A Rite of Paci

I remember reading in one of the Psalms something like “Out of the mouths of infants and babes came out perfect praise.” I need to add “Out of the mouths of toddlers came out the pacifier.”

Finally.

“Pacifier,” the word itself sounds so soothing, comforting, and so addictive, like nicotine or crack. I’m sure whoever invented it was truly a peace-maker and a genius, but didn’t have any kids.

My daughter just turned three, and I’m ashamed to confess that my wife and I were enabling her addiction to nicotine and crack---just kidding. She was addicted to her pacifier. It truly seemed like an addiction because she would not take the sucker out of her mouth.

My wife came out with the clever idea of sending her pacifiers, all 20 of them, I mean, all 3 of them to the Paci Fairy. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure what her address was. I know Santa lives in the North Pole. The Tooth Fairy makes house calls. But, the Paci Fairy? It almost sounds like a boat you’d take up in Washington State. I had to improvise, so I pawned it on my mail carrier.

She declined. “Return to sender. No such name and address.” The envelope read.

The suitable alternative according to my spouse was to take my daughter to the best department store for children: Target. “Right on Daddy!” was my little one’s reaction. “So, what do I do when I get there?” I asked my better-half. “Get her whatever toy or stuffed-animal she wants and have her turn her paci in.” I thought “brilliant!”

After many aisle-chases, questions and bribes, consisting of chocolate and other sugar supplements, my three-year-old settled for a lovely, cuddly and furry, white puppy dog with a blue bandana around his neck. She immediately baptized him with hugs and drool with the name “Tiger, Tiger.”

Much to our surprise, she only asked for her paci for the first two nights after her third birthday---that was the dateline I had given her. “You don’t need a paci anymore. That’s for babies,” I would say. To which she would always reply, “Yeah, I just need it to go to sleep.”

It’s been three weeks since she quit the pacifier, and she’s holding up strong with no signs of relapse. Her only withdrawal symptom has been dropping “Tiger, Tiger” for another stuffed animal. “Pepe, the Singing Chihuahua” is my daughter’s new compulsion.

Now, if I could only get rid of this paci-stuffed envelope in my sock drawer. . .