Eli is nearly two, and from my perspective, has an unhealthy addiction to his bink (aka pacifier, or as Eli calls it, his “B”). We’ve cut back his use to nap and nighttime. Even so, I feel like he’s at the age to give it up.
How to go about it? And when?
I struggled with these same questions when it came to potty training. From a practical standpoint, it makes the most sense to undertake these challenges when there aren’t any other major changes going on in our lives.
However, the last year has seen: Vinny getting a job in Detroit (meaning a temporary move from L.A. to Detroit), me getting pregnant, buying a house (one of the most stressful experiences I’ve ever endured), going back to L.A. after Vinny’s show was done, giving birth to Sophie, moving cross-country seven weeks later (finally, to our house in Grand Rapids), and now, Vinny is back in L.A. for work with us to follow him there shortly (another temporary move). I can’t remember another time in my life when there has been so much upheaval/transition/change in such a short span of time.
Thankfully, kids are resilient. Eli, for the most part, has been an absolute trooper through all of these adventures, and just this last week has officially moved out of pull-ups at night and is in training pants full-time. I’m not one to brag about my kids, but this little guy is awesome. He surprises me in wonderful ways at every turn, always catching on and adapting to any given situation much better than I would expect.
I’d been figuring I would wait until we follow and join Vinny out in L.A. before attempting Project Bink Removal. Eli’s been a bit clingy and moody since Vinny left (understandable), and the bink seems to be a source of familiarity and comfort for him.
But then yesterday we got back from my parent’s place right at naptime. Eli had fallen asleep in the car, and was groggy as I took him up to bed. It struck me as the perfect time to simply not give him his bink. As I laid him down he looked up and said, “B?” I shook my head no and told him to cuddle with his frog and his night-night (what he calls his burp cloth, what he’s always clutched and kneaded instead of a regular blanket).
He didn’t have the energy to protest. It felt like a huge victory.
Then came bedtime. I figured this would be more challenging and it was, barely. He didn’t get upset, or fuss, or whine. He kept asking, “B?” And I kept saying no, telling him he didn’t need it anymore. Today at naptime he asked for it once and that was it.
The whole thing could have gone much worse.
But it didn’t. So I wonder, again, if we are the ones that make these hurdles so difficult. Here I was, so worried that Eli was going to be upset, inconsolable, that he’d cry, throw a fit, etc. I worried that taking away a source of comfort was going to disrupt his sleep, and he’s been such an amazing sleeper that I am afraid of messing with the equation. To top it all off, I always worry that he won't handle one more change on top of all the other changes that are occurring. I assume at some point he will hit his limit.
Instead, he’s fine. Like everything else, he just rolls along with it.
Having children teaches me profound lessons all the time, something I am very grateful for. I’m not sure at what point in life we make the shift, and often come to expect the worst outcome in any given scenario.
I don’t consider myself particularly negative. But instead of thinking that the bink extraction would go without a hitch, I had built myself up to expect that any/all of these horrible outcomes may occur. Of course I’m relieved that things have gone much smoother than expected, and I think that expecting any given situation to go without a hitch is a bit unrealistic. However, I do feel foolish in that I allow myself to waste time and energy building something up to be bigger than it needs to be.
Instead, I could have told myself: pick a time and let’s just see how it goes. Ultimately, that’s exactly what I did … I just need to get better at skipping over the rather unhelpful internal conversation that takes place before arriving at that point.
Lesson in this case? Do, don’t think.
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