I remember the look of disapproval from my mother when she saw me plop a pacifier in my infant daughter’s mouth. I quickly told her studies have shown using a paci reduces the risk of SIDS. She didn’t seem to buy it—insert the first of many, “You didn’t have one and turned out just fine” moments. Nevertheless, we moved on. My daughter had the insatiable need to suck. From my perspective it was the paci or me…. And it was not going to be me, at least not for recreation.

As weeks went on… my growing daughter continued to want it. I’d read recommendations to get rid of it around a year so I had plenty of time… until the time when the paci popped out at night and she threw a fit. I’d get up much like I did when she was a newborn, every few hours, only to place the displaced paci back where it belonged to insure a better night’s sleep. My best friend came to the rescue with what at the time, became the best advice ever. “ When she can roll over, buy five pacifiers and throw them in the crib, she’ll find one.” It worked. She got it and she would never be without one.

A few years later, we found ourselves struggling to figure out how we’d take away what had become the only “thing” our 3-year-old was attached to. There was no blankie, no baby doll, no stuffed animal, just the paci, all ten of them in assorted colors. Gradually, they started to disapper until she was left with two, only allowed at naptime and nighttime. When one mysteriously got a hole in it, we were down to one.

We suggested giving it to a child who needed one, to the church, anything to encourage her to give it up herself. By then, we recalled to well the early morning she got up to use the potty and her paci fell in the toilet. I told her it had to be thrown away. The tears poured as if she was a teenager who’d lost her first boyfriend.  Finally, I found a book, “Pacifiers are not forever.” It seemed to give her the last push we needed. It offered a suggestion to hug someone or a stuffed animal if you missed your paci once it was gone. A character pictured in the book was clinging to a stuffed penguin. We read it three times before she went to bed that night.

The next day we headed to the toy store for diapers. She’d never been inside a toy store before. We talked about it during our drive. She asked me if the toy store had penguins. When I asked why, she told me about the girl in the book. I jumped at the opportunity to get rid of that paci one more time. I asked her if she would get rid of her paci if we got a penguin. A soon as she said yes, I prayed the rest of the drive that that toy store would have a penguin. The employees in the super store helped encourage her as I told them about our mission. Thank goodness for parents who understand.

We found luck in the stuffed toy aisle. A huge stuffed penguin. Little did I know it would not be enough. On the way home, as she clung to that penguin as big as her, she reminded me of one of my earlier attempts to do away with the paci. She asked if she could send the surviving paci to Santa. She had not forgotten we’d told her months before that I was almost certain Santa would make a special trip to pick it up and would in return, leave a gift, even in the off-season. Desperate to finish the job, I said sure. It was the first time I hoped she wouldn’t fall asleep in the car to begin her afternoon nap.

As soon as we got home, I got out a piece of paper and scripted her note to Santa about the paci. She put the letter in the envelop along with the paci. She walked it to the mailbox, she put it in and closed the door as I documented every step with my camera.  Then she went down for nap, sans paci.

She woke up, disappointed that Santa had not brought a gift. As we went to the mailbox to see if the mailman had picked up the letter headed for the North Pole, I explained St Nick might not get it until later that day. She went to bed Saturday night, asking for it only once. She made it through the night just fine—I never expected that. She didn’t notice the package sitting on her dresser right away but once she did, she ran to our room screaming there was a present there. We all walked in together to see it. She opened the big pink box as I read the attached note from Santa saying how proud he was that she was so brave and gave up her beloved paci.

Extremely brave. My husband and I said we would never bring up the paci again but it turned out she wasn’t sad to talk about it. She was quite proud to tell everyone she’d given it up. It turns out it wasn’t painful for my big girl at all. Maybe it was, just a little for me.