And in the beginning, it felt good.
That slick, smooth-talking pacifier, he calmed my baby in a way I couldn’t. He made her quit screaming as we sped down the highway. He helped her sleep. He helped her STAY asleep.
But I’m very aware of the power he has over me. How he flaunts that evil often. How he proves I am powerless without him.
That bastard pacifier, I frantically search for it every night, sometimes 4 times a night, every time she wakes and can’t find it. She will NOT sleep without it.
I’m on my hands and knees at 2, 4, 6 in the morning, willing that fucker to SHOW ITSELF. Whisper yelling, “WHERE… where, where, where, where!!! Where the hell are you? Where do you all go?!”
Oh, I have duplicates and triplicates, we have many. They inexplicably get lost. Get thrown. Thrown at the rear window of the car while we’re stuck in traffic, thrown out of the crib, thrown out of the stroller, thrown out of the cart at Target. We’ve invested a small fortune in not only pacifiers, but also devices to prevent the throwing and getting lost. They are lies. All of them. They are powerless to the pacifier, too. If he wants to disappear, he will.
And he will do it at THE most inopportune times.
Times when I would do anything to just put a plug in my kid’s mouth so that she will calm and realize, oh yes, she is ACTUALLY tired, and perhaps her efforts would be better spent drifting off to sleep than screaming until she’s red in the face.
It’s part of his trick. He waits until I’m on my last thread of sanity before he magically appears in a place I swear I have looked in 10 times already. And I am SO happy to see him.
And I tell myself, not now… we can’t give up the pacifier now… not yet.
So he wins another round.
I’m still not sure, though, that the trade off, my soul for the pacifier, was a bad one. I try to weigh the minutes of my life that I am Desperately Seeking Pacifiers (a fabulous title for a movie about me, if there was ever to be one) against the minutes of my life made calmer and quieter thanks to the pacifier. I remember the shrieking I had to live with from my first, who opposed pacifiers in his mouth as much as one would razor blades. I am mostly grateful for the pacifier’s ability to, you know, pacify this child.
Oh sure, people have opinions about them… strong ones. I’m sure many of you cringe to know I ever gave her one (especially at *gasp* 4 days old), but be sure my internal conflict over the pacifier has nothing to do with artificial nipples and everything to do with the power this thing has over me… and how hard it’s going to be to get my soul back.
Leyna is nearly 16 months old, and I was only able to sit down and blog this because we found a pacifier and she nodded off to sleep for a nap.