Parenting can often feel like a relentless assault on the senses. It all begins with intense pain and chronic exhaustion. Your culinary delights are replaced with cold, uninspired meals as you scramble to get the kids to bed. Your once-stylish living room transforms into a chaotic landscape of plastic toys that clash with any semblance of aesthetic taste you might have had. Your olfactory senses become hyper-aware, interpreting every odor as a cue for imminent chaos, demanding that you pull the car over immediately. And then there are the new tactile experiences: like the first time my son decided to use the bathtub as his personal toilet. I turned to my partner, bewildered, and asked, “Was it at least one big piece?” His somber response was, “Let’s just say all textures were represented.”
However, the most challenging aspect for me has been the incessant noise.
Take, for instance, our local park’s sandbox. My toddler loves to flip a pail upside down and scrape it along the top of the concrete wall that surrounds the sandbox. The sound is akin to nails on a chalkboard combined with a dentist’s drill. Every 14 seconds, he drags that bucket, and I instinctively jam my fingers into my ears. It’s a sound that interrupts any adult conversation I’m trying to have on the bench. If given the choice, I’d rather listen to a high-pitched siren than that grating noise.
When discussing parenting, we often touch on topics like the lack of family leave, sleep deprivation, feeding routines, and discipline, all of which are undeniably important. Yet, no one seems to address the relentless onslaught of noise—from those midnight cries of an infant to the plastic “musical” toys that relatives love to gift, which only play the same tune on repeat. (Trust me, a gift of cash would be far quieter.)
My latest noise dilemma involves the kitchen chairs. My 2-year-old’s new favorite pastime is “making a train,” which means pushing the chairs away from the table into a line. This creates an unbearable scraping noise, reminiscent of an out-of-tune trumpet mixed with the sound of a dentist’s tools. I’ve tried using felt pads on the bottom of the chairs, but with our old, splintering floor, they come off at the slightest nudge. So, I’m left with at least one chair leg dragging across the hardwood, screeching its displeasure. I’ve dropped ladles and half-chopped garlic as my son, from behind me, suddenly shoves a chair across the floor, causing me to shout, “Gaaahhhhh, that is too loud!”
The phrase “that is too loud” has become my daily mantra, uttered perhaps 40 times a day. It leaves me feeling guilty. My two boys need to run, play, and make noise. Sometimes, they even invent rambunctious games, like pretending to be hyperactive squirrels at dinner, or creating a symphony of clinks and clatters with their forks and potatoes.
I admit, I might have heightened sensitivity to sound. I’ve considered the possibility of hyperacusis, a condition that heightens one’s sensitivity to certain frequencies. Some sounds—particularly the combination of scraping and high-pitched squeals—can leave me feeling utterly overwhelmed. I’ve learned to carry earplugs everywhere, from public transit to concerts.
But here’s the kicker: I genuinely dislike this aspect of myself. Ideally, I wish for a quieter world, where my children don’t create new noise levels or kick grocery bags just to provoke me. Yet, I also wish I weren’t so sensitive. It makes me feel high-strung when I have to scold them at the dinner table for being “too loud.” My grandmother was notoriously noise-sensitive, and I remember cautiously moving chairs in her presence to avoid her ire. I don’t want my kids to feel they have to tiptoe around me; they are still young, and I want them to enjoy their laughter and fun.
But this is our reality. We all have quirks we must adapt to, whether it’s a child’s bathroom mishap or a parent’s noise sensitivity. Perhaps, in the grand scheme, my kids will thrive in quieter careers—like librarians.
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Summary
Parenting is a sensory overload, particularly when it comes to noise. From the chaos of the park to the kitchen, the constant sounds can be overwhelming. While it’s essential for children to express themselves, parents often struggle with their own sensitivities. Adapting to these challenges is part of the parenting journey, and finding humor and understanding can help navigate this noisy adventure.
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