The Desperate Search

*A “binky” is a pacifier, if you don’t know*


Where in the name of all that is good are your binkies?

I swear there are gremlins or something that are constantly hiding these things. All I can think of right now is Madeline Kahn in Clue saying “flames…flames, on the side of my face…”

Do you get that reference? I honestly don’t care right now.

Let me give you the gist of how this works. You wake up, mildly fussing. I get out of bed, knowing that you just need your binky put back in. I arrive at your crib, blind without my contacts or glasses, and grope around the inside, praying I find your binky, and most of the time, I do.

But, every little once in a while, it has travelled to the land of single socks and car keys, never to be found again. At this time, my anger begins. So I have to go get my glasses to search in the usual places we keep extras: the windowsill, your diaper bag, the kitchen counter…

By this time, you will have broken into a full cry. All you want is a binky, and I cannot provide one for you. For the most part, I find one in one of those places. But sometimes…I don’t.

Lord help me, the anger. You will have  broken into a complete screaming breakdown. Your mom will be holding you, trying to give you the smallest semblance of comfort, but without your precious pacifier, there can be no comfort. You are Gollum without his Precious.

Meanwhile, I’ve begun the search in all of the least likely places: the fridge, under the couch, utensil drawers, the attic, the park down the street, other dimensions, lost to the knowledge of man.

By this time, I’m thinking “I know for a fact the we have purchased seven hundred thousand of these things. What sorcery has hidden them from the naked eye?”

The house is turned down. A manhunt is called. Tommy Lee Jones arrives at my house to recall Marshal Samuel Gerard.

IMDB should still be around. Look it up.

You are now inconsolable. As I search, I wonder if the neighbors are waking with the sounds of your fury. Every step I take is simply a reminder that I don’t have a binky. The seconds seem like hours and I wonder if I will ever know silence again.

Then, as will always be the case, I will find one. At the foot of your crib. Where I personally searched thirty-seven times with nothing less than a fine toothed comb and magnifying glass. Where some cruel creature placed it with the single intention of watching my head explode with frustration. I put the thing in your mouth, and like a heavy tranquilizer, you immediately quiet and begin to snore, as if the horror of not having a binky was just a dream. And, of course, the next day I will find enough binkies to calm a small army of babies. Because that’s just the way this works.

No moral to the story here. Just know that when you’re older, if you ever lose something, it’s between you and Tommy Lee Jones, because I’m out.

1 Corinthians 1:4



  1. It’s Sod’s Law, isn’t it? Nothing (thankfully) has come as close to Sophie’s Choice for me as having screaming twin babies and only finding ONE dummy!
    You’d have seriously thought they’d have been able to fit a tracking device on them by now. Otherwise what is the point of science? (But I guess then the sale of pacifiers would plummet, which a cost far beyond the exasperated screams of babies and parents everywhere.)

    1. A small GPS locator on a binky is the greatest idea I’ve ever heard. Is there a Nobel Prize for parenting ideas? Because you just won it.

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