So, the Rocket’s birth was not a fun experience for anyone involved, really. I still remember squatting in the small hospital pool that I was hoping to have a water birth in, almost chewing the side of it in pain and panic and wailing, “This is never going to end!” It did (obviously), with the help of a friendly doctor and a glinting pair of forceps, and there she was: my little Rocket, bright pink and wrinkly and, thankfully, not particularly fussed about all the work put into getting her out into the world. But then she didn’t sleep. Not at all, not for three days. Little bits here and there in someone’s arms. A couple of minutes when she was swaddled in blankets and put in a crib. I lay there on my hospital bed, worried and bone-achingly tired from the birth and the feeding and then this little baby not sleeping like those other quiet little babies in the ward, and I didn’t know what to do. Everyone tried holding her. I fed her almost constantly and expressed tiny drops of colostrum into a syringe for her. A pediatrician was called on the second day and gave her some baby Panadol, or something, in case the forceps had given her a headache. Nothing worked. Teach asked a doctor, “Should we try a dummy?” and the doctor shrugged and said, “Maybe?” So off Teach went and bought some. And the Rocket did not sleep, but she stopped crying. And so did I.
What’s ridiculous about this, of course, is that I am trying to justify my use of the dummy. As if I am waiting for you to pat me on the head and say, “It’s fine! You had to use it. It was basically a medical necessity. The world would have literally ended without you using it.” Because I hadn’t wanted to give the Rocket a dummy; we didn’t have any back at home. We were unprepared. God, we were unprepared for everything about that first week. Month. Year. Anyway.
Yet I never had any judgement on anyone else using them, before or after I had a kid of my own. They always seemed like a pretty handy idea, right? Then what’s the big deal? The big deal as per fucking usual is my own stupid head, making me insecure about using it, giving me unhelpful thoughts like: Are people going to judge me for using it? Will they criticise me behind my back? Will she have enormous dental problems from two months old? Will I realise one day that no one actually cares about what I’m doing except for me? (Apparently not.)
I remember that first time the dummy came out in my mothers group meeting, at the health centre. It might have been the second meeting, maybe the third. There was about nineteen mothers, twenty babies, and a handful of grandmothers, and we were all dressed up to impress each other, our kids were all freshly laundered, some asleep, some yelling, some feeding. Then one mother finally caved and gave their kid the dummy they were yelling about, and then about another six of us immediately, gratefully, reached into our nappy bags and brought ours out too. I wish I could remember who that first mother was, but I don’t; I just remember being so happy that it wasn’t only us who used them.
I’m not here to produce articles on whether they are bad or good for you. I am here to say, like I always want to say: you are a good parent. You’re doing fine. Gosh, your kid loves you. Dummies, no dummies, a kid who refuses dummies even though you desperately wish they wouldn’t; it’s fine. You’re fine. High five the computer screen right now just like I am. Go team caregivers! WHOO!
Anyway, one day this dummy business did all have to end, and we decided it would be last week for some unfathomable reason (yet again, past Fiona is just the worst.) There are a few good ideas out there for getting rid of dummies. Santa accepts them for extra presents, I’ve heard. One friend suggested your kid can take it to Build-a-Bear and shove the dummy in with the stuffing, creating a new, cuddly comforter to have in bed with you. We went for what I recall was my friend Sally’s idea: you give your dummies to the Dummy Fairy, who takes your (disgusting, chewed, fluff-covered) dummies to the little helpless babies that need them, and rewards you with gifts. Bribery! It’s one of my favourite things as a parent. As per Sally’s suggestion, we invested in a ‘Lil Fairy Door. You can pick these up at markets and online; if you are a Last Minute Lisa like me, you can also get them at Adairs Kids, though fair warning, they are EXPENSIVE. Because we’d already hyped it up and needed to buy it to continue with the enthusiasm, I shelled out the fifty (!) dollars for it, but if you are a Prepared Penelope then by all means look around. (And no criticism to Adairs, who need to make profits and stuff, but I could have just bought six years worth of dummies instead.)
We had been talking about said fairy for a while now. When she started to tell other people we knew it had sunk in a little, so we kicked it up a notch. “Rocket, what does the fairy take?” “Dummies!” “And what would you like her to leave for you as a present?” “MORE DUMMIES!” (Little smarty pants.) We eventually sold her on the idea when she realised her parents were good for just about anything to get this done and that she wanted a Sylvanian Families house to go with her figurines – other people have bought fairy wings, which also seems lovely. So we get home from the shops last Thursday and Teach snuck off into her room and then was heard exclaiming, “Oh my gosh! Rocket! Something’s in your ROOM!” So we went to investigate and YOU GUYS, there was a DOOR, right there on the wall, all covered in glitter. We knew right away what was up so we collected the dummies and put them on a plate, adding a few pieces of Pocky (her father thought this was a generous idea), sprinkling everything with fairy dust to let the fairy know to come out, and adding pictures we all drew of what the fairy looked like. (Despite my best efforts against it as my least favourite colour, apparently she is pink from dress to eyes, though has blue hair.) We put her to sleep with much excitement at eight o’clock, waited until she actually fell asleep without her dummy at twenty past ten (bleurgh), and then assisted the fairy by removing the dummies, pictures and snacks (sadly the Pocky had been excitedly covered in too much glitter for consumption) and quietly swapping them for this house.
Happily, she slept solidly all night woke up around 6:30 – her usual wake up time is probably around 7, when we get up – and without further ado we got her up and exclaimed “Whoa, look what happened!”, whereupon the Rocket promptly saw her dummies gone, threw herself on the ground and wailed. Once we’d talked her down and pointed out the house, she sniffled her way over to it and then suddenly realised it was really real and really hers, and she has played with it obsessively ever since.
Sleeping has not been easy these past five days. Her day sleeps used to be super easy – throw her down, say “See ya!” and she was out – now it takes at least half an hour, if at all. Last night, again, it was after ten o’clock before she went to sleep; on Sunday, when she didn’t have a daytime sleep at all, we put her down at eight and BAM she was asleep. Still I will fight for these day naps; I need them to remain human. Part of me wonders why I made it so hard for myself by doing it now, and not later when she might have been easier to convince; part of me guesses it’ll be hard no matter when it happens. All I know is that the fairy’s door left us on Sunday, but the very kind fairy (who had a gift voucher) left her a book about dinosaurs going to sleep with a ribbon tied around it, and one day, instead of never sleeping, she will be a moody teenager who sleeps all the time, and I will look back at this post and sigh.