Mostly all parents, before they have become parents, list their commandments on the dos and don'ts of how they would raise their kids. My experience - There is all possibility of at least one being broken. Here is an example..
They have not named it as 'pacifier' or 'soother' for no reason. In fact, it should be called 'The Pacifier'. Reason : It soothes the crying baby for sure but it actually 'pacifies' the miserable parents too who try every possible move known to mankind to make their wailing babies quiet.
When my older one was born, almost every infant around me was a proud owner of at least one of the kinds. Given the overwhelming variety in consumer goods available, I first could not believe that something like a pacifier can have so many avatars. There is a glow in the dark type to make the hunt easier in the dark. Then there is a type with Marilyn Monroe like lips or Charlie Chaplin like moustache. Some, even personalized with the baby’s name! And the most amusing one had 'Mute Button' written on it. Accessorising it with necklace styled belts would help babies the DIY way. Although it never figured on my shopping list when I was preparing for my baby's arrival, I still purchased a very basic 'variant' for just in case situations.
My daughter did a lot of travel during the first year of her life. Initially for me, it was a self imposed law to give her the pacifier only during flight travel (Doc advised on last resort use of it if cabin pressure changes troubled her). Hubby insisted on using it otherwise, too. He argued that it is at least better than thumb sucking. But I did not want her to have bunny teeth or catch infections and hence sustained my stand.
Her surroundings changed every three months which was overwhelming for the little person. I did everything I could to comfort her during the changes. But I finally gave in and broke my own commandment. The pacifier came to rescue and became my superhero, every time she got cranky beyond control. I simply loved it (It's really a question as to who loved it more? Me or her!). I shut my eyes and ears to all the relatives who judged me for this. It gradually became her bedtime buddy and she decided to name it as Tuki (Etymology : My sister called it 'Chuski' and my daughter pronounced that in her own way).
The entire act became 'Tuki Management' for me (Yes, believe me my management degree was put into substantial use in this!) : The pacifier was to be sterilised religiously everyday. There was a back up pacifier in case the other one decided to hide in corners that I only noticed while hunting for it. Then there was a back up for the back up which I always kept in the diaper bag (Checking for it was more important than checking for my boarding pass when I took a flight!). Exact location coordinates of the triplets were to be shared with hubby when I was not around (As men are from Mars and are usually incapable of finding things right under their nose).
When my younger one was born, 'NO TUKI FOR HER' was my slogan. But history repeats itself. This time for different reasons though. Both my daughters shared the same room and the younger one would not let her sister sleep when teething troubled her. So came Tuki to the rescue, yet again, during those incessant crying spells.
This love hate relationship with the pacifier is a long-lost story. My girls are grown up now. But they have heard its stories and have also seen the protagonist Tuki that I have saved as a keepsake. So much so that one of them offered finding it for me during one of my mommy rage sessions.
“Mumma, let’s get a Tuki for you”
No wonder I burst out laughing.
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