Way back in 2002, I shaved Sona’s head. GI Jane style. NO f$*#! given. There was a time when I had hair as red as Elmo. And then blue. And then bright pink. We dressed in, mostly, used men’s clothes that we found at thrift stores.

This is to say, we weren’t that concerned with being “normal.”

But now, we spend most of each day worrying about whether or not Finn’s behaviors–or absence of behavior–is normal. I mean, really, can a bunch of moms get together and create a crowd-sourced “Is This Normal?” website, already?

I know, I know–every baby is different. There’s no such thing as normal. All kids do things in their own time. WHATEVER, screw that.

When my kid is scooting across the floor, licking his own pink spit up, and then laughing about it, I need to know: IS THIS NORMAL?!

In general, Sona tends to be the mom that frets the most about this stuff. She’s on, what I like to call, “milestone watch, 2016.” That is, she’s monitoring Finn’s developments like he’s some top-secret project for NASA, noting every thing he does–or doesn’t do–as it correlates with what other babies are doing. Or what the baby books say. Or what she’s read online.

Meanwhile, I’m surprisingly laid-back about his milestones. Is he crawling, yet? No. Do I care? Not really. Am I worried that he maybe should be crawling by now? Nah.

Yet, I have my own obsessive mom behaviors, too. Enter: Google. If you could access my Google search history from the past 8.5 months of Finn’s life, you’d probably have me diagnosed as certifiably insane. You may even take my child from me. You know, for his own best interest.

The truth is, it’s hard not to wonder/worry/obsess. I’ve been keeping tabs of the various questions we’ve asked about Finn, over the past months, and here’s just a small taste. (These questions were asked in complete and total sincerity, by the way–some with more urgency than others.)

Is he sleeping too much? Too little? Do his legs look normal? Do you think he’s bow-legged? Does he have club foot? Is his tongue too big for his mouth? Why are his fingernails pink? White? Growing so quickly? Is he eating enough? Is he supposed to be hiccuping that much? Is something wrong with his diaphragm? Do you think there’s a tumor in there? What is that spot? That patch of skin? That bump? Does he have a bug bite? Is he allergic to milk? To fabric? To laundry detergent? To cats? To tomatoes? To paper towels? Should his diaper fit that way? Are his legs too skinny? Is he too tall? Is his penis supposed to be blue? Be that shape? Look like that? Are those supposed to be so rough? Should we be applying lotion, there? Is he developing a flat spot on his head? Should he be sleeping that way? Are his arms being damaged by the swaddle? Why does he always make fists? Is he pooping too much? Not enough? Should baby poop be yellow? Green? Dark brown? Like cottage cheese? So runny? So pasty? Is he eating enough? Too much? Should he be able to swallow peas, yet? Should he be shaking his head, like that? Does he have an ear infection? Is he teething? Should we send a video to the pediatrician? Why does his body tense up when he’s excited? Does he have a muscular problem? Should we take him to a neuro specialist? Why does he laugh so much? Why doesn’t he make any noise? What the hell is with that screaming? Should he be talking, yet? Should he be crawling? Why can’t he sit up? Why won’t he stay sitting up? Why does he only scoot backwards? Do you think he knows he has knees? Do you think he has knee pain? Why does he cry in the carseat? Is he too hot? Is he uncomfortable? Is the carseat compressing his breathing? Do you see how his head slumps over? Is he breathing? Is he choking? Why doesn’t he like the grass? Do you think he has sensory issues? Does he seem too cold? Is he hot? Why are his cheeks so red? Why does his hair grow like that? What are those small bumps at the base of his skull? Are his temples swollen? Do you think he has a cranial problem? Does his forehead look too big? Is that left eye smaller? Are his toes okay? Where are his teeth?

Whew. Okay, this problem is worse than I thought. Here’s the scary truth: this isn’t even half of it.

I’d write more, but I need to ask Google whether or not it’s normal that Finn doesn’t like to roll from his back to his stomach.

Oh, of course we did Easter. When else can we buy a ton of chocolate “for Finn”–and then eat it all, ourselves?

We plan to celebrate every single ridiculous, commercialized, America-centric thing. Yes, we do.

Easter kind of snuck up on us. Don’t get me wrong: I’d already been hoarding Cadbury eggs for weeks, but we sort of forgot about the whole Easter Bunny thing.

So,  I did what any sane mom would do: I forced Finn to skip a nap, taking him to see the Easter Bunny at a local mall. Right after a doctor’s appointment. On the Friday before Easter.

Yeah, maybe not the best idea I’ve ever had.

As soon as I saw the line of pastel-clad bambinos in floral bow-ties and spring-hued button-ups, I panicked. I’d TOTALLY forgotten about an Easter outfit. (Which, I realize, is usually reserved for Easter Sunday. And for church services. Which we don’t attend.)

Nonetheless, I decided to test my luck even further by taking a very sleepy and cranky Finn to Old Navy and forcing him to try on a variety of egg-y, ironic baby wear.

We ditched the leggings and sweatshirt he was wearing for a denim button-up (he now owns four) and a pair of yellow linen shorts, which I had to purchase in 0-3 months because Finn is too skinny for anything else.

I also bought a pair of sandals. He wore them for approx. 47 seconds before realizing that, if he flicked his foot just so, he could send them flying across the store.

Enter: another photo of barefoot Finn and a fantasy holiday mascot. (Santa asked, “Where’s his shoes?”)

I. Am. Insane.

The stage mom gods must have been looking out for me that day. Finn lasted through the shopping and the 30-minute line. He even smiled for the photos! Then, the second I put him back in his stroller, he had a level-10, code red meltdown.

He screamed the entire way to the car. Was I going to force a writhing, screaming baby into his winter-appropriate gear in the middle of Carson Pirie Scott? Hell no, I wasn’t.

I only endured the glares of two grandmas, shaming me as I walked my wailing infant son–and his linen shorts–to the car in 30-something degree weather.

But–the photos! That’s all that matters, right?

Easter morning, we let Finn play with one of our bunnies. Because, really, how could we not?

He thought it was pretty cool… until his attention was redirected by his Easter loot.

All in all, I think we fulfilled our rite of passage. And we’re stilling eat leftover chocolate. So, there’s that.