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Living With a Strong-Willed Child Nancy H. Rosenberg Publishing Information Published on June 2000 Published by Parenthood.com I knew I had a strong-willed child on my hands before my daughter was even three months old. Despite my motherly urges to cuddle, Hannah was happier on her own, observing the world around her bassinet with huge blue eyes. I'd pick her up to snuggle and she'd fuss, strain, then lean away with frustrated yelps. She wasn't even an enthusiastic nurser: she'd suckle for a while then look around hungrily for the nearest bottle. It was my fault: in an effort to escape the postpartum exhaustion--then depression--that I suffered with my first child, I enlisted my husband to help with feeding baby #2. It worked, then backfired: I got my sleep, but Hannah learned to love the bottle way before I was ready to stop nursing. And her quest for independence only got more fierce. It wasn't long before she was wanting to hold her own bottle. At night, I'd long to rock her to sleep, but my attempts were thwarted at every turn. She's wiggle, squirm, kick, and twist until I had no choice but to lay her down. Once I put her down, she'd suck her fingers, grab her bunny, and I could almost hear the words, "Thanks, Mom--that'll be all for now." "How could this happen?" I'd moan to my husband. "How could I have a child who won't cuddle?" I'm the tactile, touchy-feely sort--I need sensory stimulation, and snuggling into babies and all their soft stuff is right up there with milk chocolate and hot-oil massage. Sign me up. Her desire to be unhampered, unimpeded, manifests itself in lots of inconvenient ways. Changing her diaper takes an act of Congress, and she glares at me the whole time I subject her to such indignity. Ditto for bath time; the restraint of the baby seat just ticks her off. Don't even mention the car seat; she kicks and strains from the minute I head towards the car, though I've learned that she can be distracted fairly successfully with choice snacks and morsels. As a result, the interior of my car now looks like the floor of a movie theater at midnight. As a newborn, when my best friend saw her for the first time, she commented, "She has old eyes." And I knew exactly what she meant. She looks at you, then looks through you. I wonder a million times a day what on earth this child must be thinking; judging from the look in her eyes, it must be very, very important. Her steadfast gaze can be disconcerting to strangers. Most don't even try to make her smile; they comment on her beautiful blue eyes, then duck their heads and scurry away as she fixes them with a cold stare. She's only 15 months old, but this kid can be downright intimidating. Recently, my parents kept the girls for a few days while my husband and I took a quick business trip. When I called to check on them, I could hear Hannah barking orders in the background. When I picked them up my father scooped up Hannah, who immediately began squirming to be put down, and said, "This one, she's a Triple Type-A personality!" I think he hit the nail on the head. The toys she chooses are another source of amazement; this baby girl likes balls and trucks, and her only use for dolls is to wheel them around in the back of a bulldozer. I shake my head, baffled but bemused. I've given birth to a cranky alien who likes trucks. Just when I'd given up hope of cuddling and snuggling and having sensory bonding experiences, one of my friends said something that stopped me in my tracks. "Oh, my daughter used to be the same way as a baby. She'd never let me cuddle, but now I can't get her off me--she cuddles all the time!" (Her daughter is now seven.) My ears perked up. Hooray, I cheered inside, and I did a little mental victory shimmy. Maybe this is just a phase. Maybe I'll wake up one day to Hannah climbing into bed with me, just to snuggle. Maybe we'll wear dents in the couch, reading about Peter Rabbit and Winnie the Pooh, while she plucks at my sleeve and lays her tousled head on my shoulder. In the meantime, I'll give her space and freedom and all the independence I can muster. Who knows? Maybe this is what a baby CEO looks like. I'll appreciate her spirit, so different from my own, and try my best to give her room. And I think I'd better learn to like trucks.  |
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