About a month ago, I took Honor Rose’s pacifier. I’d wanted to for a long time, but there was something holding me back. It made her different, since none of our other babies had preferred them. It also kept her little, kept her baby-like. I didn’t want to rock the boat with a new baby coming, either. But there was so much drool and hassle involved with keeping up with Honor’s “pass.” I could sense the day was coming.
And then one morning, there was an incident. I will not go into detail, to spare both my daughter and the faint of heart. But it was gross, y’all. And I was done. Honor cried while I threw every pacifier I could find in the garbage. I held her and rubbed her back and told her we were all done with the “pass.” I told her it was time for her to be a big girl. She stopped crying and took a nap without incident. That night, she did not ask for her pacifier. She hasn’t since.
As small as it was, I missed the opportunity to make this a special occasion for Honor. Frankly, I took my daughter’s pacifier out of anger. I’m not much of a milestone mom, either, which stirs up a whole other set of emotions. I wish I was, but it’s just not in me. My neurotic personality wants to put so much pressure on these events and seasons that sometimes I avoid them altogether. The picture above was supposed to be a sweet first photo shoot at home after Hadassah’s birth. I couldn’t get a good shot, though, so I never shared these. As I opened the folder just now, I realized I haven’t even used our real camera in nearly a month.
I’ve come to learn, though, that there’s grace in the rage and the missed milestones. It’s a place of beautiful, painful refinement. Sometimes, the pictures are blurry. There are awkward mullets and limbs full of bug bites. Sometimes, I let my temper get the best of me. Sometimes, I forget the camera or the event altogether. And still, there’s grace. I’m taking a huge helping for myself these days. Care to join me?