Prolonged exposure

If there was one thing that surprised me most about having children, it was this: I never expected them to be so LOUD.

Now, I know what you are going to say. Yes, it’s true that I’m a writer. There is no doubt that I love silence. I can go through whole days where the only words that leave my mouth between the time my kids leave for school and when they get home are “double Americano, please.” And that’s only because we are new to town and the servers at the coffee shop don’t know me yet.

I used to think it was me. In fact, for the ten and a half years since my first son was born I thought there was something wrong with me. How could I find my child so loud? When we had a second child, the volume doubled. It didn’t matter whether they were laughing, crying, talking, arguing with each other, explaining to me with their ever-increasing powers of persuasion why I should let them have what they wanted, cackling with glee or throwing a tantrum. My kids were loud. I often found myself cringing from the sound of their voices and this added to the terrible burden of guilt which, like every self-respecting mother, I drag with me everywhere.

Window or aisle?
When my eldest son was eighteen months old we flew from Toronto to Vancouver. We were those people you hope never to have to sit next to on a plane. My sweet child wailed and kicked for three hours until he fell, damp-faced and gasping, into the exhausted sleep-state of a post-tantrum toddler.

During that flight I suffered a sudden, significant hearing loss in my left ear. In the ensuing eight years I’ve seen several specialists and been for all manner of tests and all they can say for sure is that it’s not a tumor. But it’s also not the standard gradual hearing loss caused by nerve damage that is common with aging. They think there is some kind of blockage or pressure issue. Something shifted. But underneath that shifted something, I can hear just fine.

There’s an app for that
The other day my husband and I sat down for a quiet chat. The kids were outside playing spies with their friends on the block. It was the night before New Year’s Eve and all was, well, quiet. And pretty darned peaceful.

When the streetlights came on the kids tumbled in. Our two, plus a friend. They settled into the kitchen for some snacks and a play by play of their afternoon adventures. Even though there were only three of them, and even though they were only talking, they were LOUD.

Even my husband noticed. Of course, he has no time for guilt. He would never for a moment think that not being able to tolerate a chorus of children was some failing of his own. Besides, he works in the school system. His entire career is based on being able to think and speak over top of a soundtrack of children’s voices.

“I have to check this,” he said. He proceeded to download a noise level meter onto his phone and check the decibel level in the kitchen.

The loudest sound
It turns out that three children chatting excitedly in the kitchen on New Year’s Eve eve register on a sound level meter at 100 decibels (dB). According to this nifty chart , the weakest sound heard is OdB. The loudest sound possible is 194 dB. The symphony of children’s voices that day was like the volume knob for the whole universe turned to the half way point. It was the equivalent to the sound of a motorcycle or a snowmobile, louder than a subway train, not quite as loud as a power saw.

This useful chart also tells us that pain begins at 125dB. It tells us that hypertension and psychological difficulties can be related to noise exposure. It tells us that, according to the US Occupational Safety and Health Administration, workers can only be exposed to a sound level of 100dB for two hours per day.

However, parenting is not an occupation governed by safety regulation.

Seen but not heard
One of the ear specialists told me that surgery might help, but it might also make my hearing worse. Since I don’t actually have nerve damage I’m a great candidate for a hearing aid. One of those almost-invisible new devices that cost as much as the down payment on our first house would work like a charm.

But do I want to hear better?

Even with my hearing loss I can hear my kids just fine, except when they mumble. And who wants mumbly kids? Plus I’ve gotten really good at lip-reading, so I can tell from across the room when they are plotting surreptitious screen time. Maybe this hearing loss thing has some advantages.

Now that I know it’s not just me, I’m shedding that truck load of guilt. It’s a fact. My kids are loud. Almost as loud as a tympani drum, which provides one third of the volume in a 75-piece orchestra.

It’s nice to know that the option of hearing better is there for me, when and if I want it. I figure I’ll start saving now. By the time my bundles of joy go off to college, I’ll have enough to buy that hearing aid.

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