I remember my friend Missy telling me that when she had her baby, there was no way she would ever use a pacifier. This was in high school. Three years later after the birth of her first son, I smiled and pointed out the pastel, blue object hanging from his mouth, while exclaiming, “I thought you said you weren’t going to use one of those.” She quickly gave me one of her famous ‘do I kick your ass now or later’ looks, and I shut my mouth. Missy happens to be nearly 6’ tall, and has one hell of a mean streak.
For quite sometime, I shared my Amazonian friend’s opinion about pacifiers, and felt I would forego the orifice pleaser with my own child, until I had her. Rachael took to the binky right away. She was immediately fonder of the rubber on her bottles and binkies than the skin on my breast, which, after a short spell of feeling utterly rejected, became okay by me. Frankly, I was so damned exhausted trying to be a new mom that I was almost relieved when she wouldn’t breastfeed. (Bad Mommy Confession #1)
Keeping a binky around was easy at first. It would flop out of her mouth and end up somewhere around her, and since she was barely mobile, that would mean it was buried on either the left or right side of her swing or bouncy chair. When she was a little older, I used a handy binky clip to keep it attached to her. She loved her brightly beaded binky clip and would enjoy many minutes of fun playing with it. At about nine months old, she learned how to unclip it from her shirt, and that’s when the great binky chase started.
From that point on, in addition to keeping track of everything in the house, I had to know where the binky was at all times. My husband was no help, since he is completely useless when it comes to knowing where things are around the house. Unfortunately, he’s always been this way. I remember early in our relationship when I relocated back to Seattle I moved into his apartment, and after one week he was asking me where his things were. He will call to me from the second floor of the house to ask me to find something that is usually within his immediate reach. When it comes to anything to do with Rachael’s belongings, he is completely at a loss, so I’m the sole keeper of the binky.
“Binky” was one of the first words Rachael learned to say. She has also learned to hide them, throw them in the trash, and leave them behind when we go to the store or some other public place. She is 20 mos. old and I’m reluctant to keep purchasing binkies, because I would like to break her addiction very soon. This is not going to be an easy task. She is as stubborn as I am, and takes great, mischievous joy in throwing her binky down on the floor and demanding that I retrieve it lest she break out into a screaming fit that would wake the dead. The only reason she is still using a binky is because I am too lazy to begin the process of breaking the habit. (Bad Mommy Confession #2)
It seems the more I try to take it away or have her use it less, the more she wants binky with her. She will look around for it before we leave the house, and throw a fit in the car if she doesn’t have it. At night, Rachael doesn’t like to go to bed without binky. During naptime if she doesn’t feel like going to sleep, she will throw her binky out of the crib and scream for it until I come in, pick it up, and lay her back down. Yes, I know, this is manipulation and power play at its finest, but sometimes a moment’s worth of quiet is much stronger than my need to separate my child from a senseless piece of rubber and plastic.
I have tried to figure out exactly what the binky represents in her life, but haven’t been able to hone in on the need it fills. Since she doesn’t have a favorite stuffed animal or carry a blanky, her binky is probably the one thing that gives her security. I know it will eventually give way to a favorite doll or toy, then a specific outfit, and in the teenage years a boyfriend or eating disorder, but for now I would just like to see her smiling without having to focus in on the cartoon bear playing tennis that adorns the front of her binky.
I’ll probably opt to bring out the big guns into the second year of her life, and by the time she’s three, the binky will be a dusty item in the memory box I keep for her. If there’s one thing I’m certain of it’s that I will be damned if she is going to be one of those five year olds I see at the mall asking for a specific brand of shoes or a $75 X-box game while mumbling through one of those enormous, big kid binkies. I don’t care how much screaming I have to endure, the binky may have mysterious soothing powers, but it’s life force is coming to an end. However, since Rachael is still young, I’ll retrieve binky off of the carpet in the stairwell just in time for her afternoon nap. (Bad Mommy Confession #3)
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