Miciah The Tyrant

Miciah is now 10 1/2 years old, and life with her has been pretty calm for the last 5 years or so.  I'm considering this a breather - a much-needed break.  Here's the story of Miciah the Tyrant.  (Fair warning:  It's long.)

Miciah, 3 days old

Miciah was born screaming.  No joke.  The very first comment from the doctor, after he cut her out of my belly, was, "Wow.  She has a good set of lungs."  I thought, "This is comforting?  She's screaming bloody murder!"  And she didn't stop screaming for 9 months.

At least that's how long it seemed.  When I look back at what I wrote at the time, it was really only 3 months of colic, which I used to think was a term parents used to explain a mildly fussy child.  Now when I hear a parent talk about a colicky child, I want to cry for them and instantly ask to watch their child.  Here's how a typical day would go down:

I was at home with Miciah all day.  She was generally happy, like a normal baby, even though she demanded to be held while she was sleeping.  I didn't mind this - she was my first baby.  Then, all Hell broke loose around 6 pm, while Rob was at work.  She would scream if I held her.  She would scream if I put her down.  She would scream if I fed her.  ...  She just screamed and screamed and I didn't know why, and I couldn't fix it.  (Immediate First Lesson of Parenting learned:  I am not in control.)  At 10 pm I would pick up Rob from work, look at him and say, "She's your daughter.  I will hurt her if you make me hold her again."  An hour or so later she would stop screaming and go to sleep.  I would spend another hour decompressing.

And repeat.

It was Hellish, but short-lived.  And I don't want to hear about how I was a first-time parent and didn't know what I was doing and so blah blah blah.  ...  Honestly.  If you haven't been there, you don't know anything.  It was a very, very difficult time for me and for Rob and, I'm sure, for Miciah, too.

When she grew up a little, she started figuring out freedoms like walking and talking, but always too slowly for her liking.  She learned how to walk and so insisted on walking EVERYWHERE, even if I was in a hurry or she was walking in the wrong direction.  At 1 years old, Miciah and I started fighting.  We fought for the next 4 years of her life.  The fights themselves changed over time, of course, but the state of fighting was constant.  Every day.  (And repeat.)  Some of the fights:

- She needed nap times.  When she screamed for an hour every time and then wouldn't go to bed until 1 in the morning, I finally gave it up.  She was 2.  She fought for 6 months.  She STILL stayed up until 1 in the morning.

- Here's a good one I remember from when she was 18 months old.  She was at grandma's house being babysat.  I needed to go somewhere on a schedule.  She wanted to see a neighbor's dog before we left.  I told her we didn't have time.  She screamed the ENTIRE car ride home and then for another 20 minutes once we were home.  A total of 45 minutes.  Because she couldn't see a stranger's dog.

- We fought a lot in the car.  She wanted to listen to something, not listen to something, talk to me about something, not talk to me about something, go somewhere, not go somewhere.  I would tell her I was done and she would scream at me.  We'd have loudness contests.  I'd turn up the radio.  She'd scream louder.  I'd turn up the radio some more AND yell, "La la la, I can't hear you."  She'd scream louder.  This was very healthy, as you can tell.

- We'd go to the Children's Museum.  I'd say, "Miciah, we'll go where you want and then go where Elijah wants."  She'd agree to that.  Then, after a good amount of time, we'd say it was time to go to Elijah's place, and she'd throw a tantrum.  It didn't matter if we did her place first or second.  It didn't matter if I threatened to leave if she didn't stop AND THEN FOLLOWED THROUGH!  This happened almost every single time we went.

- In fact, going anywhere with her usually resulted in a screaming fit (and radio loudness match) on the way home.  She wouldn't put her shoes on to go out to the car.  I told her she'd want her shoes on, cause it was snowing.  She refused.  I told her that she'd have to walk barefoot, and she said she didn't care.  I pleaded with her.  Reasoned with her.  Nothing worked.  And then she'd scream because she was walking to the car barefoot.

- She'd come home from pre-school and then throw a fit because I wouldn't let her have something in particular to eat.  Sometimes this was because we didn't have said item in the house.  She would proceed to throw a fit for 2 hours, screaming full-on the entire time.  I'd call Rob and say, "What am I supposed to do?"  He'd say, "Resolve the problem."  I'd just laugh bitterly.  "This isn't about the food!  It's about Miciah being crazy!  She's been screaming for an hour and a half!"  ...  He was finally home one day to witness the epic fits for himself.  Afterwards he gave me an apology.  I accepted it.

- She'd demand lunch RIGHT THIS MINUTE even if that was the first time she was asking.  "Mom, I TOLD YOU I wanted lunch!"  "Miciah, this is the first time you've asked me, and I'm busy right this second folding laundry.  I can make you something in a minute."  She'd scream / pout / talk to me demandingly some more right up until the food was in front of her.  Then half of the time she'd tell me that she didn't want what she'd asked for 20 minutes before, or complain about how I'd made the food.

It was like that every single day from the time Miciah was born until she was 4 1/2 or 5 years old.  Some sort of trauma/drama.  Sometimes many a day, if she was having a particularly smashing day.  We say that she had the "Terrible Twos" from birth until 5.  People just laugh when we say that, but it wasn't funny to go through.  And I know I'm a mom, and I love being a mom, but I did not like Miciah.  Her and I were not friends.  I was her mother, and I love her now as I did then, but some days the best I could do was not beat her.

And then, she calmed down.  I started gradually noticing that she wasn't needing so many time-outs.  She wasn't screaming so often / long / intensely.  She was singing along to the radio in the car.  She was turning her life around.  I know, that's super silly sounding, cause she was only 5.  But I learned pretty quick that Miciah was only going to do what Miciah was going to do.  My only prayer was convincing her that some things made sense to do and some things did not.  "Screaming only hurts you, Miciah.  The rest of us get to do stuff we want while you sit in your room for an hour screaming."


My theory on what changed:  The independence she craved was finally being met.  Miciah would run the entire household, if I turned things over to her.  She likes to be in charge.  But you can't be in charge when you're 2, even if you really, really want to be.  It takes time to come into your own.  Miciah was impatient with the process.  When she finally had the ability to do what she wanted to do enough of the time, things got better for her.  For instance, when Miciah was 5 she started making her own lunch.  What she wanted, when she wanted it, and she could "make it right."  Win for everyone!

People don't talk about this side of parenting.  I think part of the reason is because a lot of people don't have a child like Miciah.  Elijah and Teancom didn't do that.  They were calm, pleasant babies and happy toddlers, with normal baby / toddler issues.  I counted my blessings every single day with both of my boys.  I don't know if I would have survived 2 Miciahs.

I think another reason we don't talk about it is because we're trying to stay positive.  During those years Miciah was fun.  She was a TON of fun!  She was independent and creative and charming and articulate.  But those were hard, hard years.  Just like there's no denying all the good stuff, there's no denying the bad, either.

So, to sum-up.  Lessons Learned From Parenting Tyrant Miciah:
1 - I am not in control.
2 - God made babies cute so parents don't kill them.
3 - I am not an authority as a parent.
4 - It's okay to call in back-up.
5 - Sometimes not beating your children means it was a successful day.
6 - Don't make lunch.

Have I told you that she's a delightful child now?  She's wonderful.  Seriously amazing.  And she thinks it's funny when we occasionally tell her how horrid she was as a baby and toddler.  When I tell other people now that she used to scream for hours at a time, they are shocked.  I just smile.  Those days are long gone.  ...  But I sense the boomerang is returning to base.  Teenage trauma/drama?  ...  Bring it on.

Miciah - 2010