When my first child was just three weeks old, I found myself on the phone with my lactation consultant. “Is it typical for him to cry for hours on end? Because he does, and… well, I’m just curious, is this what a newborn does?” There was a long pause before she replied, “No, that’s not normal.” That was it. No further explanation, no guidance on what to do next, and certainly no mention of colic or reflux. I was left feeling like I had somehow failed my child. My baby wasn’t “normal.”
This marked the beginning of my complicated relationship with the term “normal” as a parent. “Please tell me this is normal,” my friends and I often exchange, and I can assure you, these words carry heavy implications. Beneath the surface, we’re really asking: Am I on the right path? Am I overlooking something crucial? Should I consult a pediatrician? A psychologist? Do I need to relax? Is this just a phase, or is it something more serious?
I strive to be a confident parent, but it’s an uphill battle in today’s climate. I often find myself envying my mother’s straightforward approach to parenting in the ‘70s. Back then, it felt like everyone just followed the norm and somehow made it work. Parenting today seems so judgment-laden. It’s not merely about choosing to breastfeed or use cloth diapers; those choices have become political statements. The type of food we choose, whether organic or processed, or the toys we select—cheap plastic options or pricier, eco-friendly choices—reflect our parenting styles. Now that my children are older, I’m faced with the pressures of test preparation, school choices, and extracurricular activities. No matter how I navigate this landscape, it feels like someone is always watching and judging.
However, the real challenges I’ve encountered as my kids have grown are not about tangible choices like diapers or feeding methods. The most daunting issues are the ones that aren’t readily discussed—the emotional and psychological aspects of parenthood. For instance, one of my children had an incredibly challenging phase at three years old. He experienced wild temper tantrums; I often found myself having to physically restrain him just to protect myself until he calmed down. That’s not exactly a conversation starter at playdates or social gatherings. “Hey, does anyone else have a child who throws punches? Did you find time-outs as ineffective as I did when he tries to bite your hand off?”
Similarly, when I accepted that one of my boys genuinely needed speech therapy, I struggled to explain it to my friends. “Oh, we can’t join playgroup because… well, no one, including my husband and me, can understand what he says. He looks older than he is, but his speech is still very baby-like, so he has to go to therapy weekly.” Discussing a child’s need for “help”—even for something as common as speech therapy—makes people uncomfortable. It seems we’re not supposed to acknowledge that our children might need assistance—or that we might need it ourselves. Meanwhile, my mind races with questions: Is his speech delay due to my emergency induction at 37 weeks? If I had gone to triage earlier, would things be different? Is this issue within the boundaries of “normal”? Will he eventually speak clearly, and no one will know he faced these challenges?
Over the years, I’ve worried about countless minor and major issues. Is it normal if one child struggles with reading fluency and writes letters backward in kindergarten? Is it normal for a three-year-old to wake up screaming from night terrors? What about the fact that my son still experiences them at eight? Is it normal for one child to express an unusual fascination with his body, while another shows little interest? Is it normal for one child to lose control over any game he plays, while another is so defiant that no consequence seems to matter? Is it normal for a child to voice his daily fear of not being picked up from school and disappearing forever? And let’s not forget about me—Is it normal for me to lose patience quickly, cry easily, and constantly worry?
I’ve learned that “normal” is a fluid concept when it comes to children. Parenting resembles reading a complex book rather than solving a straightforward math problem. There’s rarely a single “right” answer or method; instead, I find myself analyzing, experimenting, and interpreting the situation over and over until I carve out my own perspective. Parenting is more like answering an essay question than a formulaic problem. Yet, just like some of those college courses, I occasionally encounter topics that feel overwhelming, leaving me adrift. At those moments, I feel isolated. I have to discern whom I can trust with my honesty and requests for support—who won’t judge me or my children for our quirks or perceived shortcomings. I need to find someone who won’t criticize me for even asking these questions in the first place. That’s when I most desperately seek reassurance that this is “normal.”
The real anxiety creeps in during the quiet of the night, preventing me from sleeping: what if it really isn’t normal? What does that entail? Can it be fixed? Ultimately, when I plead for someone to confirm, “This is normal,” what I truly mean is, “Please don’t let me mess up the lives of the most important people in my world.”
For further insights on parenting and challenges you may face, check out this post on the myths of protection. And if you’re looking for at-home insemination options, visit Make A Mom for quality kits. Also, consider the CDC’s pregnancy resource, which offers invaluable advice.
Summary:
Navigating the complexities of parenting often leaves us questioning what is “normal.” From the challenges of tantrums and speech delays to our own emotional struggles, the definition of normalcy is subjective and fluid. As we seek reassurance and support from others, we confront the fears of potentially failing our children. Understanding that parenting is less about rigid formulas and more about personal interpretation can help us find confidence in our unique journeys.
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