Giving Into the Dreaded "P" Word

As an inherently guilt-ridden person, I should have known that parenthood would bring about a whole new meaning to the word. Yesterday, after three days of watching Lucy attempt to force her little balled up fist into her mouth, listening as she made loud sucking sounds, and cringing in pain as my little "barracuda nurser" spent hours upon hours comfort nursing, I finally gave in to the dreaded "P" word. After what seemed to be a particularly dramatic crying spell, Jamie had taken our little raven-haired beauty upstairs in an attempt to soothe her. When the house became strangely quiet, I made my way upstairs to the bedroom only to find my husband lying on his back with Lucy vigorously sucking on his pinkie. In a moment mixed with desperation, frustration, a bit of disgust mixed with horror, and overwhelming guilt, I tore open the various packages of silicon goodness and popped the first of these objects into her mouth. Suddenly there was blessed silence--immediately followed by gagging, crying, and more gagging. For a moment, the guilt was crushing. As I reached down to cradle my little soprano whose voice is often at its finest at 4 am, I decided to give it another try. I reached for the next selection, this one sporting a fashionable turquoise trim and gingerly tickled her lips. To my absolute, albeit guilty, delight, the silence was golden. The three of us lay in bed for the next hour, Jamie watching old episodes of Heroes on his laptop, Lucy laying in between us contently watching her daddy, and me watching as my little one happily sucked on her Pacifier. At long last, I had given in.