Today marks the last day my three year old daughter can find solace in sucking her two fingers. Today will be the last few hours I look the other way as she slyly puts them into her mouth and covers them with the crook of her elbow. Tomorrow, the habit must begin to break.
I have been putting this day off for quite sometime; allowing the habit to take hold in the quiet moments of each day. Born addicted to opiates, from what I have been told, she was sucking on her fingers from day one. A little, bitty baby, in the hospital, strung out, scared and looking for comfort. Those two fingers gave that to her.
For the six months she spent neglected in her crib, those two fingers were the hug from her bio mom she was missing, the kiss on the cheek she didn't get, the arms of her birth father that never wrapped around her. Those two fingers were her security blanket, her comfort, her safety net in a world that was too scary to brave alone. Like a superhero's cape, those two fingers allowed her to soothe herself to sleep, to wait another few hours until someone remembered to feed her. Those two fingers were there, when no one else was.
So thank you fingers. Thank you for comforting my daughter prior to our paths connecting. Thank you for giving her a way to fall asleep before I could rock her. Thank you for stepping in before her destined dad could hug her tightly and whisper he loved her. Thank you for always being there. As sad as it is it see you go, it brings me great joy to know you are no longer needed.
She will be comforted. She will be safe. She will be loved. Your job is done, we will take it from here.
I have been putting this day off for quite sometime; allowing the habit to take hold in the quiet moments of each day. Born addicted to opiates, from what I have been told, she was sucking on her fingers from day one. A little, bitty baby, in the hospital, strung out, scared and looking for comfort. Those two fingers gave that to her.
For the six months she spent neglected in her crib, those two fingers were the hug from her bio mom she was missing, the kiss on the cheek she didn't get, the arms of her birth father that never wrapped around her. Those two fingers were her security blanket, her comfort, her safety net in a world that was too scary to brave alone. Like a superhero's cape, those two fingers allowed her to soothe herself to sleep, to wait another few hours until someone remembered to feed her. Those two fingers were there, when no one else was.
So thank you fingers. Thank you for comforting my daughter prior to our paths connecting. Thank you for giving her a way to fall asleep before I could rock her. Thank you for stepping in before her destined dad could hug her tightly and whisper he loved her. Thank you for always being there. As sad as it is it see you go, it brings me great joy to know you are no longer needed.
She will be comforted. She will be safe. She will be loved. Your job is done, we will take it from here.
