It's For Your Own Good

Oh, Jackson. My sweet boy. How I wish I could make this day easier for you. But as painful as it is for you, it's even worse for me. (And now I get what my parents were trying to say years ago!)

About two weeks ago, you decided to give your pacis (pacifiers) to Santa. You hoped he would bring you a flashlight in exchange for your beloved pacis. You and I talked about it, and you were dead-set on giving him those pacis. And I was only too happy to oblige.

They've been a pain for me these past two years and nine months. Yes, they have been a great tool too, but so darn annoying at 2AM when they've rolled out of the bed. Not to mention I think they are deforming your mouth and giving you an overbite. A few months ago, I tried to talk you into giving up the pacis. I said, "Pacis are for babies." You emphatically - and without skipping a beat - replied to me, "No! Pacis are for ME." Guess you showed me, huh?

In order to minimize the rolling out of bed (and subsequent blind searching for them at 2AM), I attached them to your blanket with help from my friend Susan. That was about a month ago. It helped, until you finally bit through your favorite paci and got mad. That's when I started entertaining the idea of just hiding them from you and dealing with the fallout. Instead, you surprised me by saying you could give your pacis to Santa. Woo hoo!

In order to have something to replace your crutch, I asked you if maybe Santa could bring you an animal to sleep with instead. You really liked that idea, and suggested a dragon or a dinosaur. As today (aka Cold Turkey Day) finally approached, you homed in on the dinosaur/flashlight combo. So I took your final photo with your beloved yesterday.

And here's the proof of how sharp your little teeth really are:

Today, you saw Santa and ran straight to him with your Ziploc bag full of five pacis - the backup from your dresser drawer, the blue one from your school bag, and the three favorites from your bed. And just like that, you LET. THEM. GO. It seemed too easy.

And guess what Santa gave you in return? A dream come true: a big blue flashlight and a matching blue dinosaur that you and I named Dasher (after Santa's reindeer, of course).

You were so excited to bring Dasher home and take a nap with him. I rocked you and we listened to your lullaby song, and then I laid you gingerly in your crib. That's when you whispered, "My paci?" I reminded you that Santa has them now. You laid your head down, snuggled up to Dasher, and fell asleep.

FOR THIRTY MINUTES.

The first time you cried, I went in your room and asked what was wrong. You said, "I spit on my pillow." I guess it's a weird sensation to slobber on your pillow when, in the past, the paci kept you plugged. So I flipped your pillow over and told you to go back to sleep. You didn't. After a while, you cried again. I went to you and you said "My blankie is falling off me." I fixed it, told you to go back to sleep or else I would take Dasher away, and left you. I've been in your room yet again since then, and told you to GO TO SLEEP. It hasn't worked.

I can hear you, fussing and annoyed in your crib now. And all I can think is it would be so easy to cave and give you a pacifier again. But then we'd all pay for it, at least in orthodontic costs or in the lack of consistency that you might take as free rein.

So, my dear son, I must now bear the cross that all parents assume at one time or another. I must realize that it's for your own good and stick to my guns. Please go gentle on me, son. At least when it's 2AM and there's no paci in sight? Have mercy on me.

Love,
Mommy