Every time we venture out with family and someone points a camera at my child, I brace myself for the inevitable comments. I often find myself weighing whether to react or let it slide, but I usually respond in the moment. Someone will reach for my child’s pacifier, yanking it away as if it’s something vile, all for the sake of capturing the ideal photo.
“You don’t need that silly thing!”
“You’re too old for that!”
“Hand it over!”
Regardless of how they phrase it, it boils down to the same message: “Why does your mother still allow you to use a pacifier when you’re not a baby anymore?” This leads me to wonder, at what age does a child truly outgrow a pacifier? If we’re saying it’s only acceptable for infants, should we start hiding them once children begin to walk? Or is a child deemed a baby only while breastfeeding? By that logic, a few kindergarteners still nursing might just qualify for continued pacifier use.
As a child, I had my own coping mechanism—I twirled my hair when nervous. I didn’t act out or disrupt others; I simply kept to myself. Yet, I often faced reprimands from teachers and peers who found my habit annoying. They claimed it drove them “crazy.” Their discomfort, however, was not my concern. Eventually, I learned to assert myself and tell others to leave me be. My son, however, isn’t at an age where he can advocate for himself. I see a frightened child looking back at the adults who stripped away his comfort during family gatherings or outings. He occasionally glances at me, silently pleading for help. Caught between the judgment of others and my instinct to protect my child, I often find myself waiting for the moment to pass.
What troubles me the most isn’t the unsolicited opinions on my parenting, but rather how easily someone can approach him and forcibly take away an item that soothes him. I wouldn’t dream of going to relatives’ homes to empty their liquor cabinets or snatch away desserts from their hands. I respect their choices, just as I wish they would respect mine.
People often cite anecdotes about children facing speech issues or dental problems because of pacifiers, but I don’t feel compelled to lecture others on their choices—like when someone lights up a cigarette or indulges in unhealthy snacks. I don’t berate them for their life decisions, so why should they chastise me for mine?
If my son needs extra dental visits down the line because he keeps his pacifier a little longer, so be it. That’s a minor inconvenience compared to the emotional turmoil he’d face if I took away the only source of comfort he has. Kids lack the vocabulary to articulate their feelings, fears, or discomforts, so I trust that my child uses his pacifier to manage his stress. I’m always there to hug him, listen, and communicate with him, even through his body language.
The criticism I face is often more about others’ perceptions than about my child’s needs. For me, his emotional well-being is more important than his dental health. Those who judge me for allowing him to use a pacifier should take a look at their own coping mechanisms. Many adults rely on habits that may do more harm than good. Even if my son faces dental issues, those can be fixed, while emotional scars are far more challenging to heal.
In the end, I’m not looking to change anyone’s mind or justify my parenting choices. I simply ask for a bit more respect and a lot less hypocrisy regarding decisions I’ve made for my child. It’s nobody else’s business.
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