The Soothie Fairy

The Soothie Fairy came to visit Blake two and a half weeks ago. She took his last two pacifiers and left new bath toys, a Beanie Baby otter and a note. The note said:

Dear Blake,
Thank you for your soothies. You are such a nice boy! I will give your Hook 'em Horns soothies to some babies in Texas. I hope you like your present. Love, the Soothie Fairy.
Blake loves the new bathtub foam letters and numbers. He runs hot-and-cold with what we're calling Happy Otter. As for the Soothie Fairy, babies and the state of Texas ... well, he's not a fan.

...
A year ago, Blake's dentist gave me a stern talking-to about allowing him to use pacifiers. But he was 18 months old and had just started sleeping through the night, so I hadn't the heart -- for either of our sakes -- to take them away. Plus, her claim that his bite was going to be affected didn't scare me. Even memories of my own braces, headgear, retainers, rubber bands, and something called a bionator didn't scare me. What did was the thought of losing our newfound zzz's.
But with this year's dental visit approaching, I saw an opportunity. Maybe if the dentist gave Blake the lecture, not me, he would listen and be ready. Afterall, in recent weeks he had chewed through several pacifiers. His lips and chin were chapped. The Longhorn soothies, which had been a gift from Thomas' mother, were gross. They filled up with spit and wouldn't drain. They smelled like sweet saliva.
I read about the Soothie Fairy on the Internet, and put the plan in motion. What I didn't research enough was what happens next.
Here's what should have been written in BIG BOLD RED LETTERS across every "get-rid-of-the-pacifier" Web site: AFTER THE SOOTHIE FAIRY COMES, BE PREPARED FOR ANGUISHING CRYING, MOURNFUL TEARS, ANGRY SCREAMS, PACING IN THE CRIB, THRASHING IN SLEEP, PITIFUL SOBBING, LOSS OF NAPS. BE READY TO BE A "HUMAN PACIFIER." YOU WILL HAVE TO HOLD THE CHILD'S HAND WHILE HE SLEEPS, AND IF YOU LEAVE THE ROOM, ALL OF THE ABOVE WILL START AGAIN. IF YOU DO MANAGE TO GET OUT OF HIS ROOM, BE READY TO BE AWAKENED BY WAKE-THE-DEAD HOWLING AT 2:30 A.M. AND AGAIN AT 4:30. AND AGAIN AT 6. THIS WILL LAST FOR WEEKS WITH NO END IN SIGHT.
If I had read something like that, I might just have given Blake a Chapstick and called it even.
Over the past 18 days, in the dark, leaning over the crib, his little fingers with a white-knuckle grip on mine, I have rehearsed the following in my mind many times: "Blake, the Soothie Fairy made a mistake. She sees how sad you are and wants you to have this new pacifier. Let's keep this one nice and clean so it lasts awhile. Then the Soothie Fairy won't come again until you are older."
But in the light of day, I am conflicted. Have we come too far, endured too much, to backtrack? He hasn't actually asked for his pacifier since the first week or so. In fact, just two days ago, after a pretty good night, he awoke and said, first thing, "Mama, I don't need my soothies anymore." And I believed him.
Since then, we've had two of the worst nights yet, so he's no longer considered a reliable source. He is only 2 1/2. So what does he know?
A friend at the pool, a more experienced mother, assured me today that he won't remember this experience. We will get past it. Thomas, though about at his wit's end, is in that camp, too. But that doesn't help me feel better about my having introduced him to such a terrible feeling of loss. For that, I am sorry.
Dylan, I think, will get the Chapstick.

Shhh!

Dylan is sleeping. He's flat-on-his-stomach sleeping. Eight months old, and he's finally sleeping!
Eight months old, and this is new? That's not even the crazy part.
Dylan has reflux. He's been on medications from 2 weeks of age, and last month, after switching meds and increasing dosages yet again with no improvement, the pediatrician asked if I were "open to trying something unconventional."
She suggested craniosacro therapy, with this caveat: "There's absolutely nothing scientific about it."
I Googled it. Among the top hits is Quackwatch.org. I told a physician friend about the idea, and she asked incredulously, "Who is your pediatrician?!!!"
Craniosacral therpay aims to release "constrictions" and "restrictions" in the body which may be causing discomfort and ill health. The practitioner merely lightly touches the patient in order to relieve these constrictions. Our pediatrician said, "It might not work, but it surely can't hurt."
She set us up with a physical therapist who also has her massage therapy license and who practices craniosacro therapy. Blake calls her Dr. Horn. We have had four appointments in the last three weeks. She sits on a massage table and holds Dylan while he plays with toys or books in front of him. She moves her hands all over his clothed body. Blake plays with toys on the floor. We chat about the boys, gardening, sports. Sometimes she closes her eyes and seems to be concentrating.
She has told me that the body is "like Saran Wrap." She has asked me to put my hands on his back and stomach and visualize a gas stove flame. When I asked her what we can expect after an appointment, she answered, "Just about anything."
This is what we have observed: Normal naps, almost no spit up, and sleeping for hours, not minutes, overnight with no writhing, grunting, snoring or snorting.
Dr. Horn knows there are critics of the type of work she does. Apparently, anyone can take a class and then begin practicing.
She told me about a family friend of hers who complained to her for years about leg pain. She finally told him to either shut up or let her help him. After two sessions, he told her, "All that nothing you do really works!"
Dr. Horn might dispute our pediatrician's "no science" belief, but she also says that she has been told that she has a "gift."
But I am beginning to believe that the gift is ours. I'll let you know when he actually sleeps all night....