Daily Excerpt: I Love My Kids, But I Don't Always Like Them (F. Bagdade) - Introduction

 

excerpt from I Love My Kids, But I Don't Always Like Them by Franki Bagdade

Introduction

            The sound of your newborn baby crying for the first-time echoes in your brain forever. During the many months leading up to the birth, you dreamt of who that boy or girl would be, what they would look like and how it would feel when they became part of your family. Then suddenly, in a one moment frozen in time, that vision became real and alive, in the form of a helpless smush of a baby.

“I got this.”

I was confident, and maybe even a little bit obnoxious, as a second-time mom. My almost two-year-old was on a tight sleep schedule, slept through the night consistently and was a pleasure. I told anyone who would listen, quite smugly I might add, that my first child gladly played by herself, while I happily scrolled through this new phenomenon called Facebook, answered emails, talked on the phone and read books. In fact, I often felt guilty complaining to my husband that I had too much time to myself, so I re-watched the original 90210 and joined a book club. I was living the mom dream!

I worked one day a week, doing educational testing for my former school, keeping myself current and in the loop. I was primarily a dedicated stay-at-home mom, and I was rocking it. I knew I was lucky to have a kid with a mild temperament, but I also thought I made it easy by reading all the right parenting books and following the advice. The idea of having another child, less than two years after we had our first, made perfect sense to me.

Flash forward 23 months––after we became parents for the second time. I was back in the hospital, flat on my back in the operating room, having my second C-section. In the most vulnerable of all positions, unable to see much at all, I heard that beautiful cry once again and watched the nurse hand this precious new baby to my husband.

“She looks just like your Uncle Rob,” Jeff said.

This one was blond, round, and feisty––like me––and she was all mine. We affectionally referred to her as my Mini Me! Our oldest started preschool two mornings a week immediately after my husband’s paternity leave ended, so I figured I’d still have plenty of time by myself to binge watch more shows. Of course, they would both nap, like clockwork, as I was an expert sleep trainer!

That first week, I invited a friend to hang out with me and Mini. It was just around that time when I began to notice something different about Kid #2. There was more crying than I remember. I figured I was just tired from waking up in the middle of the night, something I hadn’t done for a year and a half, so I shrugged it off.

While my friend visited, Mini constantly cried. She was not wet or poopy or hungry or even particularly tired. I asked my friend what I was missing. For sure this was “fixable,” and I just didn’t know Gabi’s different cries yet. My friend looked at me and smiled.

“You have a normal baby this time, Franki. This one will cry for no reason.”

I shrugged her off since I had read all those excellent books. I mean, I had a master’s degree in special education, for crying out loud, and I was adept at teaching children who had been kicked out of their home schools for misbehavior. I certainly wasn’t going to let a baby intimidate me, and definitely not my own!

However, I also knew my friend was right because Gabi did cry all the time, and for no reason! This was maddening and exhausting. I felt like a complete failure. I understood why my friends always exchanged weird looks as my oldest child, Ruby, sat happily in a high-chair, an Exersaucer or a stroller––for hours…as if she were born to chill. Maybe that was luck and not my parenting skills. Maybe that wasn’t normal?!?

Slowly, I started to see that things were different this time. My husband still recalls, with a look of fear in his eyes, how he used to get home from work, park his car in the driveway, and hear shrieking inside the house. He would have a moment each day, thankfully only a moment, when he wasn’t sure if he should get out of the car and set foot inside our home.

Prompted by Gabi’s incessant crying, I became obsessed with charting, tracking, and watching how she behaved. From my many years working with tough kids who could not control their emotions, I knew there had to be a reason behind her behavior, even as an infant. Once I was open to discovering these reasons and got over my anger at having such a cranky baby, I learned quite a few things about this smushy meatloaf of a human being.

Gabi became overstimulated really easily, and the only thing that could bring her back to zero was sleep. So, she took many naps. Not little cute naps in my arms, a stroller or a bouncy seat, like other babies. Friends kept trying to reassure me that babies this age didn’t need a nap schedule and they could just sleep anywhere.

I guess Gabi wasn’t briefed on this expectation, because that never happened for us! My daughter needed total silence and darkness in a crib. Thankfully, many of my friends had kids and a spare crib or two to lend us. While we visited and socialized, she managed to sleep all over town in other people’s cribs––never for long, but those short bursts of sleep erased whatever had over-stimulated her in the first place. Once she had her “baby power” nap, she would eat or play and appear to be quite content.

The smiles were there––I know because I have pictures to prove it––but when I close my eyes and remember that time and that baby, I see a straight-faced, no-party-tricks child. I remember watching little old ladies cooing at her in the shopping cart and their look of confusion as a blank-faced baby stared right back at them, unwilling to smile or budge.

I always had the feeling that my daughter had no interest in being a baby, certainly not an adorable one for strangers, and detested the lack of control that came with being temporarily stuck in that age and maybe in diapers, too. “I am not here to be cute for you!”

She made up for this frustration by crawling and walking early and gaining independence much faster than her people-pleasing delight of an older sister. When my friends complained about their babies and toddlers getting into everything as they became mobile, I was finally able to relax. Being “normal” felt like a welcome exception.

That little piece of heaven didn’t last long. My energetic Mini Me only liked me. This was not ideal when I desperately wanted help from my husband, a grandparent or a babysitter. However, this worked out perfectly when it was just the two of us, as we delightfully walked through the aisles of grocery stores, content with each other’s company. She would never run away from me and was so happy to walk on her own two feet. Thank God for small favors.

In fact, the “Terrible Twos” never arrived, and Gabi was a much easier toddler than a baby. Of course, this pattern developed while my formerly easy first child started to have some new needs of her own, and almost overnight I was forced to become a champion juggler of multiple childhood concerns. This happened more and more, day after day, until I felt as though I was juggling fire, on a unicycle, blindfolded, with one hand tied behind my back.

As Mini Me turned three, her crying became what I called “raging,” consistent, loud and brutal. At first, I thought it came out of nowhere. I now know that this is not true because there is always a pattern, and behavior is always communication, as my behavior modification philosophy has proven, though it took me several missteps to figure out what these tantrums were all about. At the time, though, her behavior felt nonsensical, unpredictable, and for sure, unnecessary. My collection of parenting books was no help, either.

I couldn’t reason my little independent (adult) three-year-old out of this pattern. After trying a few million assorted strategies (or maybe it just felt like that), including some I would never recommend, such as yelling, bribing, and making a show of crying myself, I decided to embark on a different approach. I chose to just let it happen, deliberately, but I refused to engage or become be part of her “stuff.”

I trained myself to calmly pick her up, hold her steady, look at her in the eyes and speak in a calm and even tone. “I see you’re crying, and you’re hurting my ears. Sit here (on this step, couch, cereal aisle, floor, etc.) until you’re totally calmed down and then I can help you.”

This technique worked miraculously. My friends stood back in horror and relief that their kids didn’t require this kind of response, but they were in awe of how it worked––every time. They were in awe, and I was relieved at a level I never knew existed.

One time, I was in a large grocery store when Gabi started melting down in the checkout line about candy or something. I gently put her on the floor next to me and totally ignored her crying. Let’s be real. She was screaming. Loudly. There’s no such thing as mellow screaming. I somehow heard the cashier and talked over my daughter’s imitation of a horror movie during the whole transaction. Eventually, due to some unknown miracle, my daughter’s rage turned into silent sniffles. The cashier looked back and forth between me and my sniffling child. Then she said one of the most significant things I’ve ever heard during my mommying career.

“Ma’am, I see a lot of parenting going on in this store,” she said, “and that was the best I’ve ever encountered.” I will forever be grateful for her validation, which was more important to me than she will ever know. That single sentence clicked right away and told me I was on to something. Soon after that encounter, I started to realize that my combination of life experiences actually added up to something, and that maybe what I found to work effectively with Gabi could help other parents or teachers.

From then on, I actually looked forward to going grocery shopping.

My inclination to help other parents came from being a child growing up with ADHD and anxiety; my training as an educator and then a special education teacher and consultant; my experience in the classroom with children who have special needs; my consulting work supporting frustrated teachers, and then moving into the world of summer camps, when the behavior was all about social skills and independence.

Taken all together, along with my own recent parenting challenges, I knew I was on the right track and that I wanted to help other families feel less helpless. I wanted all moms and dads out there to know that it was okay to struggle. I wanted them to know that you can love your child fiercely and not like them so much all the time.

Don’t worry, I never play favorites among my own children (or yours), and I feel this way from time to time about all three of mine! (Maybe don’t tell them, though, thank you.)

The fact that you are wondering right now if you are doing this parenting thing “right” and the fact that you picked up this book or any book to try and parent better, means that you are already a great parent. Things can get better, though, and more consistent and even predictable, and you can learn to enjoy living with your tough one. I want to help.

Let’s begin with how to read this book. Each chapter describes the steps I use and the questions I ask myself daily as a mom, as a consultant, educator, and frankly, as a human being, when I encounter difficult behavior. This helps me to genuinely enjoy people. It helps me to enjoy my kids more, too, but not always, and that’s okay! Remember, you are not a monster if you think your supposedly adorable baby is not so adorable. That applies to toddlers, too, and the beat goes on.

Each chapter focuses on a different topic, weaved together with our stories––told as creative fiction, or fables, if you will, inspired by cold hard facts. Each story is based on my history as a teacher, consultant, camp director, mom and more. In order to protect the privacy of my students, clients and my own kids, each child and parent is a combo of those I have worked with throughout my 20+ year career.

What if you need help now? What if you are liking your kid very little these days? First of all, it’s okay to feel that way. You are not a bad person and you are not alone! It can get better. I recommend reading chapters one and six right away and then you can pick and choose the other ones according to which ones are a good fit for your particular parenting dilemma(s).

Don’t forget: if you are questioning if you are a good mom or dad…you are!

Franki's book was selected as IAN Book of the Year

For more posts about Franki and her book, click HERE.

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