About the unweaning of my 35 lb infant

They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. So I admit it – I am having a problem letting go. You see, I am ridiculously in love with babies. So much so that it may be some sort of sickness. Shortly after the birth of my dear friend’s first child, I  terrified bonded with her by revealing that I was pretty sure Heaven involves rolling around on the floor and cuddling with a pile of babies ages 2-8 months.

Anyway. Nearly two-year-old Beans is my second and, as hard as it is for me at times to come to terms with, last baby. Around 14 months old, she started to become ambivalent to the pacifier. Indifferent. Blase’. She was entirely take-it-or-leave-it during the day, and we stopped giving it to her at night entirely. She didn’t seem to notice.

We were making great strides forward in Project Paci Wean and then I just couldn’t handle it anymore and completely backslid into denial. This was my baby. My newborn. (14 month olds who can walk and scream “NO!” while throwing appliances, food, and shoes at you still sort of qualify as newborns, right?) I started shoving pacis back in Bean’s mouth gently giving her the opportunity to spend some time with her forgotten pacifiers, and just see where it led.

Husband was horrified by my regression, but the crazed look in my eyes as I presented my toddler only-just-barely-no-longer-a-fetus  with a veritable buffet of options from Paci Paradise, spoke both loudly and clearly. The madness in my eyes warned: “You know that whole ‘choose your battles wisely’ expression that comes in so handy within the constructs of the marital dynamic? This is one of those times that you’d best wisely choose to indulge me by tempting our 60 week old infant with every size, color, texture, and brand of pacis available. The Mams! The Nuks! The weird green translucent ones that we brought her home with from the hospital! PRESENT ALL THE PACIS!!!”

Husband chose wisely.

Children Cherubs over the age of one are not allowed to have pacis at daycare. Fast-forward to today at drop-off, and I had to wrench a bink out of clenched teeth while my preschooler neonate jelly-legged in the middle of the hallway, publicly and theatrically screaming “PAAACIIII!!! MY PACCIIIII!!! WANT PAAACIIII!!!

So anyway when my 66 month old and I are still inevitably waging this battle in the fall 2016 kindergarten carpool lane, I am probably going to have some serious regrets about my 2012 regression and subsequent paci-unweaning.

But the truth is, I just don’t know how to let my baby go.


{There are some instances when I am writing, such as in this particular post, where I am so tempted to use words like “swimmingly” and “ahem”. I had the perfectly appropriate places for both. And I just can’t bring myself to do it. The association is too unpleasant. I am ruined forever. I’ll leave it at that.}



I moved the baby to her own room tonight. Caught off guard by how depressed I am looking at this empty bassinet in my room. May actually start crying?? Does anyone have some Prozac I can borrow until my heart can accept the inevitable reality of my children growing up?