I had a conversation with a friend the other day about my thumbsucking woes. You see, I have a four year old thumbsucker.
The oldest one has a blanket he loves. No big deal. The middle one had a pacifier that we "lost" when we went to Granny's once. Easy. Well, not so much, but it was like four years ago, so I've forgotten about all the crying.
But the thumb. I can't get rid of it. And, oh, he loves it so much.
The problem lies with the fact that I was a thumbsucker, and I know, I really *know* the comfort it brings and the habit that it is.
He has his thumb rituals, where he has his woop and he smells it just so and his hands make the actions they've made since he was just months old. I'm reminded of when he broke his arm last December and his cast made it so that he couldn't use his hands properly to suck his thumb in any comforting manner, and if there's anyone who needs his thumb, it's he who's brother broke his arm and his mother didn't bring him to the doctor for ten days, but that's another story, right? I'm such a sucker (and oh, the guilt!) that I moved his woop the way he likes until he found a way around his cast to make it work for him.
And I *know* the misery of a freshly washed blankie and how much work it is to make it stink just right.
But, like my mother, I also know that one day, I'm going to have to pay someone to put those teeth back where they belong. And it kind of stresses me out.
When I was eight, the dentist told my mother that it was time for me to stop sucking my thumb. I was EIGHT. It was most definitely time!
So we wrote up a contract. For the period of one month, I would give up my precious, precious thumb. And my mother would give up her precious, precious chocolate. For each indescretion, the other would get her vice for the next day. And we both signed it. As far as I know, neither one of us violated the terms of our contract. BUT, I didn't go back to my thumb.
She most definitely went back to her chocolate. But who could blame her?