When my firstborn was three weeks old, I called my lactation consultant. “Is it, um, normal for him to cry, like, for hours at a time? Because he does, and… uh, I am just wondering, is that normal? Just what a newborn does?” She paused, then answered simply, “No, it’s not normal.” That was all she said. She didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer me any advice on how to proceed, didn’t talk about colic or reflux. I was left hanging, wondering how I had managed to break my child already. My baby wasn’t “normal.”
That was only the beginning of my tenuous relationship with the word “normal” as a parent. “Please tell me this is normal,” my friends and I say to each other. Regularly. They are loaded words. What we are really asking is, Am I doing this right? Am I missing something? Do I need to call a pediatrician? Do I need to call a psychologist? Do I need to chill out? Is this a phase, or is this for real?
I try my best, but it is very, very hard to be a confident parent in this age. I envy my mother, who just did what everybody did and it all worked out somehow. Parenting seemed less self-conscious back in the ’70s. Especially when I was a newer parent, everyone was up in my business. It was not just a choice to breastfeed or cloth diaper; it was a political statement. Organic food or fancy, BPA-free bottles or sippy cups were class issues. Whether our kids played with cheap plastic toys made in China or expensive, safe, green toys made in Germany reflected upon our parenting. Now that my kids are older, it’s time to worry about test prep and school options and extracurriculars. No matter what I do with my children, I feel judged somehow by someone.
But the real struggles, I have found as my kids aged, are not over tangible choices like diapers or cups. The really hard things are the ones we don’t want to talk about with just anyone, the intangibles of parenthood. One of my children, for example, was an extremely tough three-year-old. He had out-of-control temper meltdowns with me; he hit and kicked and I ended up having to straddle him and hold him down just to defend myself until he could calm down. That isn’t the kind of thing you just bring up casually at playgroup or Bunco. “Hey, does anyone else have a violent kid who strikes her? Did you find time-outs as useless as I do when the kid is trying to bite your hand off? Anyone?”
Similarly, when I came to terms with the fact that one of my boys really did need speech therapy, it was hard to know what to say to my friends. “Oh, we can’t make playgroup because… well, because nobody including me and my husband can understand a dang thing out of my child’s mouth, and though he looks two years older than he is, he sounds like a baby, so he has to go to therapy every week.” People get hinky when it comes to talking about your child needing “HELP,” even for something as basic and functional and common as speech therapy. It’s like we’re not supposed to admit that our children need help — or that we need help — sometimes. In the meantime, my internal dialogue runs overtime: Is he having trouble talking because he stopped moving in the womb and I had to have that emergency induction at 37 weeks? I waited 12 hours before going to triage that night — if I had gone in the night before instead, would he be okay? Is this within the normal range of issues? Will he someday speak clearly and easily and no one will ever know he went through this?
I worried about so many little — and so many big — things over the years. It’s normal, right, that one child didn’t really read fluidly and wrote some of his numbers and letters backwards well into kindergarten? Was it normal that a 3 year old woke up in the middle of the night shaking with night terrors? Is it normal that he still does it now at 8? Is it normal for my son to love his penis that much? Is it normal that the other one doesn’t touch his penis at all? Is it normal that one child cannot stand to lose a game, any game, to the point of losing his mind if he even falls behind? Is it normal for another child to be this defiant, this stubborn, that no consequence holds any power over him? Is it normal for a child to tell you he worries every single day at school that you might not pick him up and he will never see you again? And let’s not even get started on me — Is it normal for me to lose my temper so quickly, to cry so easily, to worry so much?
I have come to learn that “normal” has a broad definition when it comes to children, and that parenting is, for me, more like reading a book than solving a math problem. Instead of only having one “right” way to get an answer, with one “right” set of steps to follow to obtain that answer, I mull, experiment, interpret, and re-interpret the material over and over again until I develop my own point of view and my own solution. My parenting is an essay question, not a formula to solve. But, as with some of my college English classes, occasionally I stumble upon material that goes a little over my head or beyond my realm of experience, and I am a little lost out at sea. Unfortunately, that is when I feel most alone. I don’t know whom to trust or not to trust. I have to pick and choose who can handle my honesty and my requests for support. I have to know who won’t judge me, or judge my children, for our possible deficiencies or flaws or socially unacceptable quirks. I even need to know who won’t judge me for asking the questions in the first place. That’s when I most need to know that this is “normal.”
The real fear creeps in to my head at night and keeps me from sleeping: what if it really isn’t normal? What does that mean, exactly? Can I fix it? Because when all is said and done, what I really want to say when I plead, “Tell me this is normal,” is, “Please don’t let me screw up the most important people in the world to me.”
Being a perfect parent, doing it “right,” raising “normal” children. Maybe it’s all overrated. Maybe the beauty and the life is in the mess and the mistakes. My parents made tons of mistakes. But I don’t remember many, and the ones that I do, I remember with fondness and laughter. One thing that I am sure of, is that my shortcomings and flaws are mine, and my parents don’t own them.
But, I agree with you, that it has gotten more and more difficult to be a confident parent when there is judgement coming at you on multiple screens and from many fronts.
I loved this. We would all be so much better off if we could share our parenting worries with each other without fear of judgment. Thank goodness for blogs!
In a way I feel it’s even harder to parent now because of all this technology connecting us… on the one side it’s a life line, a life saver but on the other it can lead you to frustration when you see how everyone else is doing it. I find myself channeling and thinking of my grandma a lot when I parent in certain situation. And as much as I worry, this gives me comfort in a way… Going back to those simpler, matter of fact times knowing that I turned out okay and so eventually will my children.
I think that you’ve succumbed to the siren song of competitive hyperparenting. Put another way, you care deeply about your children’s outcomes, instead of being satisfied with merely doing a reasonable job as a parent. More troublingly, you hang out with others of similar ilk, both in person and online.
The near criminalization of mediocre parenting among the Ivy League set is an incredible turn-off for those of us who don’t want to be as good parents as you are; in effect, your problem is that all the 2010 analogues of the 1970s parents that your parents looked down on have chosen not to breed, as the emotional and time cost of doing so has grown to be unbearable. So you are now comparing yourself to a self-selected group of superparents, and, obviously, minor flaws will stand out.
The solution is obvious: stop making parenting hard for others — stop infantilizing young adults, don’t drive your kids to school, don’t check up on them every few minutes, let them fail classes, etc.. Relax a bit, and your kids, though possibly less academically successful, will be far better adjusted, and far more independent. More importantly, though, you’ll help induce more of your childless classmates to reproduce without fear of the shame of being a mediocre parent.
Allison, you spoke (wrote) my heart. When my now 3 year old was 2, and not really talking, being really picky with food, didn’t really like playing with other kids, was wary of weird things like big air conditioners, and having epic meltdowns, I didn’t think it wasn’t normal. I thought he was just being 2.
His speech delay is real. We were accidentally evaluated (I wrote a whole post about that), from which we emerged shell shocked when the doctor informed us (after a hasty, poorly-executed 2-hour session of mostly talking to us, and very little observation of him, and a few tests), that my boy is on the spectrum. Just two points short of classic autism. And I thought our difficulties (tantruming etc), was because of our inability to communicate effectively)
I know my son. I know he’s not “normal” in many ways, but he’s just like any other kid his age, in so many ways. He’s also extraordinary in other ways (counting to 20, more than a dozen colors, identifying 75 animal flash cards, reading words, all before 3 and no schooling). Is that “normal”? We rejected her ‘diagnosis’. We are treating him like a “normal” child. We are addressing his speech delay, his food pickiness (getting creative here!). We are mindful and present.
So, I guess, no, I don’t know what’s normal, I just know MY son. 🙂
Sorry for the blog post!
I love this, Allison, because what I hear is that over time you are learning to trust your instinct rather than the ‘experts,’ and I sort of think that is what parenting is about. “Normal” is so broad a definition as to be nearly meaningless, in my opinion, and we also see clearly that one child can be wildly different from another. For what it’s worth, my worry is that I am TOO candid about my childrens’ struggles (and I’ve written about that!) – when my son was in speech therapy I told everyone, and was shocked when their reaction was shhh, don’t say that, it’s private. Why? I didn’t understand. Or when my daughter missed the first day of kindergarten because she had lice, I said so. And people were appalled, and told me I ought to have lied and pretended it was a cold? Why? I think everybody has walls up and is working so damn hard to prove they are “normal” and in fact perfect … it makes me tired, and I refuse to play that game. xoxo
I love this personal, but ohmygoodness so, so very universal, message.
We all need to hear – over and over and over again – that we’re not alone.
Wonderful, important post, friend.
Over time I have learned that normal is totally overrated. There are definitely days when I would love a little more normal but too much normal leaves you unaware of how good you have it.
I totally get the “please don’t let me screw this up” feeling though. Somedays I look around and wish someone out there would just tell me what I’m supposed to do.
Well, we didn’t have a “normal” kid. And he was diagnosed as having high-functioning autism when he was 3. He’s now tested off the spectrum so he’s “normal.” Diagnosis or not, we would’ve had to, and still do have to, parent with a lot of intention and a stronger will than he has.
All I can say is follow you gut. You know your kids best. And I’m sorry you’ve had that “can’t talk about it” feeling. Totally been there. But there are a bunch of us out here who kids are similar. Take care.
Thank you for this very honest piece. You always speak the truth. That is why I adore your posts.
Hi hun,
I couldn’t read your post and not respond. I found you through the mamamia site. I want to send you a huge hug. I completely understand your feelings. I have a child who, like yours, just didn’t seem to be doing what the other kids were doing from the time they were small. As this child was my oldest I had no clue what was ‘normal’ and like you would seek out this information from the people who were supposed to know. They didn’t have green skin, and three horns, or anything overtly obvious, but everything just seemed so much harder for us than it was for the other kids in our Mums group. I thought I must be just such a failure when everyone else around me seemed to do it so much easier. Funnily enough one of the most freeing moments for me was one day when I said to my mother in sheer frustration and exhaustion ‘is it supposed to be this hard to get them to talk’ and she turned to me and finally said ‘no, it’s not’. It made me realise that it wasn’t me that was creating this problem by doing a terrible job. That was a strange, but huge, relief. Several years down the track (my daughter is now 9) we know that we aren’t ‘typical’ – I prefer this word to ‘normal’ as to say we aren’t normal implies something is wrong with us. We are just not ‘typical’! My child falls through the cracks in a way that your little guy might be in that she doesn’t fit any particular diagnosis, but she definitely has issues. Along the way we have had mini diagnoses (like language disorder, ataxia, sensory processing disorder etc) but I think she most closely fits the Autism spectrum. She doesn’t quite fit it enough to get a diagnosis – girls are known for being harder to diagnose than boys. Her difficulties most closely line up with this diagnosis.
We are Mums that, in our hearts, know something isn’t right. That’s why we keep asking is it normal. This means you are doing a good job!
The thing is that there are things you can do to help, and sometimes just understanding why they are reacting, or the things that they don’t understand that they need explained to them can help lower your own stress levels and those of your child. Understanding that it is basically about how their bodies are wired up, rather than that it is something the child is willfully doing, or that you must be doing wrong, helps us to feel better about things and approach them differently. Kids on the spectrum are completely individual and all affected in different ways, and there is no one fix, but understanding can help you to start in the right direction for what your individual miracle needs. Getting the right kind of assistance (whether it is family support, support at school, therapy etc) can make a big difference to the quality of all your lives.
When I beat myself up about ‘what if I had done X differently’ I found that reminding myself that if the most neglected kids of drug dealers, etc can turn out ok, we are probably overestimating just how much we are able to do to ‘damage’ our kids when they are brought up in loving homes. If those kids can turn out pretty ok, then I’m sure a loving attentive parent is limited in the damage that they can cause!
I don’t want to make the situation worse for you by attempting the impossibility of diagnosing something over the internet – that would be plain wrong, and only cause you more worry when it may be completely untrue. I am also not a medical professional in any form – I am just a Mum who is hearing and listening from experience. Can I please suggest though that you go to your GP, or a psychologist, or ASPECT (Autism Spectrum Australia) to find out more for sure. Best case scenario, they say there is nothing wrong. Worst case you find out that there is a reason why your wonderful little man acts as he does, and you can find out how to help him so that your day to day life can start to improve. Temple Grandin said it best ‘I’m different, not less!’. It is ok to be different – it does not mean you are any less. With or without a diagnosis, your little guy is still the amazing little guy you know.
I hope this helps. I know that sometimes reading a post like this can be terrifying, other times it can be a huge relief, depending on our state of mind at the time. You probably have my email address now from posting this, so I would invite you to use it if you would like to, if I can be of any help. My daughter is about the same age as your son. Again – big hugs. You aren’t alone, no matter how much it feels like it sometimes.