Oh pacifier, the bane of my existence.
Let me tell you a story.
Once upon a time I didn’t have any children and I was all “I will not give my baby a pacifier. My baby will learn to self soothe. It will also sleep through the night without a problem and be potty trained by the time it is nine months old.”
Then I HAD a baby.
I also imagined that I would have a baby somewhere near my due date like most people. Instead, I gave birth fifteen weeks early.
When I was wheeled into the NICU I saw a tiny baby, so small that her entire body fit into our hands, sucking away on a miniature pacifier tucked behind a tangle of tubing.
“Why does she have a pacifier?” I asked
“It helps the very premature babies remember how to breathe” they answered.
And then I was like “NEVER TAKE HER PACIFIER AWAY EVER. DOES SHE HAVE HER PACIFIER? SOMEONE GIVE HER HER PACIFIER.”
Once we came home we slowly transitioned to only having the pacifier for nap/night time as well as when she was sick. And okay, also when someone gave her a shot but don’t even give me a hard time about that because personally, I’d love a pacifier when I get a shot. Am I right or am I right? Hint: I am right.
Over the past few months we’ve tried hard to get Scarlette to attach to something, anything else in anticipation of eventually losing the pacifier. Unfortunately, Scarlette refuses to define any sort of lovey. I think this can be attributed to her sensory issues and the fact that she does not like soft things like stuffed animals, or pillows, or blankets.
(Probably Scarlette is going to carry around an empty container of Puffs for the rest of her life instead of a blanket or stuffed dog like all the other kids.)
The dentist said it was fine for her to keep the pacifier until she was three and so we weren’t in any rush to lose it.
Until she got HFM for the bazillionth time thanks to a premature immune system + her mother taking her to the bounce house in an attempt to not be a germaphobe. Newsflash: THIS IS WHY I AM A GERMAPHOBE, PEOPLE.
This time around one of the sores near her mouth didn’t heal and became infected. As it turns out, the pacifier was rubbing it at night and preventing it from healing and so the doctor recommended that we take it away.
Neither Scarlette nor I were prepared for this and honestly? It’s been pretty hard on both of us.
My plan was just to not mention anything about the pacifier at all, which was going fantastically until I reached her doorway and a little voice said “Um, Mommy? Where my paci?”
I told her that I didn’t know where paci was and that we were all going to be “all done paci” and then it all went to hell in a handbasket.
We tried saying “bye bye” to paci and sending it off to a new home for a new baby. Only the thing is, I don’t think Scarlette has the language skills to totally understand that because I could hear her over the monitor each night crying and saying “I jusht don’t know where paci is!”
I know. If that didn’t break your heart then let me just tell you about how she has been sobbing uncontrollably every single time we try to do nap or bedtime and it’s been going on for over a week. That’s right, now your heart hurts. MINE TOO, Y’ALL. Mine too.
So yesterday we went to the grocery store. I turned the cart down the baby aisle and discovered that apparently, Scarlette is incredibly observant because she noticed the display of pacifiers immediately. She pointed to them, her face all lit up like the Fourth of July, and excitedly exclaimed “MOMMY! HEY MOMMY! DAT WHERE MY PACI GO! I KNOW WHERE DA PACI IS! I MY PACI! I HAVE PACI, MOMMY?”
I have done some very hard things in my life. One time, I free climbed a ridiculously high cliff and rappelled off the top of it. I stood hanging backwards over the edge shaking with tears before I managed to actually go down because I somehow forgot during the climb up that I’m really, very, extremely afraid of heights.
THAT WAS LESS HARD THAN EXPLAINING TO MY TWO AND A HALF YEAR OLD THAT SHE COULD NOT HAVE ONE OF THOSE PACIFIERS.
Also, I’ll be shopping alone for the next several weeks.
I’m not going to lie. I’m pretty proud of myself for not giving in. And I’m pretty sure the New Kids On The Block are in my corner too, because of how I’m totally hanging tough and all.
If by “hanging tough” you mean “secretly crying outside of her bedroom door every night.”
(P.S. My BFFs were over the other night and witnessed the bedtime meltdown. And when I rejoined them in the living room, Tiffani was all “GO GIVE THAT BABY A PACIFIER RATNAO BEFORE I GO DO IT MYSELF BECAUSE THIS IS SO SAD!”)
