When the boys were young(er), I felt that the pacifier (or "bink" in our house) was the key to my sanity. Despite all the warnings that my children would have crooked teeth, suck their thumb forever, speak with a lisp, and other dire prophesies, I felt I needed the bink, even more than the babies did. It allowed them to comfort themselves, sleep better at night, and be quiet when I really, really needed them to. I had no guilt.
I, however, never wanted to be the parent of the four year old who still sucked on their pacifier to the grocery store.
Blaise is two. He has already successful been weaned from the bink at the daycare. But at home was a different matter. The second we mention a nap or bedtime, Blaise say "I want a bottle, bink!" And we let him have it, longer than necessary. Because we wanted to sleep!
But this weekend, Blaise bit a big hole in his last bink (to be expected with a mouth full of brand new razor sharp baby teeth.)
We decided this was the time to make the break.
We explained the his bink was broken. And that he should throw it away. At first he cried. Then we showed him the large hole in his bink. With both Keith and I cheering him on, he tossed it in the kitchen garbage.
(We then gathered any other back-up binks, tossed them in the garbage, and emptied the trash into the dumpster, as fast as possible, before any minds could be changed.)
Now, two nights later, when Blaise asked for his bink at bedtime, we remind him that it was broken, and that he threw it away.
He did pretty good last night. Just crying once. And tonight, after once again being reminded that he threw it away, he asked for a bottle.
Yeah, getting rid of that will be fun.