Like a lollipop coated with epidermis, Kenzie still sucks her thumb. It’s a flesh covered pacifier that placates her baby demons when times are rough. Lately times must be rough, because that thumb is always stuck in her pie hole. She looks like a circus freak with the omnipresent arm and elbow protruding form her covered face. She’s a cross word puzzle of limbs and skin all being sucked into her own lips.
Recently I tried to break her of the thumb sucking habit. Some old wives tales recommend putting castor oil on the thumb turning it into a medicinal cucumber of foul tasting solvents. Dana wouldn’t allow that, so I thought I’d try a more adult approach, the kind of parental wisdom that Masters and Johnson would applaud.
Now when I see her chewing that little finger hot dog, I yell; “Big Girl!” On a pre-school level, “Big Girl” is simple to understand. Act like a big girl. Be a Big Girl! As I remind Kenzie constantly, Big Girls aren’t walking around the super market with their thumbs buried inside of their cheeks. Big Girls don’t mumble when spoken to because a fat thumb is resting on the back of their tongues. Big Girls don’t have to go to the money stealing orthodontist because all their Big Girl teeth are crooked from sucking their thumbs!
On a more clinical level, “Big Girl” is my attempt at a Pavlovian code word devised to elicit a change in behavior. Now I’m no clinical psychologist, but I figured if a bell could make a dog drool, certainly I, using a little daddy psychology, could break my own daughter of the thumb sucking habit. My plan was simple; I devised a simple, recognizable code word designed to start behavioral change. Like “Hike” to an offensive lineman, “Fetch” to a German Shepherd, and “I’ve got a headache” to a salacious husband, I came up with “Big Girl”. As far as I was concerned, “Big Girl” equates to: Kenzie stop sucking your thumb!
“Big Girl” has been met with mixed results. I’ll catch her thumb sucking, and shout “Big Girl” at her. She usually smiles, even complying for a moment or two, taking her thumb hesitantly out of her mouth, but usually, when I’m not looking, in a game of frustrating cat and mouse, she’ll slip that wet fifth finger back between her pouty little lips.
The other night, Kenzie was sound asleep on the couch. She looked as peaceful as a baby lamb dreaming of fluffy cotton fields and cows jumping over the moon. As always, the evil thumb was firmly planted in her teeth. Like a burning cross at a Wednesday night gospel revival, it was impossible to ignore.
I was really starting to hate that thumb!
“Watch this,” I said to Dana.
I snuck quietly to Kenzie’s side, grabbed hold of her tiny wrist and gently began pulling the thumb out of her mouth. It was locked firmly in place like a key broken off in a lock. I readjusted my grip and pulled again with more force. Like trying to pry a plunger off wet marble, I tried again to dislodge the thumb from the vice-like vacuum chamber of her cheeks. It was like trying to pry a moist tongue from a frozen piece of steel. I was amazed at the strength of Kenzie’s jaw.
I pulled harder. Pop!, the thumb was out. This was quickly followed by a rapid whoosh of air that rushed to fill the hollow chamber.
I smiled to Dana in triumph. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at Kenzie. I felt something move. I turned to look. Suddenly the creature was alive. In a dazed fog, Kenzie began snarling and thrashing on the couch.
“Where’s my thumb?,” she stammered as she began swinging wildly. “Where’s my thumb, give me back my thumb!”
With eyes shut, and teeth clenched, her tiny fists of fury began slashing at the air, searching for a target to unload her angry wrath. “Where’s my thumb? Give me back my thumb!” Her cries became more agitated.
She suddenly began moving, crawling, eyes shut, feeling around the couch for her thumb. Since it was obviously still attached to her hand, she was having little success finding it, and this was beginning to make her more frantic.
“Where’s my thumb?,” she snarled. “Give me back my thumb!”Dana and I were laughing, but not for long. It was surreal and a little frightening.
We’ve been through night terrors before with Zander, but he wasn’t as violent. Like a mumbling hobo on cheap booze, he staggers in place, acting befuddled like a blind man searching for the curb. Not Kenzie! She became a sleeping warrior searching for her stolen courage; a Lioness hunting for a piece of meat; Freddie Kruger looking for a manicurist.
Dana and I started getting nervous about Kenzie’s melt down. We decided we had better help her find her thumb or suffer the consequences of her growing wrath.
I picked up her clenched fist and put it in front of her closed eyes and snarling mouth. “Here’s your thumb Kenzie, right in front of you.”
Like a hockey puck careening off the boards the question ricocheted off her ferocious, little face. She continued fighting, feeling around the couch. “Where’s my thumb? You give me back my thumb!”, she screamed more defiantly.
I put the thumb closer to her lips. “Kenzie, your thumb is right here, baby!”I was breaking every rule in my psychological handbook. It was like giving the dog his food before ringing the bell, like bringing a hooker to bed while your wife downs Excedrin, like calling an audible without the word Hike! Telling Kenzie to suck her thumb wasn’t a part of my plan.
Combative and angry, her lips began to quiver. Like an old tracking dog, her mouth and nose began working in concert, sniffing, almost sensing the missing digit just a few inches away. Suddenly she opened her mouth, flashing dental razors and lunged at the thumb. Like a Japanese hobgoblin eating raw oysters she devoured her thumb, inhaling it deep into the recesses of her cheek.
Like a blanket smothering a hot flame, she grew quiet and content, leaning back, thumb in cheek, literally. Her eyes began pulsing under her eye lids and her tiny fists of fury melted into pools of baby calm.
“Wow,” I exclaimed. “That was frightfully strange”
Dana nodded her head in amazement. So much for clinical testing at home!
Since Kenzie’s full moon transformation into the night crawler, we don’t make such a big deal out of the thumb anymore. After all Dana says; she’s only two and she’ll give it up when she needs to give it up. Not many people over four feet tall walk around with their hands in their mouth. I guess, we all grow out of it when we’re ready to grow out of it.
And for those of you who think, thumb sucking will ruin Kenzie’s teeth; well I’ve been told that’s an old wives’ tail. Either way, these aren’t her permanent teeth, so I don’t care if she decides to chew raw glass.
Thank God for baby teeth!
Recently I tried to break her of the thumb sucking habit. Some old wives tales recommend putting castor oil on the thumb turning it into a medicinal cucumber of foul tasting solvents. Dana wouldn’t allow that, so I thought I’d try a more adult approach, the kind of parental wisdom that Masters and Johnson would applaud.
Now when I see her chewing that little finger hot dog, I yell; “Big Girl!” On a pre-school level, “Big Girl” is simple to understand. Act like a big girl. Be a Big Girl! As I remind Kenzie constantly, Big Girls aren’t walking around the super market with their thumbs buried inside of their cheeks. Big Girls don’t mumble when spoken to because a fat thumb is resting on the back of their tongues. Big Girls don’t have to go to the money stealing orthodontist because all their Big Girl teeth are crooked from sucking their thumbs!
On a more clinical level, “Big Girl” is my attempt at a Pavlovian code word devised to elicit a change in behavior. Now I’m no clinical psychologist, but I figured if a bell could make a dog drool, certainly I, using a little daddy psychology, could break my own daughter of the thumb sucking habit. My plan was simple; I devised a simple, recognizable code word designed to start behavioral change. Like “Hike” to an offensive lineman, “Fetch” to a German Shepherd, and “I’ve got a headache” to a salacious husband, I came up with “Big Girl”. As far as I was concerned, “Big Girl” equates to: Kenzie stop sucking your thumb!
“Big Girl” has been met with mixed results. I’ll catch her thumb sucking, and shout “Big Girl” at her. She usually smiles, even complying for a moment or two, taking her thumb hesitantly out of her mouth, but usually, when I’m not looking, in a game of frustrating cat and mouse, she’ll slip that wet fifth finger back between her pouty little lips.
The other night, Kenzie was sound asleep on the couch. She looked as peaceful as a baby lamb dreaming of fluffy cotton fields and cows jumping over the moon. As always, the evil thumb was firmly planted in her teeth. Like a burning cross at a Wednesday night gospel revival, it was impossible to ignore.
I was really starting to hate that thumb!
“Watch this,” I said to Dana.
I snuck quietly to Kenzie’s side, grabbed hold of her tiny wrist and gently began pulling the thumb out of her mouth. It was locked firmly in place like a key broken off in a lock. I readjusted my grip and pulled again with more force. Like trying to pry a plunger off wet marble, I tried again to dislodge the thumb from the vice-like vacuum chamber of her cheeks. It was like trying to pry a moist tongue from a frozen piece of steel. I was amazed at the strength of Kenzie’s jaw.
I pulled harder. Pop!, the thumb was out. This was quickly followed by a rapid whoosh of air that rushed to fill the hollow chamber.
I smiled to Dana in triumph. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at Kenzie. I felt something move. I turned to look. Suddenly the creature was alive. In a dazed fog, Kenzie began snarling and thrashing on the couch.
“Where’s my thumb?,” she stammered as she began swinging wildly. “Where’s my thumb, give me back my thumb!”
With eyes shut, and teeth clenched, her tiny fists of fury began slashing at the air, searching for a target to unload her angry wrath. “Where’s my thumb? Give me back my thumb!” Her cries became more agitated.
She suddenly began moving, crawling, eyes shut, feeling around the couch for her thumb. Since it was obviously still attached to her hand, she was having little success finding it, and this was beginning to make her more frantic.
“Where’s my thumb?,” she snarled. “Give me back my thumb!”Dana and I were laughing, but not for long. It was surreal and a little frightening.
We’ve been through night terrors before with Zander, but he wasn’t as violent. Like a mumbling hobo on cheap booze, he staggers in place, acting befuddled like a blind man searching for the curb. Not Kenzie! She became a sleeping warrior searching for her stolen courage; a Lioness hunting for a piece of meat; Freddie Kruger looking for a manicurist.
Dana and I started getting nervous about Kenzie’s melt down. We decided we had better help her find her thumb or suffer the consequences of her growing wrath.
I picked up her clenched fist and put it in front of her closed eyes and snarling mouth. “Here’s your thumb Kenzie, right in front of you.”
Like a hockey puck careening off the boards the question ricocheted off her ferocious, little face. She continued fighting, feeling around the couch. “Where’s my thumb? You give me back my thumb!”, she screamed more defiantly.
I put the thumb closer to her lips. “Kenzie, your thumb is right here, baby!”I was breaking every rule in my psychological handbook. It was like giving the dog his food before ringing the bell, like bringing a hooker to bed while your wife downs Excedrin, like calling an audible without the word Hike! Telling Kenzie to suck her thumb wasn’t a part of my plan.
Combative and angry, her lips began to quiver. Like an old tracking dog, her mouth and nose began working in concert, sniffing, almost sensing the missing digit just a few inches away. Suddenly she opened her mouth, flashing dental razors and lunged at the thumb. Like a Japanese hobgoblin eating raw oysters she devoured her thumb, inhaling it deep into the recesses of her cheek.
Like a blanket smothering a hot flame, she grew quiet and content, leaning back, thumb in cheek, literally. Her eyes began pulsing under her eye lids and her tiny fists of fury melted into pools of baby calm.
“Wow,” I exclaimed. “That was frightfully strange”
Dana nodded her head in amazement. So much for clinical testing at home!
Since Kenzie’s full moon transformation into the night crawler, we don’t make such a big deal out of the thumb anymore. After all Dana says; she’s only two and she’ll give it up when she needs to give it up. Not many people over four feet tall walk around with their hands in their mouth. I guess, we all grow out of it when we’re ready to grow out of it.
And for those of you who think, thumb sucking will ruin Kenzie’s teeth; well I’ve been told that’s an old wives’ tail. Either way, these aren’t her permanent teeth, so I don’t care if she decides to chew raw glass.
Thank God for baby teeth!