Today, we visit the Pig Farm

Through a small little Window of Time, you can peer in and see me...at age 4. I am armed with my pacifier, which I lovingly call "nippy," heading to a friend's pig farm. And I have one thing on my mind. To be a little runt's hero.
Me...age 4. I tried to find a picture of me with the "nippy". But I couldn't find any. Mom said she was embarrassed enough to have a 4 year old still using a pacifier, she wasn't going to document it with a picture. (though I know I've seen them before. Nana, you got one?) ;)

My mom had told me that the Momma Pig had just given birth to a lot of piglets. But one of the little pig's didn't have a nipple. And because of that, it was very, very sad. Did I want to go and give MINE to the little pig?

*Insert heroine music*

Even as a young girl, I was extremely compassionate and very motivated to help the "underdog". Even if that...uh, dog was, in fact, a pig. My mom knew this. My mom was banking on it.

I REMEMBER walking up to the pig pen. I REMEMBER taking a hold of my pacifier. I REMEMBER seeing the little pig that didn't have a nipple (as all the other ones were currently nursing). I REMEMBER my mom pointing out runt-pig and encouraging me to throw it in.

*FREEZE FRAME*

In case you haven't gotten the gist of where this is going, allow me to walk you through. I was FOUR years old. And STILL using a pacifier. My rather brilliant (and somewhat deviant) mother was playing on my compassionate heart to get me to rid myself of this little habit-forming device before I went on my first date. To which I say thank you, Mom. :)

A family friend had just had a litter of pigs...she saw her opportunity and ran with it. She later told me that she was praying that there would actually be a little runt pig because she didn't know that for sure. Apparently God was on her side in this whole scheme to free little Christin from the alleged Nippy...because yes, there was a pig-in-waiting.

Okay. *Pushing the Play button*

I finger the little pacifier in my hands. I aim carefully at the sadly deprived piglet, who was obviously waiting for me to ease her pain. I throw...I wait in huge expectation over the joy and excitement of this little pig once she has the cherished pacifier in her mouth. I wait. And watch as my dear nippy flies through the air.

And in one sickening *thud* the pacifier hits the dark dirt. The rest of the little piglets make a run from the left side of the screen to the right. Trampling my pacifier. Covering it in mud.

Not quite what I was expecting. I was upset. Like you are when you just witness nippy murder. But my mom assured me that the little piglet would eventually find it...and then be happy. I'm not so sure at this point. I mean, I just shared my most beloved possession with the sad, deprived little pig. And now...Nippy lies somewhere beneath pig poop. Not quite the way I had pictured it.

I don't remember the transition being that bad. I mean, I'm sure that the first couple of nights weren't the easiest without my pacifier. But I got over it. I eventually went to sleep. And, here's the clincher, I didn't hate my mom for doing it. But of course, I was also "tricked" into offering it up MYSELF. So if I missed it, it was because I had willingly offered it up. Smart, Mom. Real smart.

If only it were that easy for my three year old....

Here's Selah. She's sick...and has Bubby. She is only allowed to use beloved Bubby in her bed. Here, we're thinking of taking her to the ER because she's so sick...so we let her use it.

Selah just turned 3 yrs, right? Well, for the longest time, I've been building her up with conversations like: "When you turn 3, you won't need your bubby anymore, right?"
"Right! and then I get my surprise?" she asks.
"Uh-huh! Anything you want!"

(insert: when Charis gave up sucking her thumb, we took her to the Wal-mart toy department and said "Pick something." For a split second, I was afraid that she would go for gold and pick another bike or a kid's computer or MP3 player. But nope. She headed straight for...play dough.

Uh-huh. I'm serious. We give her the Green Light on picking whatever she wants and she asks for something we can make in our very own kitchen. Something that we actually already had at home. In large quantities.

At my prompting, she did look around a little more, picking a highly annoying little puppy that barks incessantly every time you get near it. But still...it was under $10!! Not bad for a good ol' fashion bribe where the sky is the limit! I'm thinking we may've lucked out on that one!! Jet and I will not make that mistake again...next time, we will specify what aisle they can choose from!)

So anyway, this conversation with Selah has been on-going for a couple of months now. I figure, it worked for Charis (of course, she was a year older when she stopped sucking her thumb completely). Therefore, I figure it would work for Selah. At least that's the line of thought. The hope against all hope. Since I do not want to have a child, who is 4 years old and still dependent on the pacifier to go to sleep.

Well, it hasn't happened as easily as I had thought. Apparently, she does not share in my little-girl compassionate heart. Yes, she IS compassionate. Don't get me wrong. But she's a little more discriminating with hers. Sure, if there is a hungry preschooler in her Sunday school class, she'll gladly share her brownie. Yep, if there is a spider on a scared child's clothing, she'll glad knock it off and squash it to death. She's happy to do it. But start messing with her beloved "bubby" and it's a whole other story!

Before Raegan was born, I tried what a friend of mine had done to get her daughter to stop using a pacifier: to have the child want to care for the upcoming baby. "You can give the baby your bubby when she's born...so she can have one." Tears and sobs immediately commensed. I didn't want to push it...I didn't want to chance bitterness at the new baby. And unfortunately we don't have a baby pig farm. But even if we did, I think Selah would take the I-truly-don't-care-if-he-does-want-my-bubby approach. It's a pig. Go find a Charlotte to help this Wilbur.

Huh. Alright. Not working. Moving on.

I've tried to convince her. To tell her that she's too old for one. To try to turn her thoughts to the "surprise". The idea is a great one, in theory...but no toy outweighs the preciousness of good ol' Bubby. I'm thinking that "talking her through" isn't going to cut it.

But speaking of "cutting it"...

After talking it over with a friend, and mulling it over for a few weeks, I have decided to use the "snipping" technique. I will, under the cover of night, take scissors to her beloved bubby. A little at a time. Until it loses it's "suck". The theory being that it's the suck that is addictive. Thus, I'm going to rid her of the ability to suck, even though she'll still be able to use it...if she still wants to.

Yes, yes. I know, it's the weeny way out. I confess. But I can't just deprive her of it straight out. (and believe me, I have no issues whatsoever depriving my girls of things)...there's just something about this little bubby. It's not like saying No to letting her have chocolate at 9am. Or saying she can't have a toy as we are shopping at a store. THIS bubby has been her "soother" for years. I don't want to just take it. I want to...well, trick her out of it.

Who knew a small piece of plastic could be so addictive? could have so much power? could drive a grown woman to frustration...and deviant behavior?

I'll let you know how it goes. ...once I get the nerve up TO take scissors to "Bubby".