Thanks for the memories

I had my annual visit to my OB-GYN yesterday. Now, before you think, "woah, new girl, TMI!" it's not that kind of post.

As women, most of us are used to walking into the OB's office once a year. We don the over-washed, less than flattering hospital gown, bare a few minutes of discomfort and go about our day. You don't give much thought to those visits to Dr. Downstairs because it's a few minutes a year out of our lives and, like many other things, something else to check off on your to-do list.

But yesterday, as I was sitting in that exam room, waiting for the familiar knock on the door and the "Helloooo!" from the doctor, it struck me how many important moments in my life have happened in that office, some in that very room. I mean, monumental, life-changing moments.

It was in that exam room next door that I heard my son's heartbeat for the very first time. The ultrasound room around the corner where we saw that first blurry pictures of him and later, where we found out he was a boy. Bryan jumped in the air and yelled "YES!" A few months later, at my 38-week checkup, my doctor would give me a hug in the hallway and send me to the hospital to have our first child because my blood pressure was no longer behaving.

It was in that same ultrasound room, 2 years later, where the tech took my hand and said, "Oh, I'm so sorry, I can't find the heartbeat" after hearing such a strong and fast heartbeat only 2 weeks before. It was in the exam room across the hall where I waited by myself, for over 30 minutes, for one of the on-call doctors to come in and talk to me about the pregnancy I'd just lost. Sitting in shock, texting Bryan, my mom, my best friend, all while listening to other pregnant women chatter away outside my door, waiting for their turn on the table.

That office became my second home when I became pregnant with my daughter. Stress tests, blood pressure checks, urinalysis, ultrasounds every week as I inched closer and closer to pre-eclampsia. It was from that office that I was sent to the hospital not once, not twice, but three times--and then finally being admitted to deliver my girl six weeks early.

So many appointments, so many follow ups. So much joy and heartbreak, good news and bad news, and dozens and dozens of black and white ultrasound printouts of my living, breathing children and my sweet angel child. When you really stop to think about it, it's incredible how many of our most important moments happen within the walls of one doctor's office.

So yesterday, I didn't really mind that my doctor was already running behind schedule at 8:45 in the morning. I sat there in that unflattering gown, relishing in those not-so-distant moments in time that had shifted my world in such major ways.

Then I checked it off my list for another year and went about my day.