When I was pregnant and my ideals were still intact (Sigh, how naive I was....), I was reading up on breastfeeding since it was my plan to try it. The book said no pacifiers. I was on board with it. John was on board with it because I was on board with it and I was hormonal, so he pretty much said yes to whatever I wanted. (Smart man.)
John knew about my contempt for pacifiers. I would always point out children with the binkies in their mouths, almost looking zoned as they lounged in their strollers at the mall. "That pacifier is a PLUG, I tell you", I would always crow to John. "His mom is just trying to keep him quiet."
In November, 2006, I was already behind the eight ball. Sprite had decided to sit Buddha (breech) in my belly, stealing the opportunity to go into natural labor, so I was moved into the C-Section category, the scandalous category our childbirth coach so abhorred. Us wanna-nursers were given signs in class that read in big bold letters, "NO PACIFIERS! NO BOTTLES!" We were told to put these signs on our room doors to dissuade the nurses and attendants from launching a binky assault. (The sign is still in my car where I originally put it, thanks for asking.)
After the surgery, it was hard to get Sprite onto the breast since all I seemed capable of touching her with was my eyes. I think we may have practiced every couple of hours, but my mental state wasn't all there since I'm pretty sure I remember President Bush visiting at some point. (He didn't bring flowers though, so he won't be getting MY vote in the next election...) (Not funny? Man, you're hard to please!)
The numerous tests they subjected Sprite to would cause her to cry and her growing hunger wasn't helping either. My milk wasn't in and the kindly (or WAS she???) nurse snuck a soothie pacifier into her bassinet for some help. John gave it to Sprite and she sucked on it until sleep took over. (OK, I have to stop everything right here. Let's think about the fragile state of a new mother and father less than 24 hours after giving birth, staring at a squalling infant, unsure if it's gas, hunger, diaper, or even existence that is causing this newborn to cry. More often than not, the nurse becomes the all-knowing expert and even achieves a Demi-God status until the parents leave the hospital and figure out the nurse was just trying to keep one squalling infant from triggering the rest of the babies on the maternity floor. Whew, I'm done with that tangent. Back to the story...)
(Are you with me? All right, I'll wait here. Go review and we'll pick it up when you catch up. Geez, the things I do for you.)
(Yes, I'm going somewhere with this.)
(No, we're not there yet!)
"Just this once." That became a mantra we repeated from time to time in the first couple of months as I struggled with nursing and Sprite struggled with sleeping. The pacifier became a constant companion and "Just this once" became "Just until she's four months."
Why 4 months? I had read that habits are easy to break with babies until about 4 months ago when they start to associate objects with the emotions they invoke. Babies should be put in their crib drowsy but awake to start soothing themselves to sleep (ouch, something else we've done wrong, but we've already gone off on ONE tangent, and we're now behind schedule, so please try to keep up here...). Pacifiers should not be used for soothing objects as when the child wakes up during the night and the binky isn't there, the child won't know how to soothe himself back to sleep.
The first four months passed quickly and Sprite had become used to the pacifier. We had them all over the house, under her bed, under our bed, in the sink, on her dresser, in Harry's crate ( I've already thought about it and I don't know how it got there, but it was thrown out when I found it, so don't worry..).
Sprite started teething and the pacifier then became everyone's best friend. So, of course, "Just until she's four months" became "As long as we get rid of it before she turns one..."
(time moves on...)
"Happy Birthday!" (Oh yeah, the pacifier thing....still there. Don't JUDGE me!)
Sprite was hooked on the binky. We only gave it to her for sleep, but found ourselves looking for it every time bedtime came. Milk? Check. Blanket? Check. Rupert? Check. Pacifier? Check.
This last Friday, Sprite fell asleep on the way home and woke up briefly when I changed her into pajamas. Without the pacifier, I placed her in her crib where she immediately turned tushy up and settled back to sleep. Hmm, didn't ask for the pacifier. I had it with me, ready to give it to her, but she went down without a peep. (She DID go down with a poop, but that's irrelevant.)
Saturday came and went quickly. We dragged Sprite all over the city, finally drawing our day to a close with a very loud parade (which I may post about once my irritation with the Army's float is below snark level) and Sprite, again, fell asleep in the van and, again, turned tushy up after being changed into pj's. 2 nights without a pacifier.
I turned to John. "This may be our chance to boot the binky."
John looked skeptical. "We can try, but she's been using a paci for over a year. Don't you think she'll give us a fight?"
I was in agreement with a possible tantrum coming, but we hadn't heard one complaint from her in 2 nights. We committed to try.
Night 3, a Sunday. We stayed home most of the day, there was nothing to detract from the bedtime routine, which we had strayed from 2 nights in a row. Would it work again? Sprite was given her bath, helped with her teeth brushing (does sucking on a toothbrush equal brushing?), shown a book or two, and placed in her crib, still awake. John and I said our goodnights and left the room. Not one sound.
"Oh, this is too easy! Those parenting books tell you to expect crying and screaming for hours and Sprite isn't complaining at all! Either those books are wrong, or we are just THAT good."
The books are not wrong. We are not that good.
Just to finish the story, because I know you're getting impatient, Monday and Tuesday, she DID cry and DID scream for a good ten minutes each time before finally giving up (hope?) and falling asleep. Tuesday morning, I walked into her room to wake her up and there were dolls all over the floor, thrown from her crib. It was a scene out of "Saving Private Ryan", only with Elmo and Cookie Monster. I made my way over to her crib, careful not to disturb the casualties of her war, and looked in on Sprite. She was sprawled across her mattress, one hand clutching Rupert, the other hand clutching her blanket, the only two things spared from her fury. I called her name softly and her eyes opened. She smiled and sat up, seemingly oblivious to the pandemonium just steps from where she had been sleeping.
Wednesday morning, her room looked tidy. Sprite was in a good mood. The sun was shining. Her dolls were intact.
I think we've beaten it.
Next up, potty training...
(You can go now. We're done here.)
(Oh, you want to know if we've thrown the pacifiers out? We're saving one. Or Two. Come on, we're not THAT brave...)
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