I had a girls' night last night; the lil' dude was sweetly tucked in and snoozing when I got home.
The Dad recapped their evening together: watermelon, some baby food, rice, and sausage. A bathtub and some bubble-bath basketball games. A rocker, a book, and a sleepy baby. And to bed without her pluggie.
I didn't say anything to this. I didn't need to. We co-parent the lil' dude, we stand by each other's decisions and rules and reinforcements. But, her pluggie? She isn't even a year old.
"Right to sleep," he said. "Not even a fuss."
Somehow, I knew that would happen; she's simply too easygoing. She slept until 6:43am when she started to make noise. She was probably looking for her pluggie, but she didn't sound too stressed. I was stressed.
The pacifier embodies baby to me, it is the epitome of what baby means. I think it is so sweet and comforting, so natural and safe. And all of a sudden I am losing that. And I just might not be ready.
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