It Ain’t Easy Being Average

We went in on Friday for Maggie’s pre surgery physical assessment. It was what has become the routine exam. We discuss her medical history, breathing, medications etc. It went well, but the experience made me ponder a few things about my experiences with our older kids.

When our older kids went in to their well-child visits we would look at the growth chart, check their blood pressure and temperature and then go down the list of normal developmental milestones. Oh good night nurse, the dreaded milestones, and growth chart. For the first few years each of our first three kids all had larger than average heads and hung out at 10-15th percentile for height and weight. They tended to be lagging in the motor skill department but were always ahead of the game verbally. With my eldest I felt nervous, I felt the pressure of having an average or above average baby. When the second and third came along I realized that these charts, while helpful for some issues, are a considerable waste of worry.

When Maggie finished her assessment and they okayed us for surgery I realized that we had not gone over her growth chart. In fact, I realized the physicians had never once talked to me about where she fell on any chart in her 7 months of life. I went home and typed in her measurements and discovered she is in her own bracket. She is in the Maggie bracket, if you will.

The Maggie bracket is where it doesn’t matter where you are in comparison to other babies because “DANG MAGGIE! You put on weight and you are showing signs of better muscle coordination and you are such a happy little munchkin.” It is a breathe of fresh air. Maggie is in her own bracket where growth is celebrated. This bracket isn’t about how she is faring in reference to other kids but how she is doing compared to where she was a month ago.

A month ago, Maggie could barely hold her head up in tummy time now she readily lifts up her head to look about with confidence. A month or two ago Maggie would make vowel sounds and grasp her toys. This month she says “ya, ya” “da” and blows raspberries. She gives slobbery kisses and shakes her toys. She is developing on her own chart, on her own timeline, like every other person on earth.

This is true with each of our kids, but Maggie is the only one who is escaping the doctor’s charts and human averages. By having Apert Syndrome Maggie stands a better chance of getting a pat on the back for any area of growth and improvement. The rest of us will live a bit of a different story, we might not get approval and applause until we have exceeded expectations and surpassed others. We will likely get recognition when we can show that we have dominated something or someone. Our accomplishments are gauged by humans in comparison to other humans.

Maybe this is why we have so much depression, high suicide rates, and general lack of fulfillment in life. Maybe this is why we can get the feeling that what we do is never enough. Maybe we are trying to live up to a standard that isn’t attainable by everyone because success means that someone isn’t succeeding.

I can see this influence in myself and the homeschooling of my kids. “What is the average kid learning and capable of doing? What does my kid need to know by this age?” It is a rat race of comparison and utterly painful for the kids and for me because I am looking past my kids, not at them. I am viewing them through the lens of expectation rather than love.

For this reason, I am so thankful that in the midst of this craziness of preparing for surgery that the Lord managed to teach me something. The real standard is the greatest commandment, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind and strength and love your neighbor as yourself.” There is no domination, no one has an advantage and the only comparisons are done in reference to ourselves. The only way to ultimately succeed is to literally die out of love for others.

So, thank you for teaching me Lord to be gentle not just with Maggie but with all of the kids, with my neighbor and myself. Thank you for humbling me and reminding me that you have given me my “own row to hoe”.