Tuck: "Mama. Remember my sucky?"
Me: "I remember them well."
Tuck: *long sigh* "I miss my sucky sometimes."
Me: "That was 4 years ago we got rid of your suckies, buddy."
Tuck: "Yeah, but it still feels like yesterday."
*Suckies=Pacifiers (That's what Tuck named it when he was little.)
The conversation above broke my heart and made me have to stifle a hearty laugh all at the same time. We lived for our "suckies" in this house. We had 10 or more spread throughout the house at all times. If one was missing, no worries, we'd find it later and just use a back up. Unless, of course, it was one of their FAVORITE suckies. Then the Coast Guard, National Guard, and dogs would be called in to search the house high and low.
When both kids had suckies, things got complicated. They were sharing and switching on me left and right. We'd put Tuck to bed with an orange sucky and go in to find him with a pink floral sucky in the morning. Fights would break out over who had whose sucky. I couldn't keep up. They were in my purse, my pockets, and every corner of the diaper bag (usually covered in Gerber teething cookie dust). They were running my life. The mood of the house began to depend on them more and more.
That's when Chris and I called a time-out and we had the dreaded discussion about...dun dun dun...getting rid of the suckies. Honestly, I can only justify cleaning off a sucky by sticking it my mouth from the dirty restaurant floor so many times. I should have the immune system of a vulture by now.
Plus, the dentist had made a comment about seeing some impacts on Tuck's bite. It wasn't irreversible...yet. But the suckies had to go. Mags was still young and wasn't so attached. Tuck, on the other hand, was going to be a challenge. Chris and I made a plan to eradicate all suckies from our life.
In our prayers each night with the kids, we included the "babies without mommies and daddies". This was our out. We told Tuck those "babies" did not have suckies. Being a sweet, tender-hearted boy, he agreed to pack up all the suckies he had and send them to the "babies".
We collected them all up and stuck them in an envelope. The next day, we went to the post office and sent them off to the "babies"...which really was to my dear, life-long friend, Krista. She, in turn, mailed Tuck a thank you card, stickers and a pair of his favorite type of lovey socks from the "babies".
Overall, our plan was successful, but to be honest, the transition was brutal. The afternoon nap after we mailed them was agonizing. Tuck pleaded and cried so hard for a good 20 minutes for his sucky.
"I didn't mean it, Mama! Go get my suckies back from 'dose' babies! Please, Mama, please!"
It was all I could do not to gather up my two toddlers and pry my way into the mailbox at the post office to retrieve the envelope of suckies. But Mags. Mags was another story.
She was as quiet as a mouse. Not a peep. No muss, no fuss from that girl. I was so proud. But she was younger and not as attached to her sucky as Tuck. Or, so I thought. When I walked in to check on her after I finally settled her brother down, I saw that she obviously had a stash of emergency suckies somewhere in the crevices of her crib. Well played, Baby Mags, well played.
Perhaps her brother should have taken notes.
Did your child have an attachment to a pacifier?
If so, what was your plan of attack to rid your house of it?
Please share with me in the comments below.