“She’s not a basketball.” Four words said in every delivery room since the beginning of time.
Your brain — hardwired by decades of sports and roughhousing — just cannot compute the correct holding technique.
The first time I held Owen, a nurse adjusted my arms three times. I have a graduate degree. I once assembled an IKEA wardrobe without instructions. But holding a seven-pound human? Needed professional supervision.
Fast forward a few months and you’re carrying that same kid one-handed while cooking dinner and answering a work email. Funny how that works.
What was your worst baby-holding moment? Mine was when Owen sneezed mid-handoff and I tried to catch the sneeze like a fly ball.