For a lot of moms and dads a dummy is both a blessing and a curse. The dummy is a blessing when your child gets comforted by the thing when feeling sad. The curse starts when you decide it’s time to get rid of the dummy.

In some cases, like mine, it’s not entirely your own decision it’s dummy-removal-time. My daughter went for her first dental-check and then the news bursted out. “You should make her stop using the dummy, her teeth are already bedummying.” That’s how my dentist named the teeth of my 2 year old which were standing to much towards the front.

I chose for the soft approach, explaining my daughter that she couldn’t use the dummy anymore because the dentist said so. Easier to blame someone else I thought. I worked. For about 5 hours. Bedtime was a big drama and I succumbed for the grief of my daughter and gave her the dummy back.

A few days later it was time for the second attempt. My daughter loves cars (especially red ones) and I promised her she could buy a race car if she would fall a sleep without the dummy. She survived the night, but with a lot of tears and moaning for her dummy. The next day she was a proud owner of a red mini Porsche and for a few days she was okay with being a big girl.

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That week, we visited a friend with a baby with a dummy. My daughter immediately spotted it, but I explained her that only babies can have dummies. That worked, she wanted to be a big girl and I was a proud mom. Then it happened; a few days later she tricked me.
“Mommy, am I your little baby?”
“Yes sweety, you are my little baby forever.”
“… If I am your baby I can have my dummy because babies can have dummies!”
The solution. And again (I KNOW), I gave her the dummy back. Hell with the dentists advice! They should give out a piece of paper on how to survive your kids’ charming face when they are asking something!

My third and final attempt was about 3 weeks ago. My daughter was almost ready for bed, standing in the bathroom with her red dummy in her hands. I grabbed it, pretended to throw it in the bin and told her dummy-time was over. She bursted into tears, but I was determined to get along with it this time. I hid the dummy in the highest cabinet in the room, wrapped in a facecloth.
I read her a book for about an hour until she stopped sobbing. Her little baby-heart was broken, and my mommy-heart too. But I knew I was doing the right thing. For a few days, I endured dummy-drama at the most uncomfortable places and times.

She hasn’t asked for her dummy the past 1,5 weeks, but yesterday, when she saw the garbage man picking up our stuff, she pointed at him angrily and screamed:
“Moooommmyyyyy that man has got my dummy!”

I laughed and felt like a winner. No way she is getting that dummy.

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