Saturday, September 12, 2009

Binky, Nuk, Paci...

I must take a deep breath before I start to type...

The goddammed pacifier.
What. The. Fuck.
Seriously, for the love of God, keep it in your fucking mouth.
I'm totally tripping out right now.

I am, at this very moment, staring incredulously at a nub of latex. Do I just not get it? Is it that complicated? Is my background in higher mathematics and physics simply not expansive enough to grasp the intricate theory of pacification by false nipple? Why doesn't it stay in her damn mouth?!?

Let's start with the name: Pacifier. This is derived from the root word "pacify" which is Latin for "to shut you the fuck up", with an implied "for more than five seconds". That's in laymen terms. Merriam Webster first defines pacify as "to allay the anger or agitation of". Oh my God, really?! Because from where I am sitting, it looks like quite the opposite. All the damn thing does is piss Lizzie off more than she was to begin with. The other definition is " to restore to a tranquil state". HA! My ass! When I think of tranquil, I envision aromatherapy candles and soft Enya music. Ocean waves or soft chanting. There's nothing tranquil about her tiny little body all scrunched up and her hot angry face frozen into a silent scream. Fuck me running.

And what exactly is the advantage for me? What baby calamity does it solve and/or make better. It should some how make my parenting life easier. Now I was under the assumption that it would help Lizzie soothe herself instead of me soothing her. So instead of running to her every cry and patting her back or rocking her, I'm running to her every cry and sticking the blasted thing back in her mouth. What does this circumvent? How am I coming out ahead? I'm doing the same amount of work!

There's a deceiving picture of a placated baby on the cardboard insert it came with. It's supposed to appease her as advertised. Which it does for about, oh I don't know, four sucks. And then I watch her spit the thing out. Like, on purpose. Pushes her little newborn tongue against it and arcs it out of her mouth and convienently wedges it under some part of her body. It is not only out of her mouth, it's digging into her neck or grinding the back of her skull. Which truly infuriates this child even more. Super yay.

When it is gone, all of a sudden her world has dropped out from under neath her. She doesn't know where the binky is. Or who took it. But by God that piece of shit thief will pay because Lizzie is a woman scorned. Her anger is instantaneous and audible. Is this baby dementia? Is she playing hard to get with the Nuk? I just don't get it. The heart ache. The water works. It's your own damn fault!

And don't say "try a different bink". Really. Because I have procured every version. We have newborn Nuks and Playtex Binkies. We have silicone and latex. This one reduces colic, that one is orthodontically recommended. Pink ones. Fat ones. Expensive ones. Ones that resemble mother's breast. Ones that promote healthy mouth development. They all claim to soothe the baby and cure cancer and solve the Middle East crisis. The veritable who's who of today's most advanced fake nipples on a ring. They all fall out. Or get spit out. Whatever.

Truly, it makes me wonder if maybe a shot of whiskey or a roll of quarters to the face might work better. Not to the baby of course. To me. To numb out the pure insanity of continually replacing a clearly refused spit-out nuk. Which is actually embarrassing when you think about it. When a toddler throws their toy from the high chair and you get it and he throws it back down and you get it again and he chucks it again and you retrieve it a third time and he laughs and down it goes again and you pick it up and HEY! WTF! Stop throwing it down or I won't get it again! Yeah.... Congratulations... A newborn fooled me. I'm her monkey, always retrieving her pacifier. Pure insanity.

I wish there was a way to rig something to her sweet little face that would prevent the thing from popping out. Sometimes I can get her still enough that I can loosely tuck a receiving blanket around the nuk and give her a cute little pink ninja mask. This only works if she isn't thrashing like Linda Blair and is reclining in her car seat or the swing. Shitty thing is, she has to be supervised for me to do this, lest she some how find a way to choke herself to death and I spend the rest of my eternity as a baby killer. Like this woman. Or this douchetard. When I discussed my desire to have such an invention as this with Stephen, (something to keep the pacifier securely in her mouth against her best efforts to eject it) he raised an eyebrow and suggested "You mean like a ball gag?".....

Yes, Honey...

Like a ball gag...

Like a sex toy for your mouth.

Only, for our precious newborn daughter.

God love him >.<

I vaguely remember that at some point in her life, Lizzie will gain the hand eye coordination and fine motor skills required to retrieve her own binky from wherever it falls and pop it back in. Maybe then it will seem like a more worth while piece of baby equipment. It will actually live up to it's name. She will put the damn thing back in her own mouth. She will cause herself to experience great tranquility and therefore cause silence to gratefully descend upon the earth. Nations will cheer. World strife will be no more. Lions will lay with lambs and the Jews and Muslims will be BFF's. And maybe I will finally get some fucking sleep. For the love of God...




2 comments:

katquilter said...

You are SO funny.....

Anonymous said...

You are one sick bitch and not only do you NOT deserve to be a mother; you should be sterilized to save any future children from your disgusting grasp.

Thanks for providing enough info that I can report you sick self to CPS.