We have had a triumphant moment in the Mountain household in the past week. Mountain Child has officially ditched the pacifier!
She decided on her own, which is just absolutely typical Mountain Child fashion. When I tried to take it away, I had a carefully constructed plan backed by expert opinion, advice of moms, and every parenting magazine tidbit that I could find about pacifiers. As a result, I had nightmares about my kids having buck teeth and a lisp because she sucked on one too long. Or that she would get some sort of nasty bacterial infection because of the germyness of her pacifiers. Another common obsessive thought that I had was that she would bit off the pacifier nipple and choke on it in her sleep. I actually dreamed the other night that Mountain Child had about a hundred pacifiers hidden in her sheets and I couldn’t get rid of them all because she kept popping up with more. It was Alfred Hitchcock creepy.
I put a plan into action. I decided to prep her for the big cutoff by talking about it for a week. She humored me with the conversation, which went a bit like this:
Me: “Next week, you are going to have to say bye-bye to your pacifier. You are a big girl and you don’t need it.”
Mountain Child: “NO BIG GIRL. WATCH DORA?”
Me: “No, you can watch Dora later (by the way, I have decided that I hate Dora. My child likes her better than me.). We are going to say bye-bye to your pacifier next week.”
Mountain Child: “NOOOOOOOOOOO!!! I LOVE PACI.” She then hugs it and kisses it.
Me: “Okay, that’s fine. Just put it in your bed for now.”
Mountain Child then tucks it into bed and kisses it goodnight. I am really thinking that I am just stupid for even trying this.
I posted my status on Facebook about our pacifier situation. I got 22 comments about the issue, more than any other status that I have ever posted. It seems that this is a point of great debate in the world. An overhaul of our health care system? No, way! Pacifiers are waaaaayyyyyyy more interesting. I’m not kidding. At least I understand them a little better.
That day I decided to tempt fate and the Universe’s equilibrium and take away the pacifier for naptime. Mountain Child put up such a fight and screamed so long and loud that I decided that I had two options: 1) I would either have to search for a service to come in and break her of her pacifier addiction or 2) just give up the whole idea altogether. I actually decided on secret option #3 which was just cutting the top off of it, which was the most popular bit of advice that I got. Mountain Child gave it a funny look when I handed her the “new” pacifier and proceeded to suck on it as if it were a Popsicle. So much for that little tip that practically a hundred people gave me.
But the next morning, Mountain Child walked into her room, picked up the pacifier and said, “PACI BROKEN. I THROW AWAY.”
Me: “Are you sure that you want to throw it away? You can’t get it back. It will be bye-bye pacifier…”
Mountain Child: “I THROW AWAY.”
She then marched downstairs into the kitchen and threw it in the trash can. She said, “BYE-BYE PACI!!!!” And that was it. She slept that night as if nothing happened.
It was dreamfully easy. Which just further proves my formula for parenting:
The more you stress over it, the more likely it will work out fine despite your mental gymnastics. However, if you don’t worry about it, something really terrible/embarrassing/pain in the ass will happen.
If could have saved a lot of money in child rearing books if I would have gotten that from the beginning. In the end, it has not as much to do with all of my efforts.
So our next hurdle will be the potty. I have decided to continue obsessing over it but I will let her decide when she is ready. However, I must freak out over it because the energy expended over this is contingent with the success that we have in the end even though it isn’t my worrying that does it—that is just the universe laughing at me and confounding my every attempt at logic in parenting.
Perhaps I should make up a mathematical formula. But I am too inept in math to come up with one. Plus math means that there is logical outcome to your problem. Parenting is not logical at all. It is precisely the opposite, more like tromping around in SeussLand, experimenting with magical spells.
However, if any of my mathematically savvy friends want to take a go at making this into a formula, have at it. We can write a book and split the profit.
She decided on her own, which is just absolutely typical Mountain Child fashion. When I tried to take it away, I had a carefully constructed plan backed by expert opinion, advice of moms, and every parenting magazine tidbit that I could find about pacifiers. As a result, I had nightmares about my kids having buck teeth and a lisp because she sucked on one too long. Or that she would get some sort of nasty bacterial infection because of the germyness of her pacifiers. Another common obsessive thought that I had was that she would bit off the pacifier nipple and choke on it in her sleep. I actually dreamed the other night that Mountain Child had about a hundred pacifiers hidden in her sheets and I couldn’t get rid of them all because she kept popping up with more. It was Alfred Hitchcock creepy.
I put a plan into action. I decided to prep her for the big cutoff by talking about it for a week. She humored me with the conversation, which went a bit like this:
Me: “Next week, you are going to have to say bye-bye to your pacifier. You are a big girl and you don’t need it.”
Mountain Child: “NO BIG GIRL. WATCH DORA?”
Me: “No, you can watch Dora later (by the way, I have decided that I hate Dora. My child likes her better than me.). We are going to say bye-bye to your pacifier next week.”
Mountain Child: “NOOOOOOOOOOO!!! I LOVE PACI.” She then hugs it and kisses it.
Me: “Okay, that’s fine. Just put it in your bed for now.”
Mountain Child then tucks it into bed and kisses it goodnight. I am really thinking that I am just stupid for even trying this.
I posted my status on Facebook about our pacifier situation. I got 22 comments about the issue, more than any other status that I have ever posted. It seems that this is a point of great debate in the world. An overhaul of our health care system? No, way! Pacifiers are waaaaayyyyyyy more interesting. I’m not kidding. At least I understand them a little better.
That day I decided to tempt fate and the Universe’s equilibrium and take away the pacifier for naptime. Mountain Child put up such a fight and screamed so long and loud that I decided that I had two options: 1) I would either have to search for a service to come in and break her of her pacifier addiction or 2) just give up the whole idea altogether. I actually decided on secret option #3 which was just cutting the top off of it, which was the most popular bit of advice that I got. Mountain Child gave it a funny look when I handed her the “new” pacifier and proceeded to suck on it as if it were a Popsicle. So much for that little tip that practically a hundred people gave me.
But the next morning, Mountain Child walked into her room, picked up the pacifier and said, “PACI BROKEN. I THROW AWAY.”
Me: “Are you sure that you want to throw it away? You can’t get it back. It will be bye-bye pacifier…”
Mountain Child: “I THROW AWAY.”
She then marched downstairs into the kitchen and threw it in the trash can. She said, “BYE-BYE PACI!!!!” And that was it. She slept that night as if nothing happened.
It was dreamfully easy. Which just further proves my formula for parenting:
The more you stress over it, the more likely it will work out fine despite your mental gymnastics. However, if you don’t worry about it, something really terrible/embarrassing/pain in the ass will happen.
If could have saved a lot of money in child rearing books if I would have gotten that from the beginning. In the end, it has not as much to do with all of my efforts.
So our next hurdle will be the potty. I have decided to continue obsessing over it but I will let her decide when she is ready. However, I must freak out over it because the energy expended over this is contingent with the success that we have in the end even though it isn’t my worrying that does it—that is just the universe laughing at me and confounding my every attempt at logic in parenting.
Perhaps I should make up a mathematical formula. But I am too inept in math to come up with one. Plus math means that there is logical outcome to your problem. Parenting is not logical at all. It is precisely the opposite, more like tromping around in SeussLand, experimenting with magical spells.
However, if any of my mathematically savvy friends want to take a go at making this into a formula, have at it. We can write a book and split the profit.
