I'm remembering the not so distant days of piling on the clothes for even the shortest trips: onsie, footed one piece (what do you call those??), jacket, gloves, hat, snowsuit. . . Ah, how quickly I forget Chicago winters, which is probably for the best. Now it's June, and Hazel Bee doesn't need Miguel's bear outfits from when he was a wintry infant. Just the thought of putting a tender wee one in anything furry or fleecy right now makes ME break into prickly heat.
During his first three months, Miguel also spent plenty of time in a swaddle. (In the picture, I am literally following the step by step instructions from The Happiest Baby on the Block--Miguel was 3 days old.) When he cried or needed to be soothed to sleep, we yanked a blanket around him with vigor, recreating a snug, presumably womby environment. It always seemed to work like a charm. But what would I do with a flailing wisp of a person now? When it's warm outside, it's toasty in our top floor apartment; when it's toasty outside, it's broiling here. Swaddling a newborn in our home during the summer would verge on child abuse.
Perhaps this is why my mom was always bemused by our obsessive bundling of Miguel. I was a June baby born in Virginia--apparently I spent my first few months nearly nekid (prickly heat and all). No womb reenactments for me!