We traveled to Utah for an extended Christmas break and while there, our youngest son slept in a Pack 'n Play in a closet. As young children are wont to do, he sometimes wakes up in the night screaming for parental assistance and we play the "stick-the-pacifier-in-his-mouth-as-quickly-as-possible" game. If we get the pacifier in promptly, he will sometimes fall back asleep.
The difficulty of this game is compounded when the child is sleeping in a dark closet and any illumination at all will convert a weary babe to a wary brat. So we're leaning over this Pack 'n Play in an unlit walk-in, rummaging through the blankets, stuffed animals, and pillows (that we DON'T let him sleep with (supposedly that's dangerous) but older brother thinks he needs so he puts them in when we're not looking) in hopes that somehow our seeking fingers will brush against the hard plastic of the only accessory on earth that will soothe the infernal beast. This often takes some time and on occasion we've given up entirely when we can tell by the pitch of his cry, that he has passed the point of no return.
As it happened, we stayed up far too late Christmas Eve playing Santa and watching The Santa Clause (one of the great Christmas movies), and upon retiring to bed and drifting off to sleep, we heard it. The cry. I stumbled into his closet and with all the faith I could muster, plunged my right hand into the cloud of coverings, and behold, there was the comforting feel of freedom. I had grasped the pacifier on my first try. It was a Christmas miracle. I inserted the rubber nipple in his mouth and returned to my wife, my hope restored.
What's that you say? Bring an extra pacifier with us when we go in to assist him?
Where's the fun in that?
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