The pacified...

As I watch my almost-six-week old baby girl snoozing on her blanket on the couch next to me, I realize something: I have become one of those mothers. You know, the kind of mother you swear you wont become when you are pregnant (when you think you have the whole world figured out...remember that? Yeah, it makes me laugh too).
How did I come to this realization? Well, first, let me describe the scene:
 It is 9:14 in the morning and Baby Bee is not in her bed, resting in a peaceful quiet place as all the baby books demand. She is unconscious in the middle of the living room while I watch Kate & Leopold because I can't bear to put her in her bed (demerit #1). Second, said baby is happily sucking on a pacifier (GASP!!) in her sleep, occasionally making loud squelching noises when it threatens to slip from her lips (demerit #2). Given that I was awake at midnight, 2:30 am, 5:30 am, and at 7:30 this morning for feedings, theoretically I should be napping too, as the books also dictate (demerit #3). The list of faux pas continues, but I will spare you the rest of my inadequacies.

When did I become this woman? When did I become neurotic--constantly hovering over my husband's shoulder whenever he tries to parent, unable to let my daughter out of my sight when in the arms of a friend or family member? When did I start to balk at leaving the house for 5 minutes without her while simultaneously yearning for a break? And when in the hell did I decide to give my kid a pacifier!

That last question merits an explanation. I decided to finally give in and offer her the tiny rubber-baby-equivalent-of-crack one early morning around 4 am when she refused to be consoled and I was brought to my knees in desperation. Wide-eyed and frantic, I had tried all of my mommy tricks to no avail. Suddenly, I spotted the pacifier, innocently laying in a small basket where I had tossed it soon after sterilizing it (I bought it "just in case" during a post-baby-shower spending spree at Babies R Us).

"Try me..." it almost seemed to say,
"I can help...".
"No!" I responded, drowned out by my daughter's persistent wails.
"The books say you will only create an artificial dependency, ruin breastfeeding, and probably make her more predisposed to smoking pot when she's 12!" 

About 15 seconds later, the last of my resolved had been chipped away and I, very close to tears myself, reached into her crib and maneuvered the wretched thing between her angry lips. Almost immediately she calmed. She hesistated for a moment and I could almost see her considering her options: 1) keep screaming until she collapsed, or 2) try out this strangely satisfying contraption. Miraculously she chose the latter and began contentedly sucking noisily at it as if she had been doing it for years. However, she didn't realize that unlike my boob, it wouldn't stay in her mouth without some effort and she quickly learned how to loudly demand that I return it (repeatedly) to its proper place between her insistent gums. Finally, FINALLY, she drifted off to sleep and I wearily collapsed into the spare bed in her room, too exhausted to make the 10 foot trek to my own king size bed where my husband was slumbering in sweet oblivion. Little did he know that I had just transgressed majorly against one of our parenting laws....

Intro

Hi!
I don't expect much from this blog, since I am not particularly famous or interesting. I don't even expect anyone to read this; but, as is the nature of blogs, I secretly hope someone does.

This is the tale of my misadventures, mishaps, and sundry fumblings into the wild jungle that is motherhood.