the fine art of thumbsucking

In order to avoid becoming the human pacifier that I really already am, we have spent a good part of Naomi's life (eleven of her thirteen weeks) trying to get our girl to take a pacifier (because she really, really needs one). B and I have tried practically every single pacifier sold on the market (yes, I am obsessive and stubborn when faced with a challenge of this size) and our little baby has refused every single one of them. Latex or silicon, it doesn't matter. Nothing works. And now that pediatricians are saying that it's good for babies to sleep with pacifiers because the sucking helps prevent SIDS, we've been feeling even more pressure to get our girl sucking. Ironically, when Samuel was a baby, he LOVED his passy and we spent most of his first three years trying to get him off of it. And then becuase it was so hard to wean Samuel from his rubber love, we kept Talia from them, though whenever she happened upon one at daycare or at a friend's house, she'd immediately pop the contraband passy in her mouth.

So now we're spending this hot summer trying to get Naomi to take the same thing we've had so much trouble getting the other kids to give up. And each time she refuses, Talia comes around and snaps up the rejected loveys. "I can have this one?" she asks, and then scurries off with the tiny passy in her mouth.

So since Naomi is absolutely repulsed by the mere thought of a pacifier, we've been working on getting her to suck her thumb. The girl really needs some self-soothing methods. Last week, my niece Maya helped the kids spend some time showing Naomi how to suck her thumb. She was pretty agreeable to it, since once she discovered she had one, she's been fairly fascinated with it.

I think the session went well, though note that Naomi is the only one without a thumb in her mouth.

what's black and blue and red all over?

Tomorrow Talia is going to preschool with two black eyes and a bruised cheek with scratches on it. She looks like the loser of a pretty bad brawl (you know, only the kind a three year old could get in). But really, these are only the results of a normal weekend.

This morning she accidentally got in the way of a speeding basketball passed to her by her brother (black eye #1).

This afternoon, she accidentally stepped in the way of a speeding dress-up pump passed to her by her friend (high heels should never speed, but this is black eye #2).

Facial scratches and bruises are just the results of good, hard playground and backyard play. Her knees and legs look the same way.

Last week she knocked her front top tooth loose while riding on a tricycle at school and while the dentist assured us that this was very common among preschoolers, he also warned us there was a good chance it would turn grey and he'd have to pull it. Now I obsessively check it every morning to see if it's getting more discolored and I've got the poor kid carefully chewing her food with her back teeth. And while I know if she loses this tooth, it won't be the worst thing to ever happen to her. It's a baby tooth and her permanent teeth are undamaged. But I'd be sad to miss what's left of her baby smile as she quickly gets bigger and more independent every day.

So at the same time she's having a good time and being an active three year old, I'm becoming a paranoid mess. I don't want her to be scared of playgrounds or running or jumping or being the strong, independent, and active kid she is. But at the same time, I know that everytime she goes out to play, she comes back with some sort of injury or in some sort of predicament (remember bad hair week?). Mostly, I try not to watch, which is a problem in itself.

Or maybe I'm scared because if she can get into this kind of trouble now, what will year four bring? Though, when I asked her this, she said confidently, "Don't worry, Mommy. At least it wasn't Vaseline."

eeek.