So it’s official. My daughter is a thumbsucker.
This is strange for me since I, myself, never partook in such coarse behavior. Nay, proles…I was an aficionado of The Binky.
Alas, I was such a fan of Binkies that I continued to partake in them until I was 5. At which point I was told that “big boys” did not do such things, and was forced, with poorly hidden anguish, to hurl them off the Nantucket ferry as we passed Brant Point Light on our way home at the end of the summer.
And so I must sheepishly admit that I recoil a little when she sticks that thing in her mouth. Mostly because I barely know where my own thumbs have been, and the idea of shoving one of those salty proboscises into my maw is enough to induce dry heaves.
I also realize there’s not a whole lot of difference between a Binky and a thumb, and that the soothing function is the same. But the Binky just seems…I don’t know, cleaner? A bit more sterile? I mean, she’s not tending to the hog pens or anything, so her hands aren’t “dirty” per se. It’s just kinda…bleh.
Again, I guess I’m going to have to get used to it. Because it’s unlikely that she’ll grow out of it anytime soon.