Cribside Confessions, Vol. 1

Entry #728 (approximately five minutes after The Great Pacifier Purge)

There’s been a betrayal. I can feel it in my chubby bones.

From the confines of my wooden cell—known to others as “crib,” but to me, a fortress of solitude—I gaze at the horizon (white noise machine glowing faintly in the corner), plotting. A theft has occurred. Not just one binkie. All of them. Even the one buried deep under the crib slats, my precious fallback. Gone. She took it. The lady with snacks and snuggles. The one I trusted. My mother.

I tried reasoning. I offered diplomatic glares. I threw a sippy cup. I screamed words only angels and dogs could interpret. Nothing.

So now, I reflect.

Why would she do this? Is it a test? A cruel rite of passage? Am I to become… a man now? With dry lips and nothing to chew on in quiet contemplation?

No one understands the gravity of this moment. I had dreams. Binkie at college. Binkie at my wedding. Binkie forever. But alas, fate has spoken. And fate wears yoga pants and carries a half-drunk iced coffee.

So I wait. Binkieless. Plotting. Watching. She says this is good for me, but I know the truth.

She fears my power.