Jasper is having a hard week. His grand passion (A.K.A. his pacifier. Known around here as “the dummy”) was nowhere to be found on Friday night. I took that as a sign from the parenting gods that his days of sucking on silicone were at an end. With most of the other kids I took the dummy away before they had a chance to figure out what happened (like at seven or eight months old. I know, I know–heartless!) Poor Jasper had a difficult time adjusting to mortality, so I figured that anything that made him happy was A-OK. But now he’s a jolly two-year old and the time has come.
York was three when he had to give up his dummies. I cut the tips off of them and told him that some dogs came and bit them off. (What kind of lame story is that?) But I didn’t have the luxury of cutting of the ends of Jasper’s pacifiers since I couldn’t find a single one. So I just told him that his dummies were all gone. Yeah, why even bother explaining. He cried for a minute then was out like a light. Most nights have been like that.
Naptimes, however, are a different story. At naptime there is wailing and sobbing and screams of “duuuu-mmeeeee” coming from his room (It seems like half and hour but it’s probably more like five minutes). Then he shakes his crib so hard that it smacks up against the wall over and over and it sounds like the house is about to cave in. It’s so heart-wrenching that I’m almost tempted to give him the dummy I found yesterday in the box of Cap’n Crunch.*
And naptime today? He asked quietly, “dummy?” as I set him down in his crib. When I told him they were all gone, he rolled over and went to sleep. And he stayed asleep. And didn’t crash his bed into the wall. Or cry.
*He likes to hide in the pantry and eat cereal. I guess his pacifier was left behind after one of his raids.