The Passing of the Pacifier

The paci is passe.

The binky is banished.

The ninny is nada.

It's yet another rite of passage for baby Everett--now left with just "soft blankey" to keep him comforted through the night.  His trusty "pass", and its eight look-alike siblings, are now relegated to the napkin drawer in the kitchen-- the one

 underneath the toaster.  Maybe that's my subliminal way of keeping them warm for him, just in case he suffers some setback.  Basically, if his life starts to suck, he'll want to suck, and I'll

 probably let him!

Somehow this transition was SO much easier than my first son's parting with the pacifier.  That one required a lengthy ceremony, complete with salutes and sobs.  Three-year-old Sam was allowed to stay up with daddy and watch football if he tossed his pacifier into the trash.  No problem.  Hanging out was a blast, until the little guy realized he was tired and wanted his paci back so he could fall asleep.  Alas, the   

 garbage man had already hauled off the paci, so Sam was forced to cold-turkey his nightly habit.  Major problem. 

 We ended up reversing the locks on his bedroom door to

 keep him from rampaging through the house, in full paci-withdrawal mode.  It took 3 nights, but Sam finally said bye-bye to his binky.

With 18-month-old Everett, it was more of a subtle shift.  Thanks to a wise babysitter, he stopped napping with the paci, and only asked for it at nighttime, with me.  Shamed by a woman half my age, I felt the need to continue the paci phase-out.  Oh, but did I mention this plan coincided with the first night of Daylight Saving Time?  STUPID, stupid move!  Since I was committed to staying the course, I was the one who had to rock him for three hours overnight, watch infomercials with him, and feed him bananas on the back porch while gazing at the moon, all in a feeble attempt to hypnotize him back to sleep without the thing he loved best in all the world.  STUPID, stupid mommy!! 

 One more thing.  My husband had to awaken at 4 o'clock the next morning for a business trip.  I was Keith Olbermann's Worst Person in the World that night.  Or at least my husband and child thought I deserved the award.

It took a couple more nights of rocking to get him to forget the pacifier, and  now he's stopped asking for it.   But here's the thing:  The rocking is his methadone.  Now he's a cuddle junkie.  As in, rock this wild-child to sleep

every night.  For as long as it takes, mom.  

Makes you wonder who's the real sucker in this house....