Pacifiers to the Moon

Just after the boys' second birthday, we sent their pacifiers to the moon. Like the quilted bouncy seats, swiveling baby saucers and blue bathtub chairs, the pacifiers enjoyed a devoted following in our house. In its peak, our love for these science fiction nipples showed no bounds – they were the golden center of our family’s tranquility. But like the moment when you realize that your lover’s bad habits aren’t so cute, we suddenly knew it was time to give up our addiction. We became determined to remove these plastic parasites from our boys’ mouths, out of our house, off the planet earth.

Affectionately called “pe-tes” for the Spanish word “chupete,” the plastic plugs lived up to their English name for two noisy years: they pacified. When the boys were hungry, tired, or cranky, they’d let us know with their loudest wail. We popped in the plug and the boys would suck happily and vigorously for the next few minutes, cheek muscles taut while we searched for a cracker or toy.

In the car, on airplanes, at bedtime, before breakfast, in the stroller, the plug went in at the smallest squeal. The pacifiers also saved us during the boys’ biting phase, when every passing limb was fair game. Like muzzling a potentially dangerous dog, we encouraged the boys’ pe-te devotion so we could sit back and watch them crawl over each other on the padded family room floor without incident.

By 10 months, the three had agreed (strongly) on a favorite brand that prided itself on being the biggest and the brightest. While the other brands lay dusty under their high chairs, the boys kept these in fistfuls as back up. These were not just any pacifiers. With wide, thick heavy tops, they were aerodynamically designed to fall bottom up so they would never get dirty. They also semi-glowed in the dark, promising 24 hour salvation with their sparkling fluorescent green, yellow, red, and blue shields.

But just as we had grown tired of reassembling the bouncy seat after every spit up, banging our shins on the rattling saucers and washing our babies’ bottoms through the bathtub chair, we suddenly became weary of the pacifier.

Our first indication of a “problem” came through in our family photo album. One day, as I dutifully arranged and pasted photos to the page, documenting the last few months of trips, parties and general cuteness, I noticed that almost all the photos featured the pacifier. Instead of capturing the boys’ sweet smiles or serious quizzical gazes, our camera clicked on their sunken cheeks and the glowing, plastic facial mole. If their noses were the line of an exclamation mark, the pacifier’s thick plastic top was the dot. I suddenly panicked – would I ever really get to see my babies’ first teeth, pouty lips or pointy chins?

And then there was the “lost’ factor. No matter how many pacifiers I bought, there were never enough. Desperate cries would ring through the house in the middle of the night when a pacifier got lost in a mattress. Mariano or I would stagger out of bed to their room, searching frantically in the dark before the others woke from the cries, cursing under our breath. Inevitably, we would find ourselves lying on the floor, neck strained as we stretched our arm under the crib, reaching bravely through the dust and unidentified objects for the lost pe-te. As the boys became faster on their feet, the pacifiers also got lost more frequently during the day. For dramatic effect, they threw them at each other, at the dog or against the wall. To pass the time, they buried them deep in the folds of the car seat or let them drop quietly through their fingers onto the sidewalk to never be seen again.

Every week included a trip to Walgreens for another $7.99 two-pack until finally my husband announced that enough was enough. I agreed. We had to stop, cold turkey.

Petrified of a full-force riot, we pulled some handy props from the universe and devised a plan. The boys were obsessed with the moon, delighted at its appearance every evening, thrilled beyond belief when they found it in a blue afternoon sky. We decided to use this obsession to our advantage, let their Moon friend handle this dirty job. On Saturday afternoon I escaped to Party Supermarket and bought three red helium balloons that I hid in my closet until dusk. Meanwhile, Mariano pulled out paper and crayons and sat the three boys at their activity table for the big announcement.

“Guess what, guys? Today is a REALLY special day. We’re going to send your pe-tes to the moon!” Ben squirmed in his seat until his bottom sagged out the back of the chair and lodged him in place. Nico grabbed Sebi’s blue crayon and threw it at the window, causing Sebi to screech and lunge at Nico’s extended arm, teeth bared like a ferocious tiger.

I watched Mariano struggle to continue like nothing happened and he did. “Isn’t that GREAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!” To me, my husband’s shortness of breath and high pitch voice were an immediate giveaway of his devious scheme but the boys were young and still didn’t know any better.

“To the moon?” Nico asked, eyebrows raised in alarm.

“Yes, to the moon. Let me show you how it’s going to work.” Mariano then drew the event three times, showing each boy holding his balloon with a pacifier tied to one end in the first panel and then the balloon floating up toward the moon in the second. Stars and clouds filled the sky for dramatic effect and the stick boy in the drawing was always smiling. In one, he added the family dog, staring upward at the sky, tail wagging in excitement.

The three held their drawing tightly to their chest like pirates holding their treasure maps and followed their dad to the closet to collect their helium space vessels. All three were quiet in concentration, feeling all-important with their important space assignment. While they untangled the lines, I gathered all but three of the pacifiers from their room and threw them deep into the trash can.

Minutes after the sun set, the sky settled into a soft blue/grey and the moon appeared just over the royal palms in our backyard. It was crescent-shaped, like a baby’s fingernail, freshly cut in the bathroom sink.

Mariano grabbed the last three pacifiers from the table and led the boys outside to the deck, handing one to each little free hand. He lowered himself to one knee and tied a fat knot with the nylon twine through the holes of the pacifier’s rim, straining and bulging his muscles to show the importance and difficulty of the task. As he carefully prepared each one, he explained that the pe-tes would not be completely gone, that whenever they wanted, they could look up at the moon and say hello.

Ben shifted his weight back and forth in excitement, letting out deep laughs while his eyes jumped from the twine in his hand to the big red balloon above his head. Sebi stood completely still, afraid the slightest movement might alter events beyond repair, his thin lips tight and frowning in concentration. And Nico, the more mature and suspicious of such games, paced the deck, the balloon trailing every step, his eyebrows twisted into crooked worried lines. Before Nico could announce that perhaps this was not such a great idea, I jumped to his side and pointed to the night’s first star. Disaster avoided. Nico couldn’t help but smile.

Once the three pacifiers were tied tightly to their spacecrafts we lined up the boys on the edge of the deck and prepared them for flight. “Three, two, one, LIFT OFF!” I yelled. The three let go of their balloon but once the nylon strings became taut, they moved no further. The super duper pacifiers were too heavy and would not leave this planet without a fight.

I panicked and ran inside for the small scissors from the kitchen drawer. When I returned, I grabbed each string and with a quick turn of my shoulders away from the boys, I snipped the pacifiers from the lines, stuffing them frantically down my shirt before setting each balloon free. Once released, the shiny red spacecrafts moved upward so quickly that young eyes couldn’t see that the pacifiers were no longer there. The five of us watched the red balloons disappear into the sky, getting smaller and smaller as they sailed toward the moon, as the night slowly fell around us.

“Bye, Pe-te!” Ben shouted. Their little heads dropped back in unison, eyes straining to remain fixed on the diminishing specks in the sky. Sebi raised his hand and waived. Nico turned silently and headed back to the house. Somehow, he knew that whatever goes to the moon, does not come back. I lifted him up before he reached the back door and lifted his arm with mine so we waived together. Mariano stood beside us, staring upward, any anticipated elation drained from his face.
The last balloon disappeared from site. As the darkness draped over us, we gathered the drawings and headed inside for bath time. The excitement was long gone and instead of relief, we felt sad at the finality of this moment. This would be the boys’ first night without a pacifier. Our babies were growing up. Our hearts ached with the loss, plastic parasites and all.