August 21, 2025

The beeping of the machines is the sound that startled me the most. Babies are crying (I expected that), people are talking (I expected that too). But so many beeping machines. All beeping differently. All looking and sounding like they are THE MOST IMPORTANT ONE.

Then walking around the corner that first time, seeing my baby covered in tubes and wires. Those machines. Connected to MY baby. And they are beeping ALL THOSE BEEPS.

It is the most shocking, jaw-dropping moment. One I never prepared for because I didn’t know I had to. The second club I didn’t want join, but was forced into anyway.

And the membership fees… you don’t even want to know.

The First Club: IVF

Before NICU life, I was already a reluctant card-carrying member of another club — the IVF club. You don’t sign up for this one eagerly either. There’s no glossy brochure, just endless paperwork, needle bruises on your belly and butt, and a calendar that runs your life like a very mean HR manager.

Being in the IVF club means:

• Early morning appointments that no one in your “real life” sees.
• Hormone injections that turn your body into a chemistry experiment.
• An emotional cycle of hope, heartbreak, repeat.

It’s lonely, it’s exhausting, and most of the time people around you don’t know what to say — so they say things that hurt instead. (“You just need to relax” is a phrase that deserves to be launched directly into the sun.)

And let’s not forget: nothing says romance like your partner handing you an ice pack after your nightly butt shot. IVF, the love story.

The Second Club: NICU

And then, somehow, I got promoted into the NICU club. A club where your baby’s first home is a hospital pod, and your introduction to parenting is mediated by nurses, alarms, and wires. Where you “visit” your own child and where kangaroo care feels like a high-stakes privilege, not a given.

Being in the NICU club means:

• Learning to decode every beep, every nurse’s glance, every monitor number.
• Watching your baby’s milestones measured in grams gained or oxygen levels maintained.
• Living on edge — because every hour feels like the best and scariest of your life.

What These Clubs Teach You

Both IVF and NICU life teach you lessons you didn’t ask to learn: patience, resilience, the ability to cry in public and not care. They shape the way you see parenting — not as something to take for granted, but as something fought for, survived through, earned.

How You Can Support Someone in These Clubs

If you love someone who’s part of these clubs, here’s how to actually help:

• Don’t minimize. Please retire “at least” statements. “At least you got pregnant,” “at least the baby is okay.” None of it helps.
• Do something tangible. Meals, rides, laundry, or even just coffee dropped off on the porch. (Because no one has ever survived on “thoughts and prayers” and a casserole emoji.)
• Be patient. IVF and NICU journeys are long, messy, and emotional. Let them take their time.
• Learn the basics yourself. A quick Google search saves parents from having to educate you when they’re already overwhelmed.
• Show up. Even a simple “thinking of you” text can mean more than you realize.

Closing

I never wanted these memberships. I never paid the initiation fee. But here I am, wearing both badges. And if you’re here too — welcome. You’re not alone, even if it feels like it at 3 a.m.

We’ll meet in the break room, trade stories, and probably drink coffee that went cold three hours ago. Because that’s just how these clubs work.