Shipping off the binkies

The last time we tried to cure Rowan of his binky-at-bedtime addiction, we were too weak-minded to follow through.  At his two-year checkup the pediatrician suggested we give it another go, so here we are again, two months later.  Perhaps a detox holding cell will get him through the trauma most effectively.

After the binky circumcision method failed (see that post link above for more ridiculous detail), we decided tonight to con Rowan into thinking all of his binkies needed to go to his three-month-old cousin Sienna.  Without his binkies, she would have no binkies, and so he must send them to her tonight.  That poor binkiless Sienna!  Nothing to suck on but her mother's--okay, that's weird.

Anyway, Rowan agreed that Sienna should get all his binkies and that the U.S. Postal Service would most efficiently deliver them to her.

But at bedtime, like a crack addict needing just one more hit, he wanted to renege on the whole deal.  Screw Sienna's binky shortage, he suggested.  She can just sit in anguish in her third-world, no-binky existence.  Julie and I held strong.  Interfering with the mail is a felony, we reminded him.

"I wan wa-da!"

"Here's some water."

"I wan ma bay-uh!"

"Here's your bear.  Lie down."

"Oh tay."  Defeated.

A while later, he started crying.  I went up there.

"Are you a little sad?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sad about the binkies?"

"Yeah."

"That's sad to give something away, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"But now you're a big boy who doesn't need binkies."

"No."

"Want some water?"

"Yeah."

Suck suck slurp suck slurp suck slurp slurp.

"Lie down, buddy."

"Oh tay."

Haven't heard from him since.