*Guest Post* Testing the limits: My day on the slopes with baby

I am so excited to welcome Alizah to the blog today! She echos our belief that kids should be outside and adventuring.  Feel free to join in the discussion in the comments and leave her some feedback.  We can't wait to hear what you have to say. =) Amelia (AKA Mountain Mama)

My son Kiko was 7 ½ months old the first – and last – time I took him downhill skiing. We didn’t fall, we weren’t scared, we didn’t get cold, or sunburned, or slip off the chairlift, or hit a tree. To the contrary, the hours we spent skiing the slopes of Wachusett Mountain in Massachusetts were some of the happiest in my memory. So why, you might ask, wouldn’t I want to do it again? The answer has less to do with my skills, my skis, or my son than with the other skiers on the slopes. What began as a recreational activity for our family ended as a strange and somewhat alienating social experience in which we seemingly became an object of attention and conversation on the mountain. With bubbly excitement we started skiing at 10:30 AM. By 12:30 PM I was weary of the experience and suggested to my husband that we call it quits and head back to the car. Let me explain what happened…

It was a sunny morning in March 2009. The temps were up, the snow conditions perfect. It was mid-week, meaning that the slopes were relatively clear. We did our homework before by calling the resort and asking if they allowed skiing with babies. The man we spoke to was enthusiastic, saying, “No one ever asks us that. We think it’s really cool you want to bring your baby skiing, do come!” Wow, I thought, such a warm welcome, how could we possibly turn it down?

So we went. We drove the hour plus with a happily gurgling baby in the back seat, excited about taking him skiing for the first time. I should explain that as the owner of a company that makes baby gear designed for the outdoors, I wholeheartedly endorse introducing little ones to the outdoors and the activities we hold close to our hearts. The abiding question, of course, is where to draw the line. In this case, I felt confident about skiing with my son because I’ve been skiing since I was four. I’m a capable skier, and, without overstating my abilities (I don’t ski off cliffs or ride avalanches), I knew it was unlikely that I would fall or get into an unwanted epic experience. Plus, not to knock Wachusett, but it’s a very small mountain whose double black diamond runs are more or less equal to an upper intermediate run out west.

In the parking lot, we did everything we usually do: Boots on? Check. Jackets? Check. Sunblock? Check. Sunglasses? Check. Oh, and one more thing. Baby carrier? Check. I wore my son on the front facing in using a Beco Butterfly II. To make sure he kept warm, I wore a Kowalli – a fleece baby carrier cover that covered us both and kept me in close contact with him. And he was snug as a bug.

When we arrived on the slopes, I could tell immediately that we were something of a sensation. At the chair lift, the attendant commented, “Hey, that’s so great to see you skiing with your baby! We’ve had staff do it before, but I’ve never seen regular clientele do it.” There were some older people in line too – ex-hippies they seemed – who also lauded us for bringing baby on board. One said “Oh, I miss those days. I used to take my baby skiing all the time. What a beautiful thing. Enjoy!” Their comments sent us up the mountain feeling giddy and happy.

Technical note: Getting on the chairlift with a baby in the carrier was no problem – it was no different from usual, except that I was very careful to make sure I was seated firmly before relaxing into the ride.

It was after we got off the lift that things started to – sorry for the pun – go downhill. I was adjusting my gloves when a woman in her 40s commented, “Um, I’m just going to move over so that when you fall you don’t blame me.” A group a teenagers was staring at me as if I were a vampire riding a unicorn, and a middle-aged man implored me, “Pleeeease tell me that’s not a baby under there.” After a moment of hesitation and self-doubt, I decided to ignore their comments and try to enjoy the skiing, focus on being with my family and not on what others thought of us.

The skiing was the easy part. Gliding downhill with my baby in my arms was a wholly wonderful, new sensation. With the runs so empty, I had hardly to worry about other skiers. (Another technical note: Knowing that the greatest danger to me and my baby was other skiers, I was fastidiously careful about keeping my distance from everyone. If another skier was behind me, I always pulled over to let her pass. No exceptions.) My son was soon lulled to sleep by the swishing and swaying. It was one of those calm, beautiful, harmonious moments of life and I felt utterly fortunate to experience it while it lasted.

Which was sadly not long enough. As I crossed under a chairlift, a teenage boy shouted publicly and aggressively, “Skiing with a baby? What a great idea. I hope you fall!” Little by little, the aura of excitement, warmth, and happiness began to wear off in the face of intense public scrutiny. It seemed that everyone had an opinion – either I was realizing their dreams or acting out their nightmares. And many people, it seemed, felt that it was their right, or even duty, to share that opinion with me.

What was interesting was that there seemed to be two clear factors that determined the way people responded to me. One was generational. The older skiers were by and large much more accepting of the idea of skiing with a baby. Many claimed to have done it in the past. The most vocally critical, on the other hand, were teenagers, who treated me either with contempt or withering sarcasm about my parenting. The other factor was skiing skill. The mountain staff and other experienced skiers tended to respond with enthusiasm, while novice and intermediate skiers looked unnerved by the sight of a baby on the slopes.

After a few hours, I decided that the joy of skiing was less than the discomfort of the social criticism, and we decided to head home. I felt increasingly like a circus act, and craved privacy and normalcy once again. But the experience left me thinking. It became clear to me that in skiing with my baby I was breaking a taboo. Why, I wondered, is it OK to put your baby on a bike and enter traffic with cars zooming around you left and right, but not to ski down an easy, empty ski slope? My conclusion is that most people (naturally) judge according to their own abilities. That is, since most feel confident riding a bike, it’s no stretch of the imagination to envision a baby on board. On skis, however, many people are slightly ill at ease, so when they imagine skiing with a baby, it scares them. And understandably, no one likes to have to worry about a baby’s safety.

While I understand why people, unknowing of my extensive skiing experience and the precautions I was taking on the slopes, might have been worried, the effect was that their vocal expressions of their preoccupations made me self-conscious and eventually weary. I wondered whether people would have been so vocal if it had been my husband, despite his being a novice skier, who was carrying the baby. Though I have little empirical evidence, I suspect that people would be more hesitant to criticize a man carrying a baby on the slopes. Moms, as anyone who has ever been in the role knows, make easy targets for public criticism.

When I think back on that day, I try to focus not on extremes of public approval and disapproval that my actions rendered, but rather on the wondrous feeling of skiing with my baby. I am grateful I was able to share those moments with him and with my husband, and also, no less, that I was confident enough to withstand a certain measure of public scrutiny and remain true to my own abilities. Resisting the pressure of others, no matter how well intentioned it is, and remaining true to one’s instincts, is an acquired –and essential – skill of mothering.

Kiko, now 3 ½, doesn’t remember his morning on the slopes. I hope that soon – should we ever get any snow this year – we’ll be taking him back for his second day. And if we do, his younger brother Elias just might come along in the sling.

Alizah Holstein lives with her husband in Providence, RI and is mom to Kiko (3 ½) and Elias (14 mo.). She’s a former medieval historian and the owner of Kowalli, a company dedicated to making outdoor gear for active families.