December 15, 2008
Ezra is a comfort sucker. (As in, he likes to suck on things for comfort. Not that he is a sucker for comfort, although frankly, who isn't? I'm a sucker for comfort food, for instance. Comfort food with butter and extra deep-fried carbs.)
In pretty much every ultrasound we had, his face was always obscured by various body parts that he was attempting to shove into his mouth. I took note of this and tossed a pack of pacifiers into my hospital bag. I popped a Soothie into his mouth the very first night. Screw nipple confusion -- if I didn't give that kid a pacifier I wasn't going to have any damn nipples LEFT.
He liked the Soothie well enough -- much better than the free pacifiers the hospital nursery had to offer, which I of course hoarded and took home regardless, because they were FREE FREE FREE -- but once we got home he started rejecting them too. If it wasn't a boob, it better be a finger, inserted at an awkward, palms-up angle that ensured you could do absolutely nothing else except SIT THERE while your wrist cramped up and Ezra sucked your fingerprints off.
So, you know, we tried a few other pacifiers.
Exhibit A, aka Give It Up Already, Crazy People
Every brand was offered and summarily rejected, and eventually I resigned myself to always having the baby attached to my chest, for food or for comfort.
But then this weekend he started getting a little DIFFICULT ABOUT THAT. A little TAD HYSTERICAL. He would latch on and then get BEYOND INDIGNANT to end up with a mouthful of MILK, MY GOD. He'd pull off in fury and weep. I'd offer the pacifer. He'd take it, spit it out and dive bomb for my chest again. Same thing with my finger. Over and over, we did this, and always at nap and bedtime. I'd rock him and sing and pace around the house, but eventually it always came back to the back-and-forth dance between my boob and the pacifer.
So last night, I had a flash of either genius or a psychotic break -- definitely one of those two -- and took the hollow end of a Soothie pacifier and stuck it on my boob. Add baby and VOILA. The ultimate in cushiony comfort without the hassle of nutrition.
And...that was the highlight of my weekend, unless you count the fact that Noah ate five atoms of the breading off a chicken nugget and finally told me something specific about his day at school ("I pushed Miles AND Everett!"), or maybe when Ezra threw up on Heather B and I sat there and laughed like a really evil person because NOT ME NOT ME, and I think I cleaned up the chair before thinking to offer her some paper towels and overall the weekend was comprised of a lot of moments that made me massage my temples in annoyance and parental defeat, but then I stuck a pacifer ON MY BOOB and it made my baby happy and put him to sleep.