Pusher Mom

Three days ago, Conner handed me her binky at nap time. I don’t need it Mommy, she said, and smiled a scared little smile. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure me or herself. I’d been on her about the binky. It has to go, honey. It’s making your teeth crooked. I’m going to give you some time to do it on your own, but it has to go. You don’t want crooked teeth, do you?

Putting it on her, as if it was her shortcoming, her fault, as if I hadn’t pushed that binky on her – first to give me aching tattered nipples a break and then out of my terrible fear that something would happen to her after reading that binkies might stave off the dreaded SIDS. Yet one more talisman to insure against the possible loss of her. Then, later, through 1 and 2, it kept her from putting things in her mouth, or kept her quiet, or put her to sleep when we were driving. No matter how you look at it, it was all pretty much for my convenience. Pusher mom. That’s me. As I write this, I wonder how many other ways I’ve altered, marked, or damaged them permanently. Parenting is beyond hard. It’s a maze with devastation at every turn, impossible to navigate without loss.

Anyway, she hands me the binky and says something to the effect of, Can I have a birthday cake if I’m a big girl without the binky. Conner, if you go three days – both day and night naps without that binky and you give it up, you can have any kind of birthday cake you want, I told her. I want chocolate, with sprinkles, and a little bear, she said. You got it. I’m very proud of you, honey, just for trying. What a big girl thing to do. You are very brave.

And she slept without it. Maryn and I made a big deal over her when she got up. Then we called Scott, who was getting the organic vegetables from Natallia’s, and he made a big deal about it, too. She wouldn’t go without the binky that night, though, or the next day or next night. Then today, Maryn went to Nana’s and skipped her nap, as she usually does on Thursdays. It was rainy – a tropical depression had formed right off our coast over the morning – and grey. My favorite naps, me and Conner in the rain. We were giggling as we snuggled under the covers, we were so happy about our nap. It dawned on me, that it might be a good day to try to go binkyless again.

What do you think, Conner? You want to try it without the binky today?

No.

Are you sure? It seems like a good day for it. We’re all cozy and it’s nice and rainy out.

No.

Okay, honey. And I handed her the binky.

She put it in, then pulled it out again immediately. I don’t want crooked teeth, she said, in that dramatic, light voice she often used to convey a joke. We don’t want that!

Right! I said.

I don’t need my binky, Mom.

Good for you! You brave girl. I’m proud of you for trying. You’re such a big girl.

Well, it went from cozy and snuggly to ornery and chaotic in short order. Flipping, banging, hollering. The kid was all over the place. She knocked into my head twice, banged under my chin. Flop, flop. Bumped her head into the wall. Twenty minutes and several warnings later, I lost it. Conner, if you don’t stop it, I’m getting up and you can sleep by yourself. Toss, stuffed animal thrown from the bed, kick in the ribs, toes ground into my leg leaving little odd looking bruises. I got up and walked out, closing the door behind me, and counted to sixty while she whined at the door. All right – are you going to get in that bed and go to sleep? (In my own defense, I should mention here that this is a relatively common occurrence even with the binky.) Uh huh.

Get in that bed and lie down.

Kay.
We had less than a minute of quiet, then the whole shebang started up again. Fifteen minutes later: Conner, I’m going to get up if you don’t stop it. It’s nap time. She didn’t stop, which was not the usual. Conner, what on earth has gotten into you? I am really getting frustrated. I was totally looking forward to cuddling up and taking a nap with you. It was so cozy and nice in here. What is going on?

She stopped and looked right into my eyes. Plaintively she said, I don’t know how to stop, Mommy. God! Dagger right through the heart. I’m such a cad!

I understand, honey. It’s very hard to break a habit. Very hard. You’re doing a great job at it. I’m sorry I was impatient. I didn’t realize. Want me to tell you how to stop?

Uh huh.

Okay, lay your head on my shoulder and cuddle up and close your eyes. Listen to the fan and the rain and think sleepy quiet thoughts about how nice it is curling up and how peaceful the rain sounds on the trees.

Uh huh.

And I stroked her hair until she fell asleep and thought about rotten parents who hook their kids on binkies and then have to detox the little fiends later and just how hard it is to detox, and I heaved a great sigh. Detoxing sucks. I oughta know. I felt horrible. We slept like that for about 40 minutes, or rather she slept. Every time I tried to move, she whimpered and mumbled that she wanted to sleep on my arm. She woke up crying. Poor baby.