Normal Is As Normal Does...

Last weekend I drug my ever-supportive husband to a prepared child-birth class at our hospital. It was a good experience, with some helpful techniques for labor, a bunch of information I already knew about the process, and some good advice about the hospital. Plus, we got a tour of the labor and delivery, as well as the postpartum floor. Sugarbear was a trooper, particularly during the mock labor portion, valiantly coaching me through breathing exercises, giving us something to laugh over later.

It wasn’t until the second day of class that I had this thought of how incredibly weird this whole thing still is for me. One of the reasons I like our hospital is that everything is right there. My OB’s office is in the hospital, as well as any specialist we may require. So, when we were looking for infertility treatment, we decided to go with the ARTS department at the same hospital. There is a rather large ARTS department, taking up almost a whole building on one side of the hospital. (The complete opposite side of the hospital than the several OB practices, I might add… a nice touch.)

I could go on explaining the set-up of the offices, the atmosphere in the ARTS department, but I won’t, as you probably wouldn’t get the nuance unless you’ve been there, done that. For instance, it always struck me as interesting that the ARTS department was also housed alongside the rehab department, as in rehab for spinal cord and brain injuries. I can’t explain why that was interesting, but it seemed to fit.

Anyways, the point of this story is that last weekend we found ourselves on the same side of the building, going through the same doors, for our birthing class as we did for our fertility treatments. It struck me as weird. Or maybe I was just reminded of how life changes in directions we don’t expect. This time last year, I was going to that building on almost a daily basis to get poked and prodded in preparation for what would be a second, obviously unsuccessful attempt at a stimulation cycle. The last time we had been on that side of the building together, we were there for what would be a smashing failure of an IUI. I remember that day because we had gotten very disappointing news from the lab, almost making it futile to go upstairs for the IUI. I remember being so crushed, struggling to be hopeful, hiding tears from my husband in the elevator because I didn’t want him to feel at fault when this one failed too. He held my hand and apologized the whole way up the elevator for something he had no control over. My turn to apologize would come a week later with more of my lab results, so it definitely was a joint effort!

Fast forward to last week… we are going through the same doors, walking by the same offices, I have to use the same bathroom. But, this time, we are going to a classroom to practice labor relaxation techniques with 10 other first-time parents. Weird. I have a very good sized little boy growing inside of me… I feel his rolls and nudges every day. It is undeniable looking at me that I am with child. Yet, I remain part of that other club… I still have a feeling that I don’t belong in this room, that it’s just by some weird fluke that I’m there, that I’m still on the fringe… but, I have to remind myself… to these other people, you are just as normal as they are. To the teachers, you are just another pregnant lady. As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes it’s good to be normal...