Around the Horn

I should learn by now that saying stuff like this is bad karma. I do it anyway. BUT...it's been four nights. The three-year-old has stopped asking about her pacifier at bedtime. She has, however, wet her bed twice. It's one step up two steps back. Growing up is HARD man. It's hard.

How did this happen? What happened to those sweet little furry-headed babies I used to have? I'm beginning to think the sassy was more for me than it was for her. But...we're almost there. Somehow, past all the diaper changes, nipple rejection (my son liked the nuk three-holers, my daughter liked the standard cross-cut), Ferber-izing (huge fan, BTW!) pull-ups, obscenely expensive jars of baby food (can't say as I miss apple-chicken purree), disgusting formula, we've made it out of babyhood and toddlerhood into bona fide kid-dom. Wow! I mean--really--wow!

It's a blur, but I turned them into actual humans somehow (they're still of the beastly variety...but they're human). I should wax more philosophical on this, I'm sure. I can't though, somebody's singing the Mom-wipe-my-butt song.

Gotta go!

Robin

Sassy Detox: Day Two

It's been 36 hours with no pacifier. We're just about past the shakes. She squirreled around in her room both nights until about 10:00 p.m. (big sunken eyes with a kind of rabid look about them), but no crying. The worst it got was when she kept chanting "I'm-a-baby-I'm-a-baby" last night, but that hasn't repeated.

Tonight, she just kept creeping up beside the couch while I was watching Idol (man...she's quiet when she wants to be) and whispering, "I love you Mommy." Sweet, but slightly disturbing at the same time (hmmm, which incidentally sums up "Love Song Week" in my opinion).

Anyway, one--maybe two more nights and I think we'll be officially around the horn.

Robin

Status: Day One of Sassy Sobriety

I'm thinking of starting a new support group. I'm not sure what to call it. Maybe Pac-Anon. Or in our case, Sass-Anon. It would be for family members of people with an addiction...an addiction to pacifiers. (She calls them sassies.)

My daughter is 3 1/2. I have rationalized. I have schemed. I have begged. I have bargained. It is time. It needs to end. I think when you've reached the point where your kid will actually remember sucking on one, it's time to move on.

Today we took the first step toward the rest of her life. I'm trying not to overdramatize this, but it's tough. She's my baby. My last baby. {deep breath} {lip-wobbling sigh}

For months her Dad has been threatening to just cut the nipples off the things and be done with it. I think that's too harsh (plus...er...there's the part where she walks around telling people her Daddy's gonna cut off her nipples tomorrow...but I already blogged about that) I finally decided to use good old-fashioned bribery. I plunked $30 down at Target for a gi-normous plastic show horse complete with a brush, trophy, blue ribbon and fake apples and carrots.

It worked.

We got home with the thing and she obediently (jovially, actually) went upstairs and collected all of her sassies and put 'em in a bag. She even got the scissors and asked us to cut 'em up. We had a lovely day playing with her new toy and then it was bedtime.

I helped her clean up her room and that's where I found it. Her secret stash. She had three sassies stuffed in the bottom of her pink unicorn purse. I debated just taking the things away without telling her. I decided that wasn't fair. If I want her to be a Big Girl, I have to treat her like one. I showed them to her.

The color drained from her face and she started stomping her feet. "No. I'm-a-baby-I'm-a-baby-I'm-a-baby!"

But the jig was up. There was no going back (er...plus...$30 for a plastic horse!!!!) We got rid of them.

She's sleeping quietly now. I'll keep you posted.

Robin

Reflections on a Nightstand

Ok, I don't actually know what any of this means, but I was cleaning like a mad woman on Saturday because everyone was coming to my house for Easter (lovely time had by all...good ham). Anywaaay, I dusted (twice a year whether it needs it or not!) and cleared off all of our nightstands. I found it interesting. I'm sure there is some anthropological analysis somebody could do about what the items on our nightstand say about us as individuals. Zzzzzzz. You be the judge:

On my night stand:
A half empty bottle of Suave hand lotion; Vaseline; A Sports bottle of water; a dusty Clock radio (tuned to the hits from the 80's, 90's AND today!); Kleenex.

On my husband's night stand:
A beer stein full o’ change;Handcuffs; his Police badge; his pager; a 300-count bottle of Vitamin B

On my five year old son's night stand:
A Spongebob lamp; Plastic Halloween skull (its roughly the size of his own head and he puts his glasses on it at night...festive!); a book about Ogres; three strands of Mardi Gras beads encircling two “squishy” plastic frogs; a cup of water

On my three year old daughter's night stand:
A Hello Kitty clock radio (she tunes it herself...it's static); a Jewelry box with two of the handles missing (she likes to take crap apart); Plastic purple flowers in a vase; Various twisted hair baubles; one of her brother's plastic "squishy" frogs with the legs chewed off.

Hmmmmm.

Robin