My 7-Year-Old Won’t Stop Talking About The Same Garbage Truck. Is This Normal?
I was standing over the Keurig yesterday morning, still had crumbs from last night’s granola bar in my bedhead, hadn’t even brushed my teeth, when I felt a tiny elbow dig into my side before the talking started. “Mom, remember the garbage truck that came last Tuesday? Remember the driver had a neon green sunglasses case clipped to his belt? Remember he waved at me when he pulled out of our neighborhood?” I just sighed, because this is day 18 of the garbage truck era. I know more about that man’s weekly route than I know my own cousin’s phone number.
Last Saturday we were at Trader Joe’s grabbing bananas for his breakfast, and he bailed on pushing the tiny cart to walk straight up to an older woman lingering by the dill pickles. No “excuse me,” no hello, just launched straight into the garbage truck speech. She was really nice, smiled and nodded for like three minutes, but I was dying inside. I kept saying “Honey, leave the lady alone, she’s shopping” and he just blinked at me like I’d interrupted him mid-TED Talk. I apologized so many times I think she left the store thinking I was about to ask her for money.
This isn’t even the first time, right? Before the garbage truck it was the death of our goldfish, Gary. Before that it was how fireflies glow and why they don’t burn you. Before that it was the 10 minutes we spent waiting for a freight train to pass a crossing last summer. It’s always something that latches on and won’t let go. I didn’t think much of it until last month, when I was scrolling a mom group on Facebook and someone posted about their kid’s repeated conversations, and a dozen people commented that it’s an early red flag for everything from OCD to anxiety. Suddenly I was spiraling.
I stayed up until 2 a.m. that night, after my husband fell asleep snoring next to me, scrolling through every parenting forum I could find. One minute I’d read that repeated topic conversations are totally developmentally normal for little kids, the next I’d read that any obsession means your kid is unprocessed trauma and needs immediate therapy. I couldn’t turn my brain off. What if I’m the mom that brushes off a real problem because I’m too tired to pay attention? What if I’m messing this up already?
The worst moment was my sister’s 40th birthday dinner two weeks ago, at that fancy Italian place downtown. My brother-in-law’s cousin was there, the one who works as a forest ranger and barely says two words to anyone, even people he knows. My kid spotted him waiting for a beer at the bar, walked right over, and talked nonstop for 15 minutes about how the garbage truck’s compactor crushes 10 tons of trash at a time. I was across the room holding a plate of bruschetta, trying to casually walk over and yank him away without causing a scene, and every time I opened my mouth he just talked right over me. The guy just stood there holding his beer, nodding, and I wanted to crawl under the tablecloth and stay there forever. My sister leaned over and said “It’s fine, kids do that” but I could see she was trying not to laugh, and I just wanted to pay the bill and go home and hide.
Last Wednesday I was sitting on the porch waiting for the school bus, and he started in on the truck again, and I was about to redirect him like I usually do — “That’s cool, bud, what do you think you’ll do at recess today?” — but I stopped. I just leaned down and said, “Why do you like talking about this truck so much, anyway?” He looked at me all serious, like I’d just asked him the meaning of life, and said “Because he saw me. I was standing right on the curb waving, and most drivers just go right past. He waved really big back.”
That hit me harder than I expected. That 10-second interaction with a stranger was such a big, warm, bright moment for him that he can’t just keep it in. He has to share it, over and over, to hold onto that feeling of being seen. It’s not that he’s being annoying or obsessive on purpose. It’s that his little brain is still figuring out how to process big little feelings, and repeating the story is how he sorts it out.
I brought it up to our pediatrician at his checkup last week, told her about the 18 days of garbage truck, the cornering strangers, the fact that I’m a mess worrying about it. She leaned back in her chair and laughed, said she hears this exact question at least three times a week from parents of kids 5 to 8. Their brains are just wired that way right now, she said. They latch onto something that matters, and repeating it is how they make it make sense. She said the only time to worry is if it’s crowding out everything else — if they won’t eat, won’t sleep, won’t play with other kids because they can’t think about anything else. Which my kid doesn’t. He still begs for soccer practice, still fights his sister over the last popsicle, still remembers to feed our new goldfish. He just also really loves that garbage truck.
I still don’t have it all figured out, though. I still get annoyed. This morning I was on a work call with my boss, muted, sitting at the dining room table, and he snuck over and kept tapping my arm, whispering “Mom mom remember when the garbage truck got stuck by the fire hydrant?” over and over, and I finally waved him away really hard, and I saw his face fall, and I felt awful after. But I was also frustrated, because I can’t drop everything every time he wants to tell one more fact about hydraulic lifts. I still stay up scrolling sometimes, even though the doctor said it’s fine. I still cringe and want to die when he walks up to a stranger to tell them about the truck.
The bus is coming in 10 minutes, and he’s sitting next to me right now drawing a neon green picture of the garbage truck, and he just asked me if I want to hear “one more super cool fact” about the weight of the tires. I think I’m gonna say yes this time. I don’t know if this is a phase or if it’s something I need to worry about long term. I don’t have a cute wrap-up for this. I’m just tired, and I’m winging it, same as every other parent. Maybe in a month it’ll be dinosaurs or TikTok dances or something else, and I’ll even miss the garbage truck days. Or maybe I won’t. Either way, right now, one more fact won’t kill me.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » My 7-Year-Old Won’t Stop Talking About The Same Garbage Truck