season!

Babywearing was an essential part of my life with two kids - our sanity depended on my ability to wear my daughter while attempting to keep up with a very active toddler. We didn’t have access to a car, so walking a couple of miles to the park every day was a part of our daily routine - and without a stroller, babywearing was the only way I knew to make that happen!

But as the humidity and heat started to build, I realized that I would need to be even more thoughtful about how I approached babywearing during this season. I needed to think ahead to plan cool-down breaks, figure out how to create my own shade while walking, and be mindful of which carrier I used and how I cared for them later to prevent mold and warping. It felt overwhelming…until I realized that all I really had to do was pay attention to my baby’s signals, which I was doing intuitively anyway!

There’s no way around it - babywearing during the muggy summer was hot. But when I watched my friends’ babies sweating and turning red in their padded carseats and strollers, I was grateful for babywearing. I knew that my daughter was able to stay cooler through the co-regulation of skin-to-skin with me, and I was able to respond quickly to her needs during long outings because I could feel her body against mine.

That summer was the most outdoorsy summer I’d had since childhood - we were able to take advantage of so many activities and explorations that we never would have been able to without babywearing. I was able to fuel in my son’s joyful discoveries, get us out of the house on difficult days, and allow my daughter to participate in everything we did in ways she never could have if she’d been stuck in a stroller. Our days started early and ended late,  naps happened anywhere they needed to, and I got swept up in the wonder of childhood again.

Towards the end of summer, we finally got a second car, and I remember my husband asking if I was excited to be able to drive to the park instead of walk…and his shock when I said I had no intention of doing that!

Different cities. Different kids. Decades apart.

But the same wild toddlers. The same sticky fingers. The same exhausted joy.
And the same truth: babywearing was what made it all feel possible.

It helped us say yes to the chaos and the calm, to the ice cream and the muddy park puddles, to the naps on the go and the days that ran too long.

Looking back, we wouldn’t change a thing.