What is "Normal"?

Dictionary.com defines “normal” as:

conforming to the standard or the common type; usual; not abnormal; regular; natural.

That’s pretty broad, don’t you think? What does it mean? As far as human beings go, what is normal? What is “standard,” or “the common type”? What kind of person, exactly, is “usual,” “not abnormal,” “regular,” or “natural”?

I have six kids, so you might think I would have a pretty good idea of what “normal” is.

Let me tell you about my kids

Kevin, age 12, is “normal” in that none of the prenatal screenings I underwent when I was pregnant with him revealed any anomalies. He’s healthy. He’s also gifted, meaning, I guess, that’s he’s not “normal.” Giftedness presents its own challenges and might be considered a "special need. He’s kind of a motormouth, and has an attitude much of the time, being close to 13 and all, which makes him kind of a pain in the ass sometimes. Also, he’s genetically predisposed to developing alcoholism, drug addiction, depression, and who knows what else is lurking in his gene pool. Maybe I never should have had him.

Joey, age 7, is also “normal” in that none of the prenatal screenings I underwent when I was pregnant with him revealed any anomalies. He’s healthy. He’s also gifted, meaning, I guess, that’s he’s not “normal.” He’s on the smaller side, and probably always will be, thanks to his dad’s genetic contribution. So he’ll probably get teased and picked on a lot (and in fact already does). He’s also overly sensitive – some might call him a crybaby. He’s afraid of loud noises, like the fire drills at school. Also, he’s genetically predisposed to developing alcoholism, drug addiction, depression, and who knows what else is lurking in his gene pool. Maybe I never should have had him.

Daisy, on-the-brink-of-5, is “normal” in that none of the prenatal screenings I underwent when I was pregnant with her revealed any anomalies. Oh, except that she’s a twin. So that makes her not “normal,” right? I mean, twins aren’t “the standard,” right? She’s really bright (maybe even gifted), helpful, and sweet. She’s also wracked with phobias. She’s terrified of animals (most notably dogs), public restrooms, and stairwells. To the point that she goes into hysterics and if you witnessed it, you might think she’s going to pass out. We don’t know how or why these phobias developed in her, but she seems to have no built-in coping mechanism. It’s a problem. Also, she’s genetically predisposed to developing alcoholism, drug addiction, depression, and who knows what else is lurking in her gene pool. Maybe I never should have had her.

Annabelle, on-the-brink-of-5, is “normal” in that none of the prenatal screenings I underwent when I was pregnant with her revealed any anomalies. Oh, except that she’s the other twin. So that makes her not “normal,” right? I mean, twins aren’t “the standard,” right? She’s funny and mischievous and affectionate and smart. She has a condition called trichotillomania, which causes her to pull her hair out compulsively. Pretty freaky, huh? Also, she’s genetically predisposed to developing alcoholism, drug addiction, depression, and who knows what else is lurking in her gene pool. Maybe I never should have had her.

Lilah, age 2-almost-3, is “normal” in that none of the prenatal screenings I underwent when I was pregnant with her revealed any anomalies. She’s got a huge vocabulary for a 2-year-old, which might indicate giftedness. That would make her not “normal,” I guess. She’s chubby compared to all of our other kids, which also makes her not “conforming to the standard.” She’s actually genetically predisposed to obesity, in addition to alcoholism, drug addiction, depression, and who knows what else is lurking in her gene pool. Maybe I never should have had her.

And then there’s Finn. He’s a year old. I didn’t have any prenatal screenings when I was pregnant with him, except for a “standard” ultrasound which did not reveal any anomalies. He’s happy, healthy, affectionate, and smart. He’s learning new things about the world around him all the time. He’s curious and inquisitive. He plays and sleeps and cries and laughs and poops just like most babies his age. Oh, also, he has Down syndrome. Which I guess means he’s not “normal.” And there are those who think, based on some abstract ideas and impressions of what’s “normal” and what’s not, that a child like Finn shouldn’t even be here.

There are people out there who believe that a baby prenatally screened as “not normal” should not be born. There are those who feel that people with Down syndrome who are living among us in the world shouldn’t be. They’re not “normal.” They have “problems.” They’re “retarded.” They’re a drain on the economy with all their needs.

Again, what is normal? I have come to the conclusion that normal, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. One person’s normal is another person’s weird.

In some respects, each of my kids is completely and utterly normal. In other respects, each of them is not normal. They’re people. Unique and individual. Am I normal? I don’t know. You might think so, because I don’t have a diagnosis or label that society uses to define me. I’m smart and productive and generous and honest and loyal. I’m also prone to depression. I’m short-tempered (or as my husband says, a “hot-head”). I’m an atheist. Do those things make me not normal? Maybe. Maybe I never should have been born.

My first husband was a severe alcoholic. He used to tell me, “My drinking is only a problem because you have a problem with it.” And while I think that when you’re talking in terms of a destructive issue like alcoholism, this is very flawed rationalization, it fits when you’re talking about a person who has Down syndrome. The fact that Finn has Down syndrome? It’s not a problem in our home, in our family. It’s only a problem out in the world because certain people have a problem with it. And why? Does it reflect something back at themselves that frightens or disgusts them?

What if we could prenatally screen for every aberration under the sun, and do away with those babies before they’re ever inflicted on society? Autism. Diabetes. Cancer. Alcoholism. Infertility. Depression. Alzheimer’s. Dishonesty. Apathy. Arrogance. Homosexuality. Let’s take it a step further. What if we could somehow look into the future and know which babies were going to grow up and be involved in some terrible accident or contract some illness that will leave them disabled, and let’s do away with those babies before they’re born too. Wouldn’t the world be a better place if it were full of homogenous, normal people?

Are you normal? And if you consider yourself to be normal, how are you making the world a better place?

Lisa Morguess is a 40-something married stay-at-home mother to six children.