When I first met The Pickle, he was three hours old and had a pacifier in his mouth. The nurses had given it to him automatically, and when I saw it, one corner of my brain was thinking, “Oh crap. Do I want him to have a pacifier? Isn’t that supposed to be bad for his teeth or something?” Of course, the rest of my brain was screaming, “Holy shit! This might be my son!” So I didn’t really dwell on the pacifier too much. Besides, the poor little guy spent the first three hours of his life without anyone who was over the moon to see him. Who was I to deny him a little bit of comfort while he waited for his parents to show up?
Fast-forward nineteen months later, and the pacifier is firmly entrenched in the Pickle’s life. And I mean firmly. At this point, I have no one but myself to blame. When he was five months old I discovered, completely by accident, that if I gave him two pacifiers at once, he would hypnotize himself to sleep with them. I called this trick Double Happiness and used it the way I use lime in a gin and tonic: liberally. But my son is an extremist and doesn’t do anything without going all in. Double Happiness has turned into Octuple Happiness. Today, he calls his pacifiers “babbo” and requires a minimum of four in the crib with him when he goes to bed. If he doesn’t feel like sleeping, he lets us know by hurling them out of the crib with, as they say in wrestling, authority. (It helps to know how many babbos he started with, so when you hear them hitting the floor, you can tell how many he has to go before he reaches Core Meltdown.)
I know the babbo has to go, but I also know how hard it can be to give it up. I didn’t give mine up until I was seven. In my family, it was called the Plug (Ha ha. I get it now.) and I remember sitting by the fireplace with my dad while he gave me a heartfelt speech about how I was a Big Girl Now and didn’t need my plug anymore. I would do anything to make my dad happy, so when he asked if he could throw my plug into the fireplace, I said yes and watched bravely as he tossed it into the grate. He gave me a hug and told me he was proud of me, and as soon as he left I dove in after it. Luckily, there wasn’t a fire going, just a big pile of ashes. He probably knew there was going to be trouble and used this as a dry run.
In the end, he had to buy me a cat in order to get me to give up the plug. I don’t want to have to buy the Pickle a cat. We already have two and they’re Not Happy with the current living conditions. So I’ve tried restricting the babbos to his crib, but then he started squirreling them away like an alcoholic hiding bottles of Mad Dog. And the other day I caught him with two babbos in his mouth at the same time, which, while funny, does not bode well for my future efforts at babbo reduction. Clearly, we’re reaching a crisis point. So what do I do, Parents of the Blogosphere? Go cold turkey? Hold an intervention? Is there a Hazelden for babbo addiction? I welcome your advice. Just don’t tell me to throw them in the fireplace.
8 comments:
As an experienced parent, I'd say that if it doesn't cause illness or sleep deprivation, it's probably not worth worrying about. What's wrong with a few babboes? Roll with the punches, pick your battles... that's what parenthood's all about.
After all, you seem to have turned out terrific. Give him four or five years and then if it's still an issue, think about a cat then :-)
Hi Stacy,
I wanted to say that your article in NW Kids made me laugh, cry and spit my water out through my nose...don't ask. Love your blog, I am now a fan. As the owner of a Preschool in NE PDX, I can never get enough stories about motherhood.
Cheers.
Jen Ferrero
Purple Moon Child Development, Inc.
www.purplemoonkids.com
i love remembering the billion-plug crib. any parent whose child has had the addiction is familiar with your life.
my two cents: they love having a goal, and knowing the parameters. for nora, about 6 months prior to her 3rd birthday we started talking about it-- once you turn 3, you won't need the passy (fruit and flower's then-euphemism for the plug) any more. she suggested that we give them all to the babies in the infant center; i had a friend whose daughter suggested giving them all to santa claus (this was christmastime). (of course you give them all to the landfill, but let them have their dreams.)
then about 3 months before d day, we restricted them to her crib (or was it her room?) and the car only. then on the big day, she calmly gave them all up. there were only one or two 10-minute cry sessions in the car thereafter, it was hard to believe. a freakin miracle.
We did exactly what Patsy did. We just took our time with the transition (months) and will each passing month the Binky wasn't allowed in certain situations until finally it was only in the crib. We were close to Easter so the E.Bun took the Binkys to 'the babies that really needed them'. On the big day Cam was totally cool with it... she was about 2 1/2 at the time I think. Sort of the nicotine patch approach, eh?
Be glad it's a Bink, I saw kids in kinder and first grade that still went back to their thumbs. -gag-
Hey there, I read your blog because I am a friend of the fabulous Katie Miller. I had to respond, because my son was the same==crazy for the 'binky'. (only at night-night time) He had to have one in his mouth, with the ring/string attatcher thingy weirdly propped up on his 'undernose' and then one in each hand--which he informed us one night was for "rubbing on [his] eyelids after you guys leave". I think he had them well into his transition to a 'big boy' bed around age 3. Since they were no longer in his mouth in the AM, I didn't worry too much about his teeth. At some point in his 4th year, his Great Grandma came to visit. Since she could not negotiate our stairs, she had to sleep in his bed, and he had to sleep in the downstairs guest room. On a whim, we told him that the 'binkys' didn't go downstairs and he believed us!! We took them out of his room, and after a week of sleeping in a different bed without them, he never even mentioned them. Children are very easily fooled. Now, at almost 12 years old, he finds the eyelid story very embarassing. The point of my not-very-interesting story is that there will come times when it will be a good time to make a change. "You are moving to a big boy bed, that is where the babbo belongs...." "You are wearing underwear now, underwear boys don't use babbo in the car!" Whatever works for you! And as that other person pointed out, it is way easier to take away than a thumb. And less bloody. haha.
I think we all know that the best parenting advice always comes from a childless lesbian, so here goes: When I was deep into my thumbsucking and binkie years, we lived in Mexico, and when my mom felt I had reached an advanced age for such proclivities, she simply started putting super hot sauce on anything she thought I'd put in my mouth. Problem solved, and might I also add . . . sabroso!
Thanks Stacy, for sharing your and Dave's adventures in parenthood! Babbo or not, "The Pickle" is a total cutie.
A pinhole in the pacifier reduces its effect. Kind of like water in the whiskey to keep weird Uncle Randy from vomiting in your car after your dad makes you the designated driver from grandma's Thanksgiving dinner. In a more baby-to-toddler right of passage sort of way.
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