The Bah Fairy Cometh...

or as an alternate title, "Weeping and Gnashing of Teeth."

Trey and I love our children unconditionally (scary preface to make, huh?). However, sometimes we make choices that aren't in the best interest of our family dynamic. Off the top of my head, I can think of one of those choices: letting Keaton have a pacifier (which he calls a "bah") until he was 3 years old.

We knew in the months coming up to Keaton's 3rd birthday that it was not a good thing for him to have the bah. Scoldings from his dentist and late nights fits from Keaton himself (because he needed three bahs at a time - one in his mouth and one for each hand) indicated that the bahs had taken some sort of control from us. We knew this had to stop. We had to overcome the power of the bah. We were united in our fight.

Back in March or April, Trey read an article about getting your child to give up pacifiers. one suggestion was to have the "Pacifier Fairy" (whom we called the "Bah Fairy") come and take all of the pacifiers and leave a gift. We decided this was the option for us. We could do this! We scheduled the Bah Fairy's arrival for Keaton's 3rd birthday and began to methodically complete our mission.

We talked about the Bah Fairy every day. Keaton knew she was coming. He was excited. We asked him what the Bah Fairy was going to bring him. Sometimes he said coins, sometimes he said candy, sometimes he said toys. We stored all of these in our memory as we plotted the demise of the bah in our house.

As the big day drew near, we talked it up even more, "Keaton, aren't you excited about the Bah Fairy? You're such a big boy!" I even added my own personal touch of flair: "You know the Bah Fairy is going to take your bahs to babies who need them. You don't need them anymore because you're a big boy." No sense in losing a chance to teach a little generosity, too. I have to admit, Trey and I are quite a team. We were brilliant!

Trey spent the afternoon of the big day preparing for the switch. We were going to replace the bahs with ALL of the things Keaton asked for. Why? We're brilliant, remember? He assembled an amazing cornucopia of gifts - quarters, bubble gum to chew during the day instead of having a bah, a bag of Keaton's favorite Dove milk chocolate candies (individually wrapped, of course), and 3 small toys that he could hold in his hands as he tried to go to sleep - almost exactly the same size as his bahs. This plan was infallible!

Bedtime on June 6 arrived. Since it was Keaton's birthday and already late, we let the boys watch a movie as they went to sleep. After about 5 minutes, Keaton made the statement we were oh-so-prepared for: "I want my bahs."

No problem. We carefully explained that he was three now, and that the Bah Fairy was coming to take his bahs to babies who need them. He calmed down. He remembered. All of our advanced work had paid off! We did it!

For 30 seconds.

Then the screaming began.

Now, when I say scream, I do not mean the kind of scream that one might express when going down a steep hill on a roller coaster. Nor do I mean the kind of scream that jumps out from the depths of your heart when someone leaps out from behind a door and scares you. I'm talking about a gut-wrenching, painful, continual scream. I believe it was the kind of scream a drug addict would make during his first 2 hours of an unexpected rehab. It was a scream that dripped of an anguish never before experienced in our home. I honestly thought my ears might bleed. It was beyond horrible.

And it didn't stop.

However, Trey and I were a team. We took turns holding him down. We tried to soothe him. We threatened to spank him. We patted his back. We rubbed his hair. We got him juice. We offered to feed him. We moved him from our bed to his bed to the couch. Nothing could appease him. The power of the bah was too strong.

After 2 hours, he had worn himself out. It was 12:15 by this time, and I felt as if I had been physically beaten with a wet beach towel. I could barely move. I was broken. The plan had failed, but we were strong. We didn't give him a bah.

So we exhaustedly assembled the Bah Fairy's plethora of gifts to be discovered in the morning, and we fell into bed around 12:30 a.m. We slept peacefully until 4:58 a.m. when it began again.

It was the same as four short hours before. Keaton's distress was so far above and beyond what we ever could have anticipated. He was possessed! I took him into the living room and held him down on the couch, hoping that at least Trey could get some sleep.

Now, I would be lying if I said that I remained a good person during this pre-dawn incident. It occurred to me to just give him a bah. He needed it, after all. I also thought I might throw up, or that he might throw up. I wasn't entirely certain he was breathing through his screams. Looking back, I'm pretty sure I shed a tear. I though to myself, "Labor all night long was nothing compared to this. I can't do it!" I wondered if they issued pain medication for moms of 3 year olds giving up bahs. At least once I wondered if it would be child abuse to lock him in his room and leave him to his own devices.

But before I could act on any of these irrational thoughts, Keaton's hysteria all of a sudden became replaced with a lucid thought. He screamed at me that there was a bah in Daddy's truck and that he was going to get it. He escaped from my grip and ran to our room to tell Daddy that he was going outside for a bah! It was 5:43 a.m.

Trey scooped him up and took him back to the couch. I was thankful that my turn was over, and I collapsed into bed. I learned this morning that Keaton finally gave up again about 6:15 and went to sleep.

It was a night of incredible hell. But we made it without the bah. We have overcome the power of evil and lived to tell about it. There's only one problem.

When we were executing the enemy, we could only find two of them. Somewhere in our house, two of the enemy still lurk. We must find them and destroy them. We've added another soldier. Tucker is on the lookout. I have a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that we've won a battle, but we have not yet won the war.