All This Choice Is Giving Me Decision Paralysis

A few years back, shortly after my oldest child turned one and began showing signs that he might start walking, I thought I'd spend a few minutes doing some online shopping for his first pair of shoes. What was meant to be an enjoyable naptime activity quickly devolved into way too many hours — turned days — of what felt like an epic Lord of the Rings-style quest for “the best shoe for early walkers.”

Time spent combing through online parenting forums where everyone had differing opinions left me with more questions than answers. Then, my online research led me to lists of toddler shoe brands that had the American Podiatric Medical Association’s seal of approval. I ended up buying two pairs of shoes online and then returning those shoes when they didn’t fit quite right. All too much time wasted, I decided to take my fussy toddler to two brick-and-mortar stores to try on a bunch of shoes, before finally settling on a pair of fairly expensive sneakers.

He did take his first independent steps in those shoes, so I suppose all my effort was worth it. Six months later, we went through a similar process to find his first pair of snow boots.

I’ve always been one to suffer from a bit of indecisiveness when given too many options, but I’m afraid that parenthood and the sheer volume of choice thanks to the internet has thrusted me into full-blown decision paralysis with nearly every seemingly important purchase I make for my kids.

Parents in the '90s could not possibly have felt this sort of pressure because for one, there was no internet back then (at least not the widely accessible high-speed variety Millennial parents are used to). My parents could not search for baby shoes, college funds or whatever kept them up at 3 a.m. while in bed with their phones, and they certainly weren’t doomscrolling on our family computer in the kitchen.

If they needed a stroller, they’d go to a department store to test out a couple before choosing one and taking it home. If one of us needed winter boots, a water bottle or a new bed, we’d head to the mall as a family on a Saturday afternoon, and maybe check out two or three stores that sold the same item, only to compare prices.

My parents weren’t ever wondering what the “best water bottle for toddlers — with and without straws” was, and even if presented with that information, I don’t believe that they’d care. Some could say that parents in the '90s lived with a certain level of je ne sais quoi, or as parents today refer to as “zero fucks given.”

The practice of consulting just one or two physical shops and then making a decision based on what was directly in front of them applied to other, perhaps more important, decisions too. Take sleep training and dealing with sleep issues, for example. Without the myriad of voices on the internet to distract or lead astray, most parents in the '80s and '90s went with what their family doctors or pediatricians prescribed for their kids.

I know better than to listen to the chorus of armchair critics and social media influencers when it comes to health-related concerns I might have for my kids. If there’s one thing I’ll borrow from parents in the '90s, it’s that some things are best left to experts. So when it came time to upgrade my firstborn from his infant carseat to a convertible one, I did what my parents did: I went to a brick-and-mortar shop and had a retail associate walk me through the options in their showroom — and then purchased one!

After some deep soul-searching and self-reflection, I’ve been trying to come to terms with why the act of searching for and then choosing from a wide variety of options online — whether it’s toddler shoes, water bottles or travel strollers — makes me feel paralyzed at all. Is it that I’m afraid I may ultimately make the wrong decision? Am I fearful of buyer’s remorse or complicated return policies? Could there be a tiny part of me that still lacks confidence as a mother?

Whatever it is, I try not to let it keep me up at night. And when I really can’t decide, I call on my husband to pick for me.