Dr. Drew told us it was time.

In all of the children's hospital bassinets, placed right next to our swaddled newbie, was a binkie. Abigail's was teeny tiny and smelled like vanilla, Harrison's and Leah's were the cheapie plastic ones with the pink or blue flapping circle handle, and Hudson's had the button. But none of them took it. They would gag and choke on it until their tiny little tongues forced it out of their mouths.

But not Fluffy.

Fluffy had a love affair with the ugly, big, green silicone binkie from the start. I was amazed. We had never had a binkie baby before. He was born addicted, it seemed, and nothing made him happier than his constant companion. It was his baby binkie crack. The power that thing had over this kid was incredible. It was our friend too in those early days. We didn't go anywhere without two, three, four of mommy's little helper. He had quite the collection.

Hudson laughing at the crazy thing the baby loves.

As he got older, however, we knew we needed to stage an intervention. We began the weaning process and I'm not sure who resisted more, the addict or the dealer. I loved him having the binkie. It worked every time! Who would want to mess with that, I ask you! But, I knew it would have to come to an end sometime. We did it slowly. Just a distraction here and there and miraculously we had it down to just naps and bedtime. And then I started to procrastinate. "After our trip", I would say. "He's getting a cold! We can't take it from him when he has a cold!", and a million other reasons why I couldn't completely pull the plug (so to speak).

Fluffy was on to us, too. He began hiding his habit. He would toss his binkie under his bed before I came in to get him. Then later in the day he would pull it out, all covert like, and hide in his room to have it. That's right. He became a closet binkier. A bad sign for sure. Hudson would discover him and narc him out. "Mom! Holden has a bwinkie!" he would holler, and then Fluffy would come running. No, really. RUNNING. Like a tiny, husky Forrest Gump charging down the hall. Sometimes he would manage to find two of them, and tuck one under his arm like a short little Heisman trophy, strong arming me out of his way to keep that binkie in his mouth.

There was a bonus to him being wise to our plan, though. He would hang out in his crib until 10:00 in the morning to enjoy the time he had with his forbidden love. Did you just read that right? 10:00? Yes, yes you did. Yet another reason why I was resistant to ending the relationship.

Alas, I could put it off no longer. I had it in my head that he would be finished by his second birthday. With that day approaching us, and no illnesses circulating the house at this very moment (a sign for sure!), I put him down without one last hit. The cries from his crib confirmed that yes, indeed, I am the meanest mom on the planet. He begged, he got angry, he promised just one last time. "Mom! Mommy! MOOOOOMMMMYYYY!" was probably heard by all the neighbors around us.

And then it ended. It took only a half an hour, and then was over. Ah my you yah, as Leah would say; Hallelujah as I would say.

But then he was up before 8:00 the next morning. All good things must end, I suppose. Farewell, binkie. You have served us well.