The Thumb-Sucking Saga

My first son took a pacifier.

My second son did not.

My third son found his thumb.

My fourth son is still figuring it out.

With my firstborn, I did all the right things.

I was annoyed when the nurses gave him a pacifier before the first 24hours of his life were completed because I had read all about how a newborn needs to have a good nursing latch 

before being introduced to the pacifier.  I had anticipated giving it to him around the two-week-mark, but no, the nurses popped it in even before I could refuse it.

In the next several months, he had his pacifier only when he was sleepy.  And he quickly associated pacifier and his Mr. Snuggy with sleeping.  He was a 

great sleeper – dropping off to sleep happily on his own, and enjoying his own bed with the combination of Mr. Snuggy and pacifier.  He could sleep anywhere and go back to sleep easily if woken.

At about one year old, I started weaning him off his pacifier.  Snipping a hole in it and then taking it from him. 

His solution?  His thumb. 

Having heard the horrors of thumb-sucking, I returned the pacifier to him for another half year.

At 18 months, I decided were were done with the pacifier. 

His solution? His thumb. Again.

We tried that awful nasty stuff that is applied to the nail. 

At first, he complained. But eventually, he just sucked anyway.

I taped the thumb. 

No problem, he just sucked another finger. 

Taping every finger seemed a bit extra.  And I wasn’t quite ready to put him in a straightjacket.

I decided to let him have his thumb.  We would re-address the issue when he was 2.

At 2 years old, I talked to him and explained to him the damage that could be done to his teeth if he continues sucking his thumb.  He agreed to try to stop.  But it only ended in tears as he was certain that he couldn’t go to sleep without sucking.  So, we compromised. 

He agreed not to suck his thumb as long as I permitted him to suck his arm.

My reasoning?  Sucking the arm should not cause the damage to the teeth that a thumb could cause.  He was only sucking it when he was trying to fall asleep. There should be no negative side effects from a physical stand point.

Because he only sucked on his arm when he was sleepy, he was not likely to walk around our house or be seen in public sucking his arm.  There should be no negative emotional side effects from teasing or rude comments.

And, by now, I had spent several years in close contact with Hispanic culture.  I knew of several youth and adults who sucked their thumbs into adulthood and still do to this day.  Was quitting-thumb-sucking simply a white-culture-standard?

Over the next years I would address the subject briefly within him.  Asking him if he was ready to quit?  “Maybe when I am five,” he said when he turned four.  His five-year-old birthday came and went, and he was no closer to giving it up.  And then I read a story in the latest Motherhood Edition that prompted me to try a new strategy – helping him to realize that he wants to quit.

His brother had successfully completed a chart the month before of eating 9 meals in a row with no complaining about the food.  No fussing, no complaint, no asking to be helped, no saying-he-was-full-3-bites-into-the-meal (trust me, he was not truly full because he would be asking for a snack within an hour after the meal). He had simply gotten into a bad habit that needed kicking.

Introduction of the chart.  After every successful meal, Daddy drew one of his famous smiley-face-creations.  After 9 successful-meals-in-a-row, he won a family trip to Plum Creek for ice cream.

My oldest was desperately wishing for a chart of his own to complete.

So I broached the question to him, “Do you want to win a family trip to Plum Creek by not sucking your arm for 10 days?”  He thought about it- and eventually, agreed.

I tacked on my reverse psychology.  “Are you sure that you are ready to grow up?”  “Are you sure that you don’t still want to be my little boy who sucks his arm?”  “What if I miss my little-boy-who-still-sucks-his-arm?
He was determined.

The first night was hard.  He called me back into his room to ask if I would pray for him so that he would not suck it.  I prayed, and we talked about different strategies to fall asleep.  I gave him a stack of books to look at.  I suggested that he thinks about his day that he just had and what his favorite part was and what he wants to do the next day.  And then say all the ABC’s. And then count to 100.

In the morning, he was so. very. happy.  He said that it was hard and that he had needed to fold his arms over to his chest so that he wouldn’t be tempted to suck on them.  And that he had counted, but he didn’t even get to the forties.  And he was so proud of that first smile made by daddy on the chart.

And the next night, it became a little easier.

And the next, even easier.

And so it continued.

I was concerned that maybe it would return after that 10 day mark, but its been well over two weeks and I am not longer concerned about a regression.  He has also given up his “Mr. Snuggy” on his own accord and is trying to convince himself that he doesn’t need to rub on tags to fall asleep either.

And just like that, it’s over.

And I am surprised at just how easy it all was.

And I hope I have learned a lesson in it.

Or 2.

Some things do not need to be fought.

Your child’s situation is probably different – delayed-pacifier-weaning, or potty-training that isn’t following the 11 steps, or not knowing all the ABC’s by kindergarten, or not learning to ride a bike or scooter at the same ages as all the other little people, or army-crawling instead of actual crawling, or waking every morning by 6AM, or not taking naps well, or whatever else is currently fitting into the expectations American mothers currently hold for children.

If there is nothing “right or wrong” with it, but simply just “a way that everyone else is raising their child”, it is ok to choose not to fight that battle with your child.

Also. When the child reaches a certain age, they can choose to make it their battle.

Then it doesn’t have to be yours.