Day 1

My name's Noelle, and I'm a paci addict.

Hi, Noelle!


You see, I didn't have a choice. When I was born, I was whisked away to the NICU because I had a life threatening condition. It was all very intense. OK, I lied. I was taken to the NICU because in reality, I swallowed a little of the poop water I was living in...OK, there I said it.

Anyway-- in the NICU, a sweet nurse popped the very first paci into my mouth. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was green and rubbery and had this cool place where I could put in finger in it. Those were the days. Siiiigh.

So, like I said, I didn't have a choice. What was I supposed to say? Whoa, whoa, wait a minute! Do you know that those things cause life altering addictions? Do you know that you are setting me up for disappointment in a couple years when my parents grow a pair and decide to take the thing away from me? Huh? Do you?

So my addiction began. Mama and Papa started bringing home all kinds of cute pacis for me to try. Pink ones. Blue ones. Green ones. Even a purple one! Rubbery, plasticy, decorated, plain, big, small, but all of them awesome. I loved alllll of my pacis equally. I never showed discrimination. That's got to stand for something, right?

I pretty much blame my parents. Whenever I would cry, or be unnecessarily loud (like in church or at a restaurant), in would go the paci. I didn't care because I liked it, and they liked it, too. Who doesn't like a little peace and quiet every now and then, right?

So imagine my horror when about a week ago, my parents started saying things like, "Noelle, guess what? The Easter Bunny is coming to take all of your pacis away and give them to 'needy' children!" They would act all excited and like this wasn't going to ruin my life. I played along. I gave them cute responses. I acted OK with it, but I never was. Needy children want my pacis? Yeah, right. If they knew I only suck the toothpaste off my toothbrush and don't really brush my teeth, they wouldn't want these bad boys.

Well, the day finally came. Easter. Worst. Day. Ever. The night before, they made me put all of my pacis into a bucket and set them out on the mantle for the bunny. What is this? Christmas? Since when do we offer things to the Easter Bunny? They kept promising me some kind of awesome surprise in return, so I went along with the charade.

That night, my first night without the paci, I made sure my parents knew I was NOT happy. I couldn't just go to sleep and act like everything was fine! That's called lying. Lying is bad. So I fought them hard on the bedtime. I would scream and cry, and then I would quiet down, just long enough for them to get in some of their TV show, and then I would just let it rip again. I did this for a couple hours until I actually needed to get some rest for my big finale. 4 a.m., Baby!

I jumped up and down, screamed and cried, threatened to take my diaper off (that always gets Mama), and basically made myself look like a 9 month old until my mama came and got me. She took me to her bed. Score!

A couple hours of shut-eye later, and then it was time to request Barney at 6 a.m. I mean, seriously, I should be up for an award. I thought for sure that they would cave and give me the paci after those shenanigans, but no such luck. We went about our day, did the Easter thing, and I gave it one last effort. At both of my naps today, I cried and screamed, but those ruthless parents of mine just let me stay in there until I fell asleep. The withdrawal symptoms must be waning because I was actually tired and I actually napped pretty well without the paci.

So, here I am...24 hours without the paci, and I can say that I have completed my first day off the nip. We will see how long this lasts. If things go south, I've always got the one I hid down in the couch cushions. They never clean down there.