The four stages of binky denial

Zane has never bought into the whole Binky thing. We saw babies leaving the birthing center—born the same day as Zane—with binkies firmly implanted into their cherubic faces like a cork. Zane’s more au natural about the whole affair: if one is in need of a little chewing there’s always a fistful of options at hand.

Unless someone else wants to manage the binky for him, then he’s fine with that.

Last night in an attempt to transfer control of the neglected binky to Zane I peeled open his little slobbery fist (man, he is strong!) and coerced a couple fingers and thumb to clasp the binky. It took a few attempts but he finally managed to guide the binky into his mouth AND seemed genuinely pleased at the accomplishment. Of course I didn’t have my camera at hand to record the historic event. By the time we went downstairs, grabbed the camera and flash, got back up to couch, back into a comfy position, and re-hooked the binky to baby he’d kind of lost the angle of approach concept.

Which just goes to prove that parents need a head-mounted audio-visual media center. Able to record photos, audio, or videos at an instant’s notice and play back a soothing lullaby or episode of Dora. Of course we’ll look like dorks with this contraption on our head, but that kind of goes with the territory.