Armpit

Walking through a shopping centre the other day I saw a Dad with a newborn baby tucked under his armpit. The baby was warm, safe, quiet and comfortable. He wasn’t being held in a sling, or cradled like a box of eggs. He was just hanging with his Dad. I felt like David Attenborough for a minute. Yes, we were bathed in the neon pink of HMV’s flickering signage, but it was lovely.

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Logo of British music retail chain HMVWalking through a shopping centre the other day I saw a Dad with a newborn baby tucked under his armpit.

I mean, literally, under his armpit. Pushing the pram with one arm, baby under the other, he was the definition of relaxed. I actually had to double take to confirm that I’d seen a baby under an armpit.

The baby was warm, safe, quiet and comfortable. He wasn’t being held in a sling, or cradled like a box of eggs. He was just hanging with his Dad. I felt like David Attenborough for a minute. Yes, we were bathed in the neon pink of HMV’s flickering signage, but it was lovely.

There was no fear, no adhering to protocol, no soothers, no blankets, no need, just a man holding his new baby in his armpit.

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