So here’s the thing. I may be young but I am far from stupid (ever wondered why I turn off the waterworks as soon as you pick us up? Ha, and you think there’s actually something wrong with me. As if.) Anyway, in a similar vein, sticking a piece of silicone (however ‘silky’ it is, MAM), into my mouth in the desperate hope that it will make like the Americans and pacify me is, quite frankly, ludicrous. I mean, how dumb do you think I really am?

Very, if the name alone is anything to go by. I mean, talk about adding insult to injury. Could you not have come up with a better title for the contraption to at least pretend you don’t think I’m a moron? And America, before you get all excited, ‘pacifier’ is hardly much better – think about it; have you ever come across a baby that wants to be quiet?

Which leads me on the crux of this rant, really. If I’m crying, I’m crying for a reason. Either I want milk, cuddles, sleep, cuddles or, on rare occasions, even cuddles. Contrary to popular belief (yes, even you Gina), a baby will never be crying for a piece of plastic – unless, of course, that plastic yields milk of any kind (and no, I’m not fussed where it comes from – but I’ll leave that for another day).

Getting sucked into these multi-million pound marketing ploys which promise to solve all your baby-related problems with a piece of plastic? Really? If anyone’s the dummy around here, mum, it’s you.

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