I think I’m starting to accept it. A little late to the game, aren’t I? I’m not afraid to admit I’m still growing up and giving up a lot of naive hopes.
My life will never be normal. And normal is not necessary. Not necessary for my faith or my happiness or my enjoyment or my contentment.
Some of this not normal I have chosen. Some of it I have not.
It is not normal to be unable to travel for a three-day holiday weekend because your husband is working the night before and the night after. It’s not normal to go to bed at 2 a.m. and sleep in until 10 a.m. because you can’t sleep without him.
It is not normal to have your brain scanned every six months to a year for the rest of your life.
It is not normal to pursue adoption before biological children. It is not normal to wait two years for something that was expected to take 11 months.
It seems trivial when I write it, but these have all been on my mind. Schedules, health, family. Not normal.
I have struggled to accept that I will now never have a clear health history and will have yearly reminders of those really scary few days in the hospital. I have struggled to accept that the family-building route we felt called to has not been as smooth as we hoped.
It’s all based on comparison, though. And I like this life and its uniqueness quite a bit. I’m accepting that normal is not necessary. So, here we go. I have to imagine the not normal will only increase.