So yeah, the pediatrician told us to take the bink away from Josie. And did we listen? Not really. She's still sporting what we like to call the plug about fifty percent of the time. But that's not what I want to talk about this morning. I want to talk about the Bink Zone. I want to talk about that magical zone (or realm or fifth-dimensional kingdom) where the binks go to die. I realize this sounds perfectly silly, but guys, it's positively eerie how many pacifiers we've lost. I'm going to estimate that we've purchased or inherited 27 binks in the time that Josie has been with us. And yet we still have conversations like this:
Babymamma: Okay, we're ready to go. Just need a bink.
Babydaddy: Right. I'll grab one. (Long pause) I'm checking her room. (Long pause)
BM: Try under her crib.
BD: Yup, checked there.
BM: Try our room, near the radiator.
BD: Yeah, been there.
BM: And under the bed.
BD (muffled): Right.
BM: I know I just saw one somewhere.
And of course, she did just see one somewhere -- because there are 27 binks scattered around our house. She saw one in the baby bag and the folds of the couch downstairs near the bookcase and (almost invariably) in the storage hatch of the stroller. But there not there now. They're gone. They've been magically transported to that invisible, fourth-dimensional BINK ZONE, where millions and millions of pacifiers dwell in unsucked, unrequited glory. What I'm suggesting here is that pacifiers have somehow acquired a talismanic quality that allows them to violate the Law of Conservation of Matter under the aegis of the Third Law of Thermodynamics, which is to say that matter (in the form of Binks) can and will simply disappear if the entropy of an isolated system grows too large.
If this sounds like complete bullshit, bear in mind that I scored 1 of a possible 5 on my AP physics exam. (I did manage to identify a sphere correctly, and spelled most of my name right).
Now I know what all you veteran Babbleonians are going to say here: howzabout you get Josie one of those handy-dandy clips. Yep. That worked for about two days, until Jos figured out that she could tear the clip off and suck on that. And the necklace model is basically a noose waiting to happen.
So for now, we're simply inviting any available Nobel Laureates over to the house to investigate this phenomenon. With any luck, they'll also be able to fix the automatic clotheline that's been broken since we moved in...
Officially sucking,
BD
