I took Lyla to her first dental appointment today, and it was awesome. She was cute and charming and well-behaved. I had a proud mama moment. It was all going so well until the dentist said . . . she still uses a pacifier doesn’t she? *My face blanches* “Er, uh . . . sigh. Yeah. But just at night! She’s had a stressful year!” I blather.
Excuses slip out of my mouth and land flatly on the floor in front of me. He’s not buying it. He smiles and replies, “It’s causing a significant overbite. Stop it now, and it will correct itself.” I decide it’s time to put my big-girl pants on and I nod decidedly, “OK. It’s done.” Inside I’m groaning because he has NO idea what kind of night I’m in for.
I call my mom after the appointment to complain about the deal I made with the dentist and she has no sympathy. “Just do it,” she says. I’m starting to think this is more about me and less and about Lyla. What is my problem?
So long story short, we got home and I had to race to Lyla’s room to snatch the paci before she gets to it. She sees me hide it (why didn’t I just throw it away?) and has a hissy. The hissy only lasts about 10 minutes, and I think, “oh good we’re going to be ok.” The evening goes well, and bedtime seems to go off with a hitch. Only a little crying when suddenly I hear a distinct sound. A pacifier sound. I peek in the kids’ room and sure enough, she’s gone to my hiding place and snatched back the paci. I literally had to take it out of her mouth.
There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth.
And here I am again admitting that I am having a harder time getting rid of the dumb paci than Lyla is. She’s not a baby anymore.
This growing up junk is killing me slowly. So . . . I’m going now to fetch the paci out of the new hiding place and put it in the trash. :p