On being normal.

I'm glad you enjoyed the video.

I was talking to one of my closest friends, S, about why the video might have struck some folks in our real lives more than just reading the blog/talking to us. She said that although I sometimes pour my heart out here, in real life I remain fairly well composed and on the video, even though we were goofing around, we seemed much more vulnerable.

It's true.

There have been many times I want to just bawl and bawl and bawl and hug tight to my friends but I fight that urge. I feel like I need to make them feel ok, to reassure them that I'm going to be ok. I guess in some ways I'm a people-pleaser. I can only think of a few times where I've actually cried on the phone to someone, and I really can't remember crying in front of anyone, ever.

Except Mr. LC of course. Poor Mr. LC, he really bears the brunt.

So I guess all of this is to say I try so hard to be normal, even if inside I'm a quivering, sobbing mess.

Now here's a place where I am not normal and I don't try to pretend: when I see babies. It's true--if one of my patients brings her tiny baby in to a visit with me I usually don't even look at the baby. I don't volunteer to hold other people's babies either. I don't make funny faces at babies that are in line behind me at the grocery store.

I just don't. It's self-preservation, of course, but it's also very very abnormal (in a non-IF world). Moms look at me strangely as if to say: "Why the bleep aren't you cooing at my adorable cute baby! Why don't you want to hold them!"

So the other day I decided to pretend to be normal. I got into the elevator at work and heard someone yell "Hold the door!"

It was a woman wrangling a giant double twin stroller. It took several attempts just to get it into the elevator. I felt my pulse quicken ever so slightly.

I peered in, cautiously.

Two tiny babies lay sleeping, their little heads in those adorable little baby hats. I took a deep breath, thinking, just be normal.

"How old are they?"

"Ten weeks!"

"Did they come early?"

"38 weeks, which is full term for twins."

I nodded. I attempted a smile. I couldn't quite bring myself to gush over their immense cuteness.

Then she decided to add: "And let me tell you, they are truly miracles! Created right here in XYZ Fertility Lab!" (said as the elevator opened onto that floor--you know the one, for IVFs 1, 2, 3).

My heart stopped. And before I knew it, these words just tumbled out:
"Yes they are miracles. We did IVF five times and it never worked for us."

Her eyes widened; her jaw dropped. And then she hustled out of the elevator as fast as she could, without saying a word.

I felt like I'd been sucker punched with a reminder that miracles are created every single day right below me, while I work away. That IVF works--all the time--just not for us.

So much for trying to be normal.

EDITED TO ADD: Mr. LC sent me an email that he read my post and wanted to comment. I told him to go right ahead. I just now read it and it broke my heart all over again. He's always loving to hold babies and coo at them and make faces at them and he's just so damned natural at it...and he's right...what if these are our only chances? To coo at a stranger's baby?