Chickie is born.
We give her a binky (pacifier). I sing its praises because she likes to overeat and then projectile vomit (lovely, I know), and the binky helps satisfy her sucking needs without giving her an overly-full tummy.
Chickie, at 19 months old, says bye bye to her binkies and is rewarded with an Elmo DVD. I am immensely relieved as by this time I feel the binky has been running my life. From months of having to replace it in her mouth while sleeping (before she could put it in herself), to emergency "binky runs" to Target when we couldn't find any, to stretching my arm to twice its normal length trying to replace it in her mouth with her sitting behind me in the car, to having a permanent binky-shaped indentation in the pocket of my jeans, to just being sick of seeing a toddler's mouth constantly invisible behind a plastic device...I was sick of the things and SO glad to be rid of them.
Zoodle is born.
Zoodle is crying. The Engineer asks, "When do we give him a binky?" I reply that I'm not sure if I ever want to use one--"We'll see." (Mommy code for "Hopefully never.")
The Engineer suggests the binky when Zoodle is crying. I say I don't want to use it.
04.04.08, 04.08.08, etc.
Repeat of 04.03.08
I tell The Engineer I think it would be okay to use the binky while Zoodle is swaddled, since he can't get to his hands to suck on them. But that's IT, no other times. Zoodle easily starts sucking on the binky. In future weeks I occasionally realize The Engineer has "sneaked" Zoodle a binky when I've been out of the house, but I figure if the guy is being a good enough dad to watch his son, I need to let him bend the rules a bit.
Chickie is sick, and I give Zoodle the binky in the car, not willing to deal with a sick toddler and a crying baby.
Zoodle is sick, and I tell him since he doesn't feel well he can have the binky as much as he wants, all day long. I clip it to his shirt.
I give Zoodle the binky on our four hour trek to and from south Austin and when it keeps the in-car crying to a minimum, I consider sending flowers to the genius who invented these things.
I type a blog with a content, binky-sucking baby on my lap. Then I sign the contract to sell my soul, once again, to the binky manufacturers. Sigh....