L and her thumb

 

A few weeks ago, we took L to the dentist for a cleaning and Dr. D had some words about L's thumb-sucking. We've heard rumblings of: "Someday that has to stop," from other dental visits, but this time the discussion included specific details about jaw alignment issues and her bite not fitting together properly. These problems have already taken hold, and Dr. D. is prescribing orthodontics action within six months to a year. Before we left the office, he encouraged L to take the coming months before her next exam to maybe start working on ditching the thumb. L heard those words and seemed to understand that she's a big girl now and at some point she'll have to stop. She said she was ready to give it a try.

Because L's habit is mostly a nocturnal one, we decided to start that night. I found a motivation chart online and printed several copies. Friend A gave us part of her roll of admission tickets on the backs of which I jotted some motivating treats that L and I thought would be good rewards for racking up a handful of nights of non-sucking. Each thumb-free night would be worth a sticker on the chart and after, say, three consecutive nights she could draw a ticket from the jar and receive her reward. A week or more of cessation might warrant a bigger prize--family pizza night or choosing a new book at the book store. L was excited, giddy even at the prospect of tackling such a big goal and earning a reward. She seemed ready.

Before bed that night we cautioned her that this might be hard--perhaps the biggest challenge she's ever faced--and that Papa and Mama know she can sleep without her thumb, but that it is ultimately her decision and we're proud of her no matter what. We tucked her in, wrapping a pink Hello Kitty Band-aid around her thumb as a reminder to her of its off-limits status and asked God to help her to know what to do. A few hours into the night, L came to us frustrated and crying, having awakened and remembered she wouldn't have her thumb to ease her back into slumber. She asked N to take the Band-aid off. He obliged and snuggled her, then shuttled her back to bed.

She woke in the morning weary and disappointed in herself. We did our best to reassure her that it was a valiant effort but that it must not have been the right time yet. Over the next couple of days she made claims of wanting to try again, but each night she ultimately succumbed to the comfort and stability of her old friend Thumbsy. I quietly filed away the chart and the stickers and the tickets, thinking we might try it again someday, or we might not.

Last night, on the heels of a day that found us in swimsuits and sunblock from dawn until dusk, L snuggled in between N and I in our bed. She said she wanted to try to fall asleep without her thumb. She asked me to gently stroke her nose while she drifted and said she felt confident she could do it this time because we were there with her. And do you know what? She did. No sucking. Not even after N carried her to her own bed. This morning she came into us ecstatic, proud and ready for that sticker on her chart. I knew this was not a morning for lazing under the covers. I stumbled downstairs and brandished that chart, sticker sheet and ticket jars. I said since it was her first triumph, today probably warranted both a sticker and a ticket from the jar. Papa started blueberry pancakes in the kitchen. It was a special morning. She drew a ticket with "Read a Chapter of Jack and Annie at bedtime" on it and jumped for joy. She scooted off to her room to place it in her lacquered purple treasure box.

Who knows what the coming nights may bring. More success? Regression? Declining interest in achieving her goal? This will take time and lots of reassurance from N and I if things don't go the way she hopes for them to ultimately. This is sort of uncharted parenting territory. We're waiting on L to show us what to do next.