Parenting Insights
When my first child was just three weeks old, I reached out to my lactation consultant. “Is it, um, typical for him to cry for hours at a time? Because he does, and… I’m just curious, is that a normal newborn thing?” She paused and replied flatly, “No, it’s not normal.” That was the extent of her response. No further explanation, no guidance on what to do next, no mention of colic or reflux. I was left feeling like I had somehow broken my baby. My little one wasn’t “normal.”
That moment marked the start of my complicated relationship with the term “normal” as a parent. “Please tell me this is normal,” I often hear from friends, and we exchange these words frequently. They carry such weight. What we really want to know is, Am I on the right track? Am I overlooking something? Should I consult a pediatrician? Or maybe even a therapist? Is this just a phase, or should I be seriously concerned?
I strive to do my best, yet being a confident parent in today’s world feels incredibly challenging. I often envy my mother’s approach; she simply did what was conventional, and everything seemed to work out fine. Parenting in the ’70s felt less fraught with self-doubt. Back then, every decision—whether to breastfeed or use cloth diapers—wasn’t scrutinized as a political statement. The choice between organic foods or BPA-free bottles felt like a class issue. Today, even as my children grow older, I’m consumed with worries about test preparation, educational choices, and extracurricular activities. Regardless of my decisions, I always sense judgment from somewhere.
However, the real challenges I encounter as my kids mature are often those that go beyond tangible decisions like diaper types or drinkware. The toughest issues are those we hesitate to discuss openly, the less visible aspects of being a parent. For instance, one of my children had a particularly tumultuous three-year-old phase, characterized by intense meltdowns. He would lash out, and I often found myself needing to hold him down just to protect myself until he calmed down. That’s not something you casually bring up at a playdate or during a game night. “Hey, does anyone else have a kid who’s prone to violence? Did you find time-outs just as ineffective as I do when he’s trying to bite my hand?”
Similarly, when I recognized that one of my boys truly needed speech therapy, it was hard to know how to explain that to my friends. “Oh, we can’t make it to playgroup because… well, nobody, including my husband and I, can understand what our kid is saying. Even though he looks older, he sounds like a toddler, so he has to attend therapy every week.” Conversations about a child needing “HELP” can make people uncomfortable, even for something as common as speech therapy. It seems there’s an unspoken rule that we shouldn’t admit when our children need assistance—or when we do. Meanwhile, my mind races with questions: Is his speaking delay linked to the emergency induction I had at 37 weeks? If I had gone to triage sooner, would he be okay? Is this all part of the normal spectrum? Will he eventually speak clearly and no one will ever know about his struggles?
Over the years, I’ve fretted over countless issues—big and small. Is it normal that one of my kids struggled to read smoothly and wrote some letters and numbers backward well into kindergarten? Should a three-year-old really wake up trembling from night terrors? Is it abnormal that he still experiences this at eight? Is it typical for one child to be fascinated with his anatomy while the other shows no interest at all? Is it normal for one to be so competitive that he can’t handle losing, while another is so stubborn that no consequence affects him? And what about my own feelings— is it normal to lose my temper quickly, to cry easily, to worry excessively?
I’ve come to realize that “normal” encompasses a vast array of experiences when it comes to children and that parenting resembles more of a creative writing exercise than a precise math equation. Instead of following a single correct path to find answers, I ponder, experiment, interpret, and reinterpret the experiences until I carve out my own understanding and solutions. Parenting feels like an essay question rather than a straightforward problem to solve. However, much like in some of my college courses, I sometimes encounter concepts that feel foreign or complex, leaving me adrift. It’s during these moments that I feel most isolated. I have to carefully choose whom I can confide in about my struggles, ensuring they won’t judge either me or my children for our perceived shortcomings or unusual quirks. I even need to feel safe asking the questions in the first place. That’s when I crave reassurance that what I’m experiencing is “normal.”
The true fears often invade my thoughts at night, robbing me of sleep: what if none of this is normal? What would that imply? Can I rectify it? Because at the end of the day, when I plead, “Please tell me this is normal,” what I’m really expressing is, “I just don’t want to mess up the most important people in my life.”
For more insights on this topic, check out this article or explore this guide for essential information on the journey of parenthood. For a comprehensive resource on pregnancy, visit Healthline.
In conclusion, parenting is a uniquely challenging journey filled with questions about what is considered normal. Embracing this ambiguity can help us navigate the complexities of raising children while fostering a supportive community.
Keyphrase: Parenting challenges and normality
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