Parenting, Permission, & Pacifiers

“Wait 4 weeks before introducing a pacifier”

“It’s best to wait until breastfeeding is established to introduce a pacifier.”

“Pacifiers can be great tools for parents. Please consult your pediatrician before introduction of one to your baby.”

“Long term dental damage and dependency can occur with the use of pacifiers.”

“Pacifiers are known to reduce your child’s risk for SIDS.”

More of the same, slightly different, some not by much, some by a mile.

Now, I watch my son, albeit with a humorous lack of grace, take a binky in and out of his mouth with independence and ease. I’m in awe of how far we’ve come.

I remember the incessant crying in the very beginning. We would later find out why and fortunately receive all the resources we needed. But that first week? We were in over our heads and nothing would stop the crying.

We had a drawer of freshly cleaned, neatly organized pacifiers. I remember desperately wanting to use one. I remember, in the early hours of 1 am, 3 am, 4 am, after non-stop cries, after hours of feeding, after countless consoling attempts, shooting desperate glances over to Blaine, asking if we should give him one. Cutting him off before he could even answer, playing devil’s advocate for a response he had yet to give. Explaining how it could affect our breastfeeding journey and thus cause more stress. Explaining how this article said this, and this article said that. 

Oh, that sweet girl. I feel so affectionately for her, looking back. Plagued by information overload, conflicting data, and wanting to do the best by her new baby. 

As a new mother, I was not unique in this.

It’s not entirely reasonable to expect a mother of a mere four days to walk in confidence with her decisions just yet, but still, the hesitation I felt over this non-monumental decision breaks my heart in retrospect.

By end of the week, I was at the end of my rope. I held my baby in our rocking chair, both of us crying—me silently, him at the top of his lungs. We all needed help. I asked Blaine to call the hospital’s lactation consultant for me. I couldn’t choke out words of help even if I tried. 

Later I’d come to know and appreciate her dearly as the fairy godmother for our family that we never knew we needed. She told us to come in right away that afternoon. Before she hung up with Blaine, she gave some specific and actionable things we could do right away. 

One of them? To give a binky.

Permission. I had permission! Gone was the weight of responsibility for this decision! Gone was the dread of messing everything up. Gone was the fear. The LC had recommended it for us and thus, we could give it to him confidently. 

I didn’t recognize it then, but now I do. There was no magic in her permission. No piece of data she revealed that finally tipped the scales for us. It was the relief of feeling like we had confidence going forward in one direction—something that goes out the window the second you realize your beautiful baby is, in fact, nothing like the books and every bit more wonderful and complicated than you could’ve ever imagined. 

I had permission to confidently make a decision for my baby.

I dried my eyes and the three of us walked into the nursery, opened the drawer, picked out a green rubbery binky and popped it in his mouth. 

A miracle.

Silence.

Peace.

Finally.

I could’ve sobbed tears of joy at that moment. He stopped crying for the first time in days. Our sweet baby who hadn’t slept for more than 45 minutes at a time since he’d been born knocked out for FOUR HOURS. 

We had an ENTIRE family photo shoot that afternoon, through which he slept the entire time and for hours after. It was nothing short of a God-given miracle.

Except, it was also just a binky. 

We gave it to him, he loved it, and our whole family thrived. 

I had spent so much useless time in fear, worrying about making the wrong decision, the right decision, or just no decision, that no one was winning. The thing is, I believe had I made either decision, it would’ve been okay either way.

My son who loved the binky? Shortly after a bad bout with thrush, he decided to reject with vitriol his beloved pacifiers for two whole weeks. We still survived. 

He accidentally got spoiled on a nice one later on and now has preferences (haha). We’re still chugging along.

His pacifiers were supposed to be boiled to be rid of a small infection he’d had and we’d forgotten. Oops. He still eventually recovered. 

I wish I could’ve gone back to that panicked, sleep-deprived, googling mom and given her gentle and loving permission. 

Permission to walk in her new authority as a mother and to trust her gut deeply. 

Permission to believe that she knew her baby better than anyone and that any decision she made in love would’ve been the right one for her son.

Permission to ask someone for help.

Permission to live in the grey area of parenting.

Permission to let go of the idea that there’s one right thing all the time. 

I would’ve opened up my hands, offered her a slew of pacifiers or maybe none at all, and met her with permission and grace.

We own 17 pacifiers and some change at this point. They rotate in and out of car seats, cribs, the floor, table tops, and the trash. And with each one, I walk in a bit more confidence as a mother and expand my instinct muscle that much more, grateful for the enduring reminder from a neon green pacifier.