Dear Diary
It’s me Monty. It’s been a while since we last caught up. If my memory serves me correct my last entry was back in 1996 when I was 16 years old. In that gripping instalment I intimately detailed my first open mouth kiss with a boy called Mark Towson.
Fast-forward 15 years and I have decided to take up diary writing again. This is because I’m about to embark on something that terrifies me as much as Mark Towson’s wiggly tongue, so I need a loyal outlet. You see, my son is a hardcore dummy junkie and its time to get him clean.
For a while it was a fabulous way to mute him, although now he cleverly spits it out and wails like a banshee until I pop it back in his gob. As much as I enjoy attending to him up to nine times a night, a part of me thinks that SLEEP might be a far better option. So over the next few days I am committed to weaning him off his mouth-heroin in hope of encouraging a little ‘self settling’ and a happier mother. Wish me luck.
MONDAY 9:35PM
Dear Diary,
Wean week has begun. I figure the only way to do this is to go 100% cold turkey. To ensure I won’t chicken out, I gathered every dummy in the house (24 of them), put them in a plastic bag and briskly walked them down the street to a public bin. If I put them in my own bin, at 2am I’d give them a quick rinse and my child would relapse. I gasped as I let the bag full of baby silencers drop and sulked off petrified for the detox that lay ahead.
The day consisted of a my mini man carrying on like a pork chop (As my mum would say!) During his day naps, the total amount of shuteye he had was a whopping 17 minutes. I didn’t quite realise how addicted my son was to the colourful rubbery goodies. This is going to be hard yakka! The sun went down, and after one hour of screaming bloody murder he finally drifted off to sleep. My boyfriend begged me to race to the supermarket to purchase a secret stash “just in case”. I was terribly tempted, but stayed strong.