His Favorite Thing

So, yeah. Toddlerhood. On what other planet can a person awake to furious demands for "Mee-uhl!" and violent protests against clothing, only to spend the very same evening with a dancing, laughing, hugging and kissing little ball of sweetness. I think I need meds just to keep up with the mood swings.

A few weeks ago, we (the Mr. and I) thought we'd pretty much gotten the kid to kick the ol' pacifier habit. At preschool, Al only used it for naptime, and sometimes not even then. At home, he only needed it to go to sleep at night, but not every single night. We were on our way to a paci-less existence. But then, Ear Infection Season officially began, and the poor boy was in quite a state, so I crumbled.

Have you ever tried to quit smoking, and failed? And then, when you started smoking again, you smoked even more than before? No? Oh. Well, pretend you know what I'm talking about, because then you will understand the predicament we're in with this pacifier addiction. If Al had his way, he would be sucking on that precious piece of silicone 24 hours a day.

This morning after an already dreadful morning (damn you, Daylight Savings/Standard Time Change) and a quick family discussion about how the paci situation has grown completely out of control, I plucked the Mam from his mouth. He cried, he stomped, he wailed, and he pleaded for his beloved "pah-ee." And finally he became distracted with a toy tractor and off to preschool we went.

I recounted the morning's events to his teacher, and she promised that she'd work on stretching the paci-free periods longer and longer.

"But you know it kills me when he begs and starts digging in his bag for it," she said.

I do know, I assured her.

In the end, we all did what we could, and everyone survived the day. In Toddlerhood, that's all that really matters.

A boy, his dog, his ragged police car, and his precious, precious Paci.