Tuesday, October 09, 2007
The end of the dummy
Isobel was never really that addicted to her dummy, or dodi as we call it. She'd leave it in bed every morning, and wouldn't even ask for it all day. But, when we flew to Jamaica, she had it on the minibus, then on the plane, then for most for the holiday. My Mum is a soft touch. She knew that if she whinged loudly enough in a restaurant, we'd have to give in, and a vicious power struggle started.
Since we've been home she's either had it plugged in her mouth, or she's been whining for it. Listening to "I need my dodi" starts to wear a bit thin after the 100th time. She is very persistent, which is an admirable quality, just not in this particular situation. I decided yesterday that enough was enough, so explained that when we went food shopping she could have a toy and swap it for the dodi. Today, she went ahead and did it, and is now the proud owner of a Fifi and the Flowertots musical whatumacallit. The most annoying toy ever invented. But, she placed the dodi on the supermarket shelf and walked away and went to bed without even asking for it or crying. Success!