Today marked the fourth time that my dear Lyla Bean decided that her poop should no longer be constrained to her diaper, but should be exposed to the certainly less humid climate that exists outside of her diaper. Now, I'll be honest, the first time it happened was funny. Lyla shut herself in our master bathroom and by the time I had given her a couple minutes of privacy, I opened the door to find her taking handfuls of poop and throwing them into the toilet - which to be fair, is one way of getting them in there. When she smeared poop all over the frame of the bathroom door that afternoon I was less entertained. It looked like a twisted "South Park" take on the first Passover.
That said, when today she was wiping poop all over a cloth in our office, marking her fourth poopies-for-freedom event, I found that I was officially over this mess - seriously, it is a disgusting mess.
Now for the less graphic and gross part of my title: the pacifier issue. On Sunday I took Lyla to church with me and my dad up in Scottsdale for Father's Day. Childcare is cancelled, but no big deal, I have Lyla's pacifier — which my doctor told me I should have gotten rid of when she turned one, and we are now approaching two — and she sits through most of Mass without noise or issue. However, right around the "Our Father," I stand up and notice that my pacifier cautioning pediatrician is sitting three rows in front of us. This is not a big deal until I realize that at communion he is going to walk right by our pew, unavoidably making eye contact and then seeing her pacifier. Why the thought of this confrontation made me so terrified I can't say, but as Lyla was quietly sitting in Papa's arms I ripped her pacifier out of her mouth, ignored my dad's look that said "Why the hell did you do that?" - first of all because we were in church and he really shouldn't be visually communicating that language and secondly because I was embarrassed and couldn't explain — and sat and waited for the recognition. Lyla's pediatrician came up the aisle, saw Lyla, smiled at us and went on his way. It was at that point that I realized how ridiculous it was that I was living in a state of shame and fear regarding a piece of plastic my daughter sucks on. That and her front bottom teeth are seriously starting to bend inwards.
SO... how do these two incidents (well five if you count each poop incident separately, which, after having cleaned up each of them I think is the only fair thing to do) relate. It is a huge parenting tip/commandment/demand that if you are trying to get a child to make a big transition, only do one thing at a time. For instance, potty training and getting rid of the pacifier in the same week would be considered a suicide mission by Dr. Sears, the Baby Whisperer and Cesar Milan. So my thought is, if I take away the pacifier, will she stop messing with her poop? I can only pray the baby experts are right because she is not ready to be potty trained with any consistency yet and I don't want her to be the "poop girl" when she goes to preschool in the fall.
So today at her nap I took away her pacifier. I cut off the end and told her Ruby (our poodle) chewed it and that was that. She sobbed for over an hour. It was so sad because she was just so depressed. Normally Lyla is an angry crier, prone to fits of fury, but this was different. She just seemed so heartbroken every time she put the little stubby piece of plastic that was left of her pacifier in her mouth. That said in the end, she slept, next to me - I thought I had earned it - and tonight she only cried for 20 minutes (the "only" there is obviously relative).
Tomorrow's battles are sure to include crying over the plastic lifeline I have wrenched from my daughter, but hopefully no poop. And if there is poop, hopefully it is contained in a diaper or a potty and anywhere but Lyla's fingernails (and you thought this blog couldn't get grosser...).