I swore I’d never use one. I didn’t want to fall into the trap. I didn’t want to deal with the fits, the tears, the withdrawal.
It was in the eighth month I made that declaration.
Then she was born. And I was so tired. And she wouldn’t sleep or stop crying or eat. C had gone home for the night and I was having my first real moment of ‘What the hell did I do? Is it too late to send her back?’. Against my better judgment and telling the voice in my head to shut up, I slid the green, hospital-provided binky into her mouth and all was right with the world again. In just a moment I was back in love with my baby and she was making these cute little sucky noises and she relaxed and she was happy. She still didn’t sleep but at least she stopped crying.
We wait in silence.
“Mommy?………..I want my bink”
I toss pleading eyes at the husband that say ‘lets give it to her’
Then the tears came.
“I WANT MY BIIIIIIINNNNNNKKYYYYY!”
And for the next 20 minutes or so there were tears, there was consoling and explanations of how big girls don’t need binkies and a trip to the potty. Then it was lights out again. We hugged and kissed and said goodnight. There we were in the dark hallway again, waiting.
“I want my bink.”
Then it was silence and she was asleep. Did we really just successfully take the binky away?
Yeah, not so much.
Since then its been a daily routine of pleading for binkies, explaining why we don’t use binkies, wash, rinse, repeat. And at one point, in a moment of sheer stupidity, I suggested to Izzy that Santa took her binkies back to the North Pole. As the words were leaving my mouth, it slowly dawned on me how infinitely stupid this was. The kid was already terrified of Santa and now he steals her binkies too? I quickly backpedaled and said that Santa just took them so that he could fix them and he would bring them back soon. She seemed pleased with that story and dropped the subject.
Just when I thought I was in the clear, she asks for the binky on the way to daycare the next day.
“I want my bink.”
“Baby, I don’t have your bink.”
“Santa has it?”
“Uhhh…yeah…but he will bring it back. I will call him and he’ll bring it back. But it might be a while – its a long trip from his house.”
“Ok…….I want a pink one.”
And then for the remainder of the ride to daycare, she sat there and mumbled about her bink. It was very reminiscent of this:
So for now, she thinks Santa is working on her binks. Hopefully Iz won’t pull a Milton and burn the house down. And Santa, you can keep those damn binks. I officially declare that future baby will not be getting a bink! …maybe