At a certain point, babywearing goes from being on par to carrying a slightly heavier than average diaper bag everywhere you go to becoming a bit of an ordeal. One that requires rests, switching off with your partner, or demanding that your child get down and walk for a bit while you do some cat-cow poses.

Suddenly babywearing is no longer "just so much easier than using a stroller or having them walk." Still, there are times when it is just slightly easier than the alternatives, so you put up with the fact that you're going to need some ibuprofen and a heat patch later that evening.

"Whoa! You're still carrying them around!" "Are you going to drop them off at college in that thing?" "They're big enough to carry you, I think!"

Comments like these are never something that bother me (though it is a little annoying when the baby is still an infant and someone thinks babywearing is about as weird as snake handling or dolphin-assisted births). I've rarely come across anyone who has meant this as anything other than off-handed, good-natured, not-talking-down-to-me playful banter. But at a certain point when, deep in your heart, you know your babywearing days are numbered, someone will say something like, "They still fit in that?" or, "Aren't they bumping up against the weight limit at this point?" and you get all salty and defensive.

Like, well, you knew. You knew they were getting really heavy. You knew they're only a couple pounds away from being above limit. You recognized that lower-back pain really shouldn't be involved babywearing, as it sort of defeats the whole convenience angle. Still, you didn't want to believe it until you heard the truth from someone else.

Because even though it's gotten annoying, babywearing is pretty damn great. You have so many fond memories of strolling through the park with your baby wrap in the spring, or traipsing through a pumpkin patch wearing an Ergo around Halloween. Now, all of a sudden, that's gone? But it's so cute and cuddly and cozy and, frankly, really adorable. This hardly seems fair.

That damn Devil stroller. I mean, it's not actually the Devil, but it's so annoying to have to schlep it around. Especially when your toddler changes their mind every three seconds as to whether or not they actually want to be in it. Like, "Oh gee. I'm so glad I'm carrying around this 20 pound stroller even though you haven't rested your tush in it for more than three seconds this entire outing. It just makes me feel so good to be weighted down by this thing."

Then they act all wounded and annoyed when they exit a moving stroller without telling you and you accidentally run them over. When you're babywearing, they're going nowhere without your permission and cooperation.

Child, I know your legs are tiny and adorable but OMG you really have to move your ass. This would normally take us about a minute but we have been making our way across this parking lot like it's the dessert in the Book of Exodus. Honestly, 40 years of continued wandering seems optimistic at this point. Like Moses, I expect I will die before reaching the Promised Land (in this case, Target).

Especially if your child has a particular fondness for it. My son enjoyed being worn, but was fine when those days were done. My daughter, on the other hand, refers to our Ergo as "the kangaroo pouch," and asks for it with great frequency. You try telling a bright-eyed, dimpled toddler why she can no longer "cuddle mommy in the kangaroo pouch." It's tough, especially when you'd like to do it, too. This is not the first time my desires have been thwarted by practicality or physics, and I doubt it will be the last.

For starters, they're expensive. In fact, depending on your level of commitment/obsession, the prices can exorbitant and unbelievable. So parting with this can feel sad on a strictly financial level. However, if you're the sentimental type, parting with an item that enabled you countless hours of snuggles can be tough on the ol' heartstrings.

This can go one of two ways. Perhaps you will find yourself annoyed that you've been killing your back for months only to realize it's been completely unnecessary. Your child is more than capable of walking, even walking long distances, without the aid of a carrier. This annoyance is often paired with a warm, maternal pride. Like "Look at you, big kid. You don't need anyone to get around. You're a modern child of the world, with ambition and moxy and spunk. You're going places, and you don't have time for your shorter strides to stand in between you and your goals. That's my baby!"

Or...

Wait, you could keep up perfectly fine this whole time? Are you joking? Yes, you're joking. Because you need me. You are still tiny and precious itty bitty, and you just learned to walk, like, 2 years ago. So, yeah, I refuse to believe that you are a fully-formed mini-human, confidently walking on your hind-legs like a person. You're not a person, you're a baby. You're my baby. Get back over here! Stop walking! I'm sure we can fashion this King-sized sheet into a sling.

Good luck with all that, fellow parents.