The Plight of the Pacifier

One of the soothing staples in our household is the pacifier. My children know it as a “bee-bo” and it was a magical device up until my husband and I would regularly have conversations that sounded like:

“I couldn’t find the bee-bo with the rocket on it and that’s the only one that Charlotte says is “the good one” so she cried until we found the Mickey one which apparently is also acceptable.” I highly suggest sprinkling this sentences into your wedding vows, because I guarantee in your wedded bliss no one anticipates spousal arguments at midnight over whose turn it is to locate the good binky.

Feel free to substitute pacifier for anything to make our struggle relatable: bottles, blankets, boobies. We hold on tight to anything that makes our jobs as parents a little easier. Until it makes everything harder and that is where we landed. There are over 137 different ways to quit this habit but rather than fairies or fancy tricks we went cold turkey. As a rebuttal for going cold turkey—I had my 2-year-old boycott naps all together for 5 days and my 4-year-old waking up every hour in a sleepy haze, crying for her bee-bo like a nicotine junkie jonesing for a cigarette or the patch. Only there is no patch for this and I know a little something about addiction and half measures avail us nothing. Thankfully, in the most dramatic of fashions, I threw all 23 pacifiers in a garbage can in a parking structure in Sacramento, because I knew at 3 in the morning I would go dig them out of our own trash and be so tempted to cave to ease their “suffering”.

Knowing what I do now, would I go back in time and not put that tiny piece of plastic in my baby’s mouth to avoid the last week of hell? Nah, it has allowed me: many peaceful car rides, the precious few extra minutes of sleep and so many Stroller Strides workouts I couldn’t possibly count. The bee-bos have served their purpose and are gone for good, but I do promise to stand by you, children of mine, until you have learned to self-sooth in sickness and in health and in our new life together without pacifiers.

The Ick Factor

Yesterday at my daughter’s preschool I watched 6 out of the 15 kids pick their noses during circle time. 4 of them ate it, 1 of them wiped it on their pants and the other on their neighbor. Let’s face it, sometimes our little angels are just gross little monsters. 

Several months into my first pregnancy, I remember reading Kaiser’s suggested birth plan ideas (pause for after-the-fact laughter that anyone thinks you can possibly plan how your precious miracle will enter the world). I vividly remember checking the box that said “I’d like my baby to be lightly toweled off before being placed on my chest”. I kept searching for the “just like in the movies” box that said, “a 5-month-old, freshly bathed and lightly dipped in jelly will be handed to me”, however that apparently wasn’t covered under our insurance. Not only did I help pull Charlotte out myself, but she could have been plastered in a pickle/black olive juice combo and I still would have kissed her head and inhaled her scent like I needed it to give me life (which I still do).

One of my children, who will remain nameless to respect their privacy, brought me a little treasure, cupped so gently in her hands I thought she was showing me an injured bird. Nope, it was poop. A perfectly shaped turd that must have fallen out during a diaper change. Rather than run screaming in disgust, I immediately hosed everyone down and then upped their fiber intake, in that order.

I thought that by having little girls I might escape the laundry list of icks, but no such luck. Luckily, there are no amount of boogers, bodily fluids, and BM’s that could stop us from loving our messy little monsters.

YOU GOT SOME ‘SPLAIN’ TO DO

We’ve all heard of the term mansplaining; when a man explains something to a woman in a condescending or patronizing tone--for example, “I listened as the mechanic mansplained to me that in order for my car to run efficiently I would need to get regular oil changes.” What I recently heard was the term momsplaining which is when a mom needs to explain something to someone--be it her husband, a stranger or her children for the 14 millionth time that day. The key difference, however, is a mother is actively attempting not to come across as rude which is difficult when you are lactating, sleep-walking and explaining… again. An example of this would be when you need to momsplain to your toddler that Alexa cannot make ice cream just appear. When you enter the phase of “why” expect momsplaining to reach epic, almost fit-yourself-for-a-straight-jacket proportions.

Probably the worst offense of the term comes when a fellow Mom, attempts to offer unsolicited new mommy advice but tries to guise it as momsplaining. An example of this looks like:

New mommy: “No one is sleeping at night so I’m going to try the Cry-It-Out Method.”

Seasoned mommy: “In my research, Cry-It-Out destroys neurons and will wire your child for stress. It also increases their likelihood of one day starring in reality television and selling weight-loss shakes on Instagram.”

Soon after your children learn to speak they will begin kidsplaining, which is them justifying their behavior or clarifying to you how the world works:

Me: "Do you need a shirt?"

Maddie: "Nope. I do this." (Pulls pants up to her armpits)

Me: “It is time for bed.”

Charlotte: “I don’t need to sleep because I already did that yesterday.”

We are all doing our best, trying to keep up in this confusing world. If I knew all the secrets, believe me I’d share them with you. One thing I do know for sure--when I look at these two, some things just don’t need explaining.