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My husband and I are so sick of continuously trying to solve the never-ending "case of the missing binkie." Yet we can’t seem to live without it. Note I said “we” in this love-hate relationship. Let’s explore.
On a regular basis, we have NO idea of the whereabouts of the pliable plug, and we continuously find ourselves on all fours looking under furniture, behind the couch, in the dog's bed, in the wet grass, in cluttered toy bins, behind doors, atop toilet seats, in cars, in drawers, and on the garage floor. We have two pacifiers; one goes in the tot’s eager mouth at sleep time (and at random times throughout the day) and the other is the "spare on the bear” -- not far from our son's crib, perched on a stuffed bear (obviously), just in case the binkie falls out of his mouth at 3 a.m. and becomes temporarily M.I.A. Because we have a decent "two binkie" system, we get crazy when one of them isn't where it's supposed to be. Without the system working its usual flawless way, sleep patterns are majorly interrupted, and thus, moods flip at a moment’s notice from docile and kind to downright nasty and bitter. Why is this? Is it because our son can't live without the darn thing, or is it because WE can't?
I knew right from the start that the binkie was going to play a crucial role in our lives. And I truly mean right from the start. A few hours after my son was born, I was gazing in the window of the nursery at all the adorable new babies, of course panning in on my own. Several newborns were dozing peacefully, all wrapped in their receiving blankets like little stuffed grape leaves, and my son, also wrapped tightly in his blankety cocoon, showed the first signs of his “let me free, I’ve got to be me” personality by defying confinement with shrieks and screeches. Not only was he the only newborn wriggling around and wailing, but he was also the only one with -- you got it -- a big, green binkie stuffed in his little newborn mouth. After several minutes of the little guy trying hard to garner attention, he started getting into the concept of the binkie. The thing started bobbing up and down, and he stopped fussing and started loving the sucker (literally). Well, from that point on, I knew the silly green plug was going to be one of my best friends for at least a couple of years.
Do you see that? I said “one of MY best friends.” So, hence began the love affair with the hysteria-soother – the hysteria of not only our son, but of me and my husband, sometimes at the same time, sometimes at separate times.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. We don’t always grab for the bink whenever the child is upset. We’re not “one of those” parents who plugs up the screaming baby before figuring out what the baby really needs. But we sure don’t shy away from using it when all else fails … which is often. And being that the thing actually works – I mean, all is calm, peaceful , and QUIET when it’s placed ever so gently betwixt his heart-shaped lips – my husband and I have found that not only has our son become attached to the little sucker, but so have we … in a big, addictive-like-caffeine way. So whatever shall we do when it’s time for the bink to take a hike?
As our son’s 2nd birthday nears, we often broach the topic of weaning him off of it. I mean, enough is enough already – not only with the little guy “needing” the silly-looking thing to soothe him to sleep (and at other random moments), but also to seeing it rhythmically bobbing in and out of his mouth as he plays, walks, giggles, and tries to talk (really garbled mumbo-jumbo with that annoying thing stuffed in there). Of course, we always have an excuse to continue the binkie love affair, such as now, when those dreadful 2-year molars are making an appearance. If it helps to soothe my son’s pain, I say “yay” for another few months of binkie-dom.
So I guess my husband and I shall continue our love affair with the plastic plug, crawling around all the rooms of our house (and yard) in search of a dust-caked, bouncing binkie so we may all have peace, quiet, and serenity in the wee hours of the night and morn. But we’re really so sick of it, I can’t wait until we can say, “Remember when we almost filed for divorce over who lost the stupid binkie?” Of course, by then, we may be in a whole other phase, crawling around on all fours in search of the spare car keys. Yikes … if our son asks to drive the car, can we just give him his binkie instead?
