The End of an Era

Whenever Noah loses his binky at night, he wakes up crying and we have to run in there to find it and pop it back in before he wakes up Tali.

I've not made it a big deal because he's still just 2 and he's had a lot of changes in his little life with a brand new toddler on board and I figure he can use whatever comforts he has.

In addition to his binky love affair, he always takes a very nonchalant stance on potty training. My bestie Rosie's son, who is the same age as Noah, has begun potty training. I speak of Andrew's underwear-toting in glowing terms in hopes of persuading Noah to take the plunge (well, in a figurative sense in this case for obvious reasons). But Noah just shrugs and goes back to his trucks, completely unfazed that his friend is basically becoming a man.

"Wow, Andrew is peeing in the potty! Don't you want to wear underwear and go in the potty?"

"Nope."

"Really? You like your wet, stinky diapers?"

"Yup."

And that's the end of it. I am getting tired of leaping out of bed to feel around under his bed for a binky several times a night. So I gave him an ultimatum. You give up your diapers or your binkies.

He chose the binkies. I told him we could give them to Rosie's baby Henry, who needs them. Two days ago, we gathered them up in a plastic bag and Matt drove him over to Rosie's house, where she accepted them on behalf of Henry with great ceremony.

One of his last days of happiness

The first night was...hmm, how should I phrase this without using swear words? Terrible just doesn't seem strong enough. Up every couple hours, crying with wordless sorrow. By 3 am, I ended up sleeping with him in his little twin bottom bunk, on sheets that smelled faintly of pee. I had to sleep on my side, instead of on my stomach in the shape of a swastika and when I awoke, my left hand was painfully asleep. I thought 'Well, at least something slept.'

That morning, yesterday, we were both exhausted. Matt graciously let me sleep in as long as I wanted before trotting off to work. The whole day was awful. Noah was cranky from lack of sleep and the general unfairness of life. He was sweeping books off the coffee table with his arms, crying, yelling.  It was like he was in withdrawals. 

The face of recovery.
(Note: this is not an actual picture of this process. He will not allow himself to be photographed in his current state. It brings up too many emotions. Probably of happier times being photographed with the binky.)

I imagine a group of toddlers at a rehab center:

"Hello, my name is Noah and I'm addicted to bink-binks."

"Hello, Noah."

"Hello, my name is Isabelle and I've been off the bottle for three days."

"Hello, Isabelle."

Last night at dinner I swore we would not have a night like that again. I was twitching just thinking about it. 

You may have seen me yesterday evening at the store, bottles of moscato and melatonin in hand. 

Last night? Not too bad.

One step at a time.