Pacifier Patrol!

{Stella} luuuurrrrrrvvvvveeeessssssss her pacifier. In our house we refer to it as a boo-boo. When upset, she will cry: "huh-buh-buhhhhhhh...huh-buh-buhhhhhh!!!!" incessantly as we scour every nook n' cranny for the only thing which can aid the heartbroken sobs of our second-born. No, we at the Jentz home, are not on the cutting edge of the latest in nuk lingo. (Shocking, we know!) But, when Madison was a toddler she did as all over-confident toddlers do and frequently fell, banged into things, and suffered many a minor physical injury and *many* a major emotional injury. My mother, God bless her, would say, "Did you get a boo-boo?" and hand her the pacifier. You can see how a child of the tender age of 1, with little knowledge of the English language, could become confused. When we gave Layla the pacifier (or the nurses at the hospital did. Yeah, that one.) we were determined to call it something, anything, which wouldn't raise the question of WHY everywhere we went. Alas, old habits die hard, and we resigned ourselves to the comfort of: "Boo-Boo".

After a long weekend, I was looking forward to decent night of sleep before heading back to the daily grind. For some inexplicable reason (other than she must have sensed my underlying desire for some shut-eye), {Stella} was especially "boo-boo aware" last night. Usually we know immediately when that moment of *victory* occurs. You know, the one where you can be sure your baby is actually out-out (for Madison it was when one of her arms or legs would spastically jerk) and you can dance around the living room in celebration, or, as parents of new"ish" babies often do: throw yourself onto the couch in contentment and hope to make it through the first 20 minutes of the news. We always know with Layla when the Victory Moment occurs because her "huh-buh-buhhhhhh" plops out of her perfectly pink pouting lips and there it rests for the remainder of the evening. Well, last night was the exception to the rule. Our little angel was not content to sleep sans soothing-device, oh no! She was, however, happy to wake us up with her rantings of the the loss of her beloved boo-boo a half-dozen times throughout the course of the night.

Why a story about a pacifier (which is mediocre, at best) on this beautiful Monday morn, you ask? Because I have Pacifier Patrol Mush Brain, that's why! And I'm feeling tired and cranky. Not to mention, cranky and tired. So this is sincerely the best I can come up with.

To those still reading: Donations of sympathy are being accepted at this time.

To my dear husband, Matt: I hereby bequeath the Pacifier Patrol badge for it's probable usage later this evening.