Michelle, on Memory. Sling Diaries, Vol VII.

The Sling Diaries, Volume VII. A photo-documentary chronicling the art of baby wearing in the lives of families around the world. Over the course of six months, Sling Diarists will create their own Sling Diary though a series of diary entries interpreting a unique theme given to them each month.

Meet all of our Sling Diarists here.


The lull of your suckle as we are embraced by the warmth between us. The smell of sweet milk and babies breath engulfs this space. The room is dark, the night is quit, and I find myself here. Present with you, wanting this moment to last but knowing it'll slip past my fingertips too quick to catch.

The thoughts of your siblings infancy begin to parade within my thoughts. As I lie here with you, watching as your chest takes a peaceful rhythm of knowing I am here. Your fingertips touching my skin, we are connected through the softness of us. I close my eyes following the parade in my mind. The memories flood every part of me and just like that I can feel the crispness of your sister Paisley's first fall.

She was five months old as we lay underneath rainbow covered tress of red, yellow, and orange. I lay beside her not looking up in wonderment of the changing leaves but in wonderment of her, in all that was held in those precious moments between us. In seeing her wild love toward nature and vowing my heart to forever follow her wildness.

The parade of thoughts goes on to you brother Meadow my ears begin to hear the sound of his crawling (gallop like really) on the hardwood floor, and I feel my feet cold from the touch of the wood, smiling down at him, my mind wandering in if he would be our last? But somehow I savored him just that way as our last. Then my shoulders begin to reminisce the weight of him being tightly bound on me fabric holding him close to me and as he fell to sleep my shoulders held his world, Oh I would ache to always be able to carry his world to be his world forever.

You begin to stir and it jolts me back to the present. I pull you close pressing your cheeks into my chest, inhaling the scent of your being, my fingertips fumbling through your feather like hair as if it was an instrument to be played.

And Just like that Im realizing my sweet Mabel too soon to my liking this moment will be added to my parade of memories, gone to quick to grasp, but vividly in the parade of my memories it'll remain.

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