Paci Wars

My daughter never “took” to a pacifier. I remember her using one when she was about 5 months old and needed to be still for a full body x-ray scan. Other than that moment, when it was impossible for her to be attached to me, I served as her human pacifier, and after 12 months, we were done. It was a reasonably easy transition (though this memory is likely clouded by 3 and a half years of space).  Matt, on the other hand, was all about the Paci from the beginning. This worked out because Kate was 28 months old when he was born; I needed to be THERE for both of them.

Because he took to the Paci (by the way, I am purposely capitalizing “Paci” as one would capitalize the proper noun of a person, deity, or method of birth control because it is that important to Matt), he slept great. He was easily consoled. He was just plain a laid back baby. At about 12 months (the perfect time in my mind), the Paci had been gradually removed from our lives. He would leave them in the car or in his “cubby” at childcare, never to be asked for during the day. We went whole days without it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quite finished removing something else from his life yet. I couldn’t seem to get rid of both the Paci and the breast. During the weaning process, I gave in. I needed to be finished with breastfeeding. I was starting to get really irritated at my 14-month-old nurser. So the Paci returned to help him get to and stay asleep at night. It would be easier to get rid of than my breast, right? Well…it went OK. In fact, we ditched the Paci completely at 20 months when the last one was “lost.” But then it returned after a febrile seizure that scared the bejeezes out of me on Memorial Day. When he asked for his Paci, I did not refuse.

The war against the pacifier is waged on two fronts. First, of course, is the war with my 2 year old. I’ve tried losing the Paci, tried reasoning with Matt about how it’s time for the Paci to go, tried to explain that the Paci is for little boys and he is a BIG boy, tried to shame him into it by pointing out how the big boy neighbors and cousins don’t have Pacis. He doesn’t care. He wants the Paci. And he has even more than the usual 2-year-old worth of stubbornness, thanks to some, ahem, genetic factors. So, the Matthew front is fought every day one way or another. But the second, more potent front in the Paci War is the one waged in my head between Everything’s Cool Mommy and Paranoid Freakout Mommy.

EC Mommy thinks, “He’ll grow out of it. He’ll stop when he’s ready. No one ever went to college with a Paci. It will be fine.”

PF Mommy has another perspective: “I’m a failure. I can’t get my kid to stop using a Paci. I can’t convince him of anything. He has all of the power. He will need braces because of my failure as a mother. He will trade the Paci for cigarettes. I’m going to have a three-year-old smoker. He is too dependent. (EC Mommy breaks in: HellO…he’s TWO! Of COURSE he’s dependent.) Even my mother, the sweetest woman alive, has mentioned in her low-key way that have I noticed that maybe his teeth have been affected by Paci usage. When is he going to stop? When will we be done with the Paci? I can see the disapproving looks from my father, from other parents, from strangers at church. Bad Mommy. Bad Mommy. Bad Mommy.”

Unfortunately, PF Mommy doesn’t just fight the Paci Wars; she is a tireless footsoldier who sometimes even promotes herself to General in my head. I guess PF Mommy is handy when it comes to following instincts about your kid’s health or behavior, but I really wish she would take a vacation when it comes to stuff that is way less important. The Paci will go away, eventually. In two years I’ll probably forget all about the departure of the Paci, just like I’ve forgotten exactly how Kate became potty trained. Sigh. Time to take a breath and let EC Mommy take the reins again.