Operation “Pacifier Be Gone” commencing

Paci's Not Allowed

Image courtesy of Amy Saeter, sister extraordinaire.

Rehab it is.  And, it’s doctor approved.

Yesterday was our 6-month checkup at the doctor.  Dr. H walked in the room and greeted me with a cheery, “So, how’s everything going?  My, they have grown!”  I quickly replied, “I’m giving this one away.  Know anyone who wants him?” My sarcasm had overridden any brain-to-mouth filters due to my lack of sleep.  The night prior, Sir James spent all night playing “let’s see how many times Mom and Dad will come in to give me my pacifier”.  Each time, we were greeted with a smirk.  And, unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time.

Normally, I’d promote family game night.  Last night’s games landed Sir James and I in the living room at 3am (this, after several other failed attempts at sleepy time); me on the couch, him in his little bouncy seat within arms length.  After numerous pacifier plugs, my exhaustion led me to a creative solution.  Not unlike a swaddle (or an evil villain’s attempt to keep his prisoner restrained), I gently – ok, tightly – wrapped a blanket around him, preventing him from getting his hands free to reach the pacifier.  No more pulling it out.  No more crying.  No more games.  Ahhhhhh!!!  Why didn’t I think of that sooner?

So, there you have it.  My son is a pacifier addict and is now officially enrolled in Paci Rehab.  Here’s to hoping his recovery is fast and painless, for all involved.  Remember the wine I mentioned in an earlier post?  Here’s where that comes in.  I’m not in rehab, my son is.

Elsa, I know you haven’t gotten much press lately, but consider that a positive thing.  I have no doubt that your time will come.

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