The End of An Era

I finally got Annie to the dentist this weekend, after canceling two appointments for illness and over scheduling.  She walked through the doors geared up for the worst.  Sunglasses (for the bright light)…check.  Bob…check.  Little sister to push when I’m upset…check.  I was nervous about how she would react to a stranger poking around in her mouth, because she’s Annie, and Annie doesn’t always roll the way other children do.  She is also my wife’s daughter who, when she was younger, got banned from her family dentist due to poor behavior.  More than 20 years later, when I was looking for a new dentist, my mother-in-law sent me to the same practice—the secretary still remembered the day of the ban.

Needless to say, I was prepared for the worst as well.  Annie went back to the examination room with her mother and an incredibly positive hygienist, who never let Annie remember for a second where she was.  Tilda and I stayed in the lobby and played with an abacus.  There were a few cries in the beginning, but when the dentist let Annie lay on top of my wife in the chair, her tension eased.  Ten minutes later, Annie emerged smiling, with a two stuffed animals (one for her and her sister—this dentist didn’t play) and my wife came out looking like she was headed for the gallows.

There was bad news.  The worst news.  Annie had to give up her beloved pacifier, Bob.  Her front teeth were starting to push forward, and down the road this could jeopardize the positioning of her adult teeth.  After some serious soul-searching, we decided on cold turkey.  Both Annie and Tilda would give up their Bobs just before noon on Saturday, November 7^th, 2009.

Our thought process for cutting them both off simultaneously was that Tilda’s teeth would be in the same position next year at her first dentist appointment, and that Annie would simply steal Tilda’s bobs any chance she got.

Strangely, the day went really well without them.  I’m not sure Tilda even noticed (of course).  And Annie asked us where they were, but seemed satisfied that the dentist told us that she could no longer use them.  She’ll hate that guy one day, and neither of them will ever know why.

I was apprehensive about bedtime.  It’s one thing to go without a pacifier during the day, it’s something else entirely to sleep without one all night.  After a double read of Ferdinand—I just couldn’t leave them—I put Tilda down first and brought Annie into her room.  I never heard from T again, but Annie started asking questions when she saw her empty crib.  Oh sorry, she used to have ten pacifiers in there.  A friend suggested this to me when Annie wasn’t sleeping around her first birthday and it’s done the trick ever since.  Trust me; let them sleep on a bed made of pacifiers if it gets you some peace.

My wife and I explained to her a few times during the day where her bobs were—our choice of putting them in the garbage seemed suddenly crass when a neighbor told us they used the “pacifier fairy”—and we went through it one more time right before the lights went out.  And wouldn’t you know it; Annie took the explanation for what it was worth and went to bed.

Just after ten, she erupted in the kind of screaming that makes the hair on your arms stand up.  I was great when dealing with a baby’s cries, but toddler cries unnerve me.  They are too adult sounding and desperate.  When you couple them with the ability to say, “Daad, pleease,” then I’m usually defeated.  However, like the stern sleep taskmaster that I am, I let Annie cry for ten minutes before going up to her.  When I opened her door she was standing and jerking back and forth on the bars of her crib.  She smelled different.  Sort of like our dog when she knows she just entered the vet’s office.  And her pupils were so dilated it was like looking into two big saucers.  It was when I picked her up that I smelled the vomit.  And when she choked through her tears, “The doctor said no more bobs?  Threw them in the garbage?  What haappened?” I caved.

What is one more night of crooked teeth?  How much could braces cost anyway?  So what if I permanently undermined my authority, right?  In the end it’s simple: I draw the line at vomiting from crying.  You read about that possibility when researching The Ferber Method, and it seems cold, calculating, and mean.  So, like yesterday, I will continue explaining to Annie why she can’t have her bobs anymore, and I will continue putting her to bed without them.  It’s important to keep trying, isn’t it?

Comments

[David Thomas]

I'm kind of glad Carter and Evie never took to their pacifiers past the first month or so. Not sure why. We just never kept them around much. Carter had acid reflux so nothing would help there. And Evie just never took them.

I have no advice other that when crying it out I would have been freaked with vomit too. But I'd guess she'll get over it pretty quickly. Does she have any other soothers she uses at night? Like blankets or night lights?

[Liz]

Know when to hold 'em; know when to fold 'em

Give in to those middle of the night needs, she'll sleep through 1 night soon and then forget about them entirely. Imagine if someone told you that you could never eat meat again? You might need to be weaned off slowly, right?