Toddlers Trading

My yia yia told me I had to stop sucking my thumb. "It'll cause you to have bucked teeth. Trust me, kukla, dental work is not cheap. Save your mommy and daddy the expense."

But you know what? There were other kids my age who were still sucking their thumbs. I didn't see how they looked like they had bucked teeth like a horse. The path of least resistance was to quit sucking my thumb, but I was really stumped about how to replace the thumb-sucking. Since I was already sticking fingers in my mouth, it would be a seamless transition to switch to biting my nails. I bit my nails because I was bored, because I was nervous, because I was always worried about doing the wrong thing, but mainly, I missed sucking my thumb.

Mama and Daddy promised me all kinds of things if I'd stop sucking my thumb. The carrot didn't work, though, and they brought out the stick: Thumb Medicine. As a wee lass who found solace in her thumb, I would run and hide from Mama when she caught me sucking my thumb. Sometimes she'd catch me and put the Thumb Medicine on my thumb, and it burned my mouth--it was acrid stuff. I had a few hiding places I was certain she hadn't found yet. Hiding behind the coats and shoes in the hall closet, though, had lost its luster and novelty.

I moved on to nail-biting. I bit my nails down to the quick. Then I gnawed on the skin around my fingertips. In my opinion, (though, at age four no one seemed to care about my opinion), nail-biting was a much worse habit than thumb sucking. I mean I didn't know of any adults (ie, my parents' friends) who were still sucking their thumbs. If my Mama and Daddy weren't harassing me about the thumb sucking, it probably would have run its course. But I hadn't fully committed to giving up on thumb sucking, and I hadn't fully become entrenched in nail biting.

Mama's friend came over and brought her son with her. He was a little younger than I was, and he was still sucking his thumb, and no one was nagging him about it. "Stevie, do you ever get in trouble for sucking your thumb?"

"Brie, here's how it goes. I gave them the option of letting me suck my thumb versus constantly checking on my man bits to ensure they're still present. They opted for the thumb sucking. Your fallback option has to be way worse than thumb sucking. If you can find a terrible alternative, you mom and dad should quit hassling you."

"I don't know, Stevie. They seem to be pretty hip to my not-so-hidden agenda. Hey! Are you asking for the new Lincoln Logs for Christmas?"

"I think I'm going for Legos. Seems the options are endless. You can build just about anything. I want to build a cot for naps. It would be the coolest. All the red, white, blue, yellow, grey, and black. I think I'd be the only kid to build a very specific, precisely engineered Lego sleep apparatus."

"Indeed," I said. "Hey, are your mama and daddy still talking to you in third person? Mine are, and I laugh every time they do it because they sound idiotic."

"'Does Mommy sound like she's being funny, Stevie,'" he imitated his mom.

Then I imitated mine. "'You aren't going to like it when Mama gets angry. Mama doesn't suck her thumb.' When she lobbed that one at me, I wanted to ask her if someone chased her around the house with Thumb Medicine. I also wanted to ask her where this other Mama was hiding and encourage her to speak to me in first person."

"Brie, you can't do that. You have to let them keep talking to us like babies. You cannot upset the balance that might end in our getting fewer Christmas presents. They won't get us all the toys if they think we're too old or savvy for toys. And I am here to tell you, I will tolerate a lot of ridiculous parental mismanagement of English in exchange for better toys."

"I see your point. I guess I'm going to have to give up the thumb sucking. Will you put Band-Aids on my thumbs? I can't amputate them off because that would be really, really horrible, but I can make it difficult to put them in my mouth."

Stevie and I went into the bathroom, and we put the step stool in front of the vanity to get to the Band-Aids behind the mirror. Then we heard Stevie's mom, "Stevie? Stevie? Where are you? Mommy needs to be able to see you at all times. Mommy is worried."

Stevie raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes as he carefully secured the second Band-Aid to my thumb. "See what I mean? I have to put up with my parents talking like that. But it's worth it for the toys."

We exited the bathroom, and Stevie's mom said, "Stevie, what were you and Brie doing in the bathroom. Mommy doesn't think little boys and girls should be going to the bathroom at the same time. Remember how Mommy and Daddy talked about boy and girl parts?" Stevie turned ten shades of red.

"Mommy, I was helping Brie with some Band-Aids. She's getting rid of a bad habit and needed my help. You know here mommy chases her around with Thumb Medicine. You don't chase me around at all, and I'm very grate...um, happy about that."

"Oh, you poor little dear," Stevie's mom said to me, squatting down to make eye contact and shaking her head like I was just the sorriest little girl she had ever met. "Mrs. Chandler would never chase you or Stevie for thumb sucking. Why--I don't know any grownups who suck their thumbs. But that's just between us."

They left our house, and I showed Mama my thumbs. "Mama is so proud of you, Brie. You have destroyed an addictive habit. Would you like to go to the store to pick out a toy?"

And ding-dang. Stevie was right. Who was I to destroy my access to toys? All I had to do was make this habit go away (even though I replaced it with a fully repugnant habit, my yia yia said). I picked out the new Lincoln Logs, and Mama bought me the softest pajamas. It seemed like a decent trade...for now.