Do you suck clean your baby's paci? Well, maybe you should.

Just listened to this NPR piece, describing new research that suggests that parents' saliva on their baby's pacis may protect kids from developing asthma, eczema and allergies. I read a fascinating book on the subject of the hygiene hypothesis, called Why Dirt is Good, a few years ago when I interviewed the author, Mary Ruebush, for an article I was writing in Parents. In the book, Ruebush presents many studies which suggest similar findings. After I interviewed her, I told my mother about the theory that exposure to germs actually strengthens a young child's immune system and I believe her quote was, "What are you, a moron? Don't make me throw up." Licking a paci would be nothing short of a nightmare for her, raging germophobe that she is.

For my part -- and I don't mind a bit of dirt and germs now and again -- the new study will not change the way I handle Terza's pacis. Because  you know what those researchers didn't study? The incident of illnesses in the parents that sucked on those nasty-ass pacis. It may sound selfish, but I go down, this whole ship goes down, so what about protecting my immune system from all the germs the baby has?  Study that, then get back to me.

The Fairy Finale

So, as I confessed in the post before last, I use fairies as a parenting crutch. And no sooner so we kill off the Sleep Fairy and her sister the Nap Fairy but the Potty Fairy was born.

There was just no avoiding her creation. Primo was entrenched in the Poop Strike of ’07, where he insisted he was too scared to poop for 6-7 days at a time, and the discomfort this caused him made it impossible to continue with our daily living. Upon the pediatrician’s advice, we blasted his system with MiraLax, the go-to laxative for ths kiddie crowd. But, the doc emphasized, we needed to address the emotional aspect of the problem as well, and make the potty a friendlier place. It seemed friendly enough to me, as cozy as a toilet could be, but, I figured, a little fairy dust couldn’t hurt. To grease the wheels, so to speak. I suppose it could have been Mommy and Daddy giving him an M and M in reward for doing the deed but why make something simple and uncomplicated when you can invent a fairy persona, one who you’ll later have to find an exit strategy for?

And that is how I found myself on a plane to Tennessee, dragging my son down the aisle from the bathroom as he shouted, “I AM NOT GOING ANYWHERE UNTIL THE POTTY FAIRY SHOWS UP!”

But the paci fairy is different, The Paci Fairy is a one-time and one-time only deal. So we started dropping hints about her when Sec turned two, and continued to reference her until my child knew the deal backwards and forwards:

“When I’m a big girl the Paci Fairy’s gonna come when I go to sleep and she’s gonna take allllll the pacis and give them to the little babies and she’s gonna give me a present!:

I kept postponing the fairy touch-down because I didn’t know how I would possibly make it through the night without the magic soothing device. Plus, I was sentimental about it. It kept my baby a baby.

But then a month or so ago, we came to grips with the fact that the paci no longer worked magic to get the kid to sleep. She’d get into her crib, throw the paci out a dozen times, have us come back to root around for it in the dark, and scream nonetheless for long periods of time after we gave it back to her. Sure, it put her to sleep when she finally exhausted herself screaming for a half hour but it wasn’t like the paci was eliminating the bedtime battle or anything. Around the same time, she began skipping her nap, no matter how much I pushed the paci on her.

We figured it was time for the Paci Fairy to strike.

So about a month ago, David and decided suddenly, to do it, that night. No further ado, Screw our courage to the sticking place.

The Paci Fairy left a note. A scroll, I should say, rolled tight and tied with a golden ribbon. Here is what it said:

“I am coming!!!!! Please bundle together ALL your pacis and leave them outside your door and tomorrow you will find a big surprise! You are a big girl!”

I was planning on something more eloquent and laudatory but I didn’t have much time. So to compensate, I wrote in along the margins, “You’re big! I love you! You can do it! Hooray! Hurrah!”

Seconda was very excited. We bundled the pacis in an attractive little bag I found left over from a party favor and put it by the door. With a minimal amount of crying the big girl went to sleep.

I considered for a long time what might be the right present to give a child in exchange for the greatest love of her life. I thought we should get her something warm and cuddly that would help her to go to sleep instead of the paci, like a blankie or something. But at the end of the day, I didn’t think she’d dig that. So I opted for what would put the biggest smile on her face, because I don’t mind a heavy dose of gratification and that’s when when Seconda woke up after her first paci-free night ever, she found Tasha, the yellow hippo of Backyardigans fame by her bed. She was tickled pink.

Of course, when we got in the car a few hours later, she immediately asked for a paci.

David and I exchanged panicked glances, and then David said, “What, honey? What did you say?”

She laughed her crazy little laugh and said, “I’m just JOKING you Daddy!”

We laughed loudly, too loudly, and made a big fuss over how funny a joke that was.

“Good one!” I said.

To which she replied, rather pathetically, “But I want my paci.”

Cue laughter.

We continue to do this raucous routine every time we take the car anywhere.

“I want a paci . . . just joking.” Hardy har har. “Good one, Sec!”

Of course the poor creature’s not really joking. She really does want the paci and I want to give it to her, want to so much, I would give it to her for sure, had I not invented a fairy with more self-control than I have. And that’s why a mom needs a fairy or two around. Oversight.

Killing Off Fairies Ain't As Easy As It Looks

My daughter’s love affair with the pacifier is a story much too long to be unraveled here. Plus, it will be appearing in an article in Parents soon and so I can’t give it all up for free, folks. But what I’m gonna give you is the ending that couldn’t make it into the piece because life hadn’t written it yet.

While I wrote the piece, which was part essay, part reported article, Seconda was a total paci fiend, no holds barred. But in talking to other moms about their binky battles, I began to think maybe I should take action sooner rather than later to boot binky. I mean, I’ve been Binky’s biggest fan, don’t get me wrong. Not with Primo, who never used one, since I was naïve and thought I could prevent him from developing dependencies (Ha!). But since Sec’s arrival, the paci has been a member of our family. We all brake for Paci. Literally. If we start driving somewhere and realize we don’t have a paci, we will stop the car as soon as possible to get one, quick.

By the time I finished the essay, I’d limited Seconda’s paci use to just bedtime, naptime and cartime. That’s a lot less time than you think because we hardly ever use the car and are almost exclusively stroller people. So the gradual weaning had begun.

And thanks to the any parents I spoke with for the article I had garnered a very long list of possible way to terminate paci, permanently.

50 Ways to Leave Your Paci

Cut a hole in it so it’s “broken”

Have your child toss his whole collection in the trash

Tie it to a binky tree in Holland

Send it to Mickey Mouse

Send it to the heavens on the string of a helium balloon

And the popular favorite –

Let the Paci Fairy take care of it

This was clearly the route we’d take. Our family is kind of nuts for fairies. OK, maybe it’s just me. I love fairies . . . and gnomes and elves and all manner of magical, fantastical, generally good but sometime mischievous sprites, Midsummer is my favorite Shakespearean comedy, for God’s Sake. It started as my love for fairies but it developed into our family’s reliance on fairies for our parenting.

Fairies, you see, do our dirtywork.

It all started with the Sleep Fairy, when Primo was about 20 months old and wouldn’t fall asleep even if we rocked him, gave him the bottle, lay beside him, held his hand, or bribed him with large sums of cash. I was in my second trimester with Sec and posted a desperate plea for advice on parkslopeparents and they delivered, as they usually do, with a diverse panorama of suggestions. Someone suggested inventing a Sleep Fairy who visited if the little boy went to bed without crying or calling his mommy back, etc. This fairy would leave a little treat by his door and when he woke (after 7am!!!!! Or no go) he could see what she’d brought him.

We though this was a genius idea. Better than sticker charts because he was too young to understand anything that took several days to pay off. But better, too, then just Mommy giving him a treat if he did well, because, well, you can always argue with Mommy and say, “I DIDN’T CALL YOU BACK! YOU”RE WRONG! GIMME MY TREAT!” But you can’t argue with the Sleep Fairy, now can you, because you can’t ever track her down. She is like an imaginary impartial third party, Perfect! Genius!

So I told Primo, not yet two years old, that I’d read in the newspaper that this famous Sleep Fairy, whose name no one knew, was coming back to NY soon and visiting the homes of all children who went to bed without a fuss. He went to sleep like a dream and the next morning he had a Halloween sugar cookie waiting by his door. The morning after that, it was a little spiral drinking straw. Sheet of stickers, plastic finger puppet. Basically anything that could be purchased for $.50 or less or occasionally a little tasty treat.

The method worked like magic for a few weeks. But it wasn’t as easy as it sounds. I wanted the Sleep Fairy to seem real so I left little notes with the treats, written in curly, swirly letters, which said, “Great job!” and “You’re a wonder to behold!” and “Of all the children, I visit, you are my favorite!” When he got somewhat bored of the treats I threaded in a bit of intrigue to keep him hooked.

“I wonder what the Sleep Fairy’s name is? The newspaper says no one knows.” I told him.

And the next morning, he found a note which revealed her first initial, “M.”

That turned into a big guessing game and night after night, she’d reveal another letter until he discovered her secret name ….. MELINDA!!!!!

The problem is, once you have a fairy for bedtime, you need one for naptime too, or WTF? What’s up with the understaffed afternoon hours in fairy-land? Primo wanted to know? And then once you get a Nap Fairy and reveal her name, slowly, letter by letter (ALINDA!!), the novelty of it all wears thin and Primo starts wondering if she can bring a Sesame Street-themed pencil, why can’t she bring a stuffed Elmo? Which is what he really wants.

The Sleep Fairy becomes permanent. And Santa Claus. And every day is Christmas.

And you explain, with rising frustration, that Melinda is a very small, tiny little creature with wings no thicker than a blade of grass, and how could she possible heave something as large as a stuffed Elmo all the way through the night sky to his door?

“She’s magic.” he replies.

And that’s when it dawns on you that you’ve made a terrible mistake and that this fairy must be killed off. Stat.

But how? These things must be done delicately . . . .

I started to send little hints in her notes which said, “I think I will have to leave you soon. My Mommy and Daddy are moving to Florida.” And “I will miss you very much when I take the plane to Florida on Friday, never to return,” and then finally, “This is my last note. I am at the airport. I have loved you more than all the rest. You are a very good and special boy and you will do great things. Happy sleeping!”

He was disappointed but he got over it. And our house was free of fairies until the great Poop Withholding of 07, when the Potty Fairy was born. Yeah, you heard me right.

Eyes Pried Open

This morning Seconda climbed into my bed and literally pried my eyes open with her fingers. I felt like the guy in A Clockwork Orange. For those of you who haven’t seen the movie, that’s not a good thing.

“Wake up Mommy!” she yelled, “OPEN YOU EYES!”

This is not as easy as she makes it seem. Opening my eyes in the morning, in fact, takes a monumental effort. Sweet sleep beckons me not to leave the bed. Darling, delicious sleep murmuring sweet nothings in my ear, while Seconda shouts

“Are you awake Mommy? MOMMY! YOU HAVE TO OPEN YOU EYES!!!!!”

The last accompanied by another vigorous eye-pry.

I have been particularly knackered lately. Conked out. Cooked. Fried. Flattened by fatigue. I mean, it’s not like the surreal haze of the newborn days when I didn’t know if it was day or night and I would just loose my boob every time I heard a noise that at all resembled a baby cry. This is just your garden-variety cumulative exhaustion.

So in the mornings, after my eyes are pried open by small dirty fingers, I’ve taken to shuffling over to the TV, bringing up some grade-A children’s programming and basically going back to sleep.

This is fine when it’s Primo that’s awake because he is 4/5 and pretty responsible. Seconda, on the other hand, must be heavily monitored at all times. She is drawn to trouble, this one. But I have been so friggin’ tired lately that the other day after I put the Backyardigans on for her, I lay on the couch and just closed my eyes, just for a minute.

When David came home from the coffee shop at 8 am, he found Sec with a paci in her mouth. Pacifiers are strictly limited to sleeping time but since Sec knows where we stash them, since she can climb chairs until she reaches that drawer, and since she was unsupervised while I dozed on the couch, why, she had her choice of pacis. Not only did she have the paci in her mouth but she was standing on our garbage can and had just pulled down a bar of Perugina chocolate which she was in the process of unwrapping when David walked in.

“Where is Mommy?” he asked.

She didn't bother taking the paci out of her mouth: “She can’t open her eyes.”