Don’t Mind if I Doula

The husband and I met with a doula last weekend. She’s a fellow volunteer at Planned Parenthood, a registered nurse, and all-around awesome lady. She’s still in training as a doula, and I’m excited to be one of her guinea pigs.

Though my mother probably thinks I’m insane, the practice of [doula-ing? doulism?] has actuallydoula been around a long time, according to my trusty source Wikipedia. It’s just about having someone there focused on me and the hubs, helping me manage the pain. I’d like to try for natural childbirth, and I have NO IDEA what I’m doing (not sure if I’ve mentioned that), so I’m really happy to have a doula there to help me out. I’m very strange with pain. I think I have a pretty high threshold, but I can’t take a massage. The shampoo process at the hairdresser is torture. I tried to get her to stop, but she convinced me that I enjoyed it. She was wrong, but I don’t want to be annoying, so I endure it.

It’s the enduring, my ability to rationalize and ‘just deal with things’ that I think the doula is going to be the most help with. I can just put my pain in someone else’s hands, I don’t have to think about it. I know the epidural is there if I need it, but with someone helping to make the pain more bearable, I might be less inclined to go for it. The hospital where I’m delivering also has laughing gas as an option, which is… weird. But while I’d like to go natural, I’m not going to be nuts about it. If I need some medicinal help, I’m going to use it.

So, I finally know what a doula is.

I’ve also started reading books, which just serves to make the whole thing more scary and strange (the belly button is going to look like THAT??!). My doula gave us The Birth Partner, which my husband is trying to get through now. Unlike Baby 411, which is based on science, research, and facts, The Birth Partner is apparently all touchy, feely, chimes, and soft voices. I prefer reality – I will be bloody, pooping myself, bitchy, naked, and in more pain than I’ve ever been. We will all be freaking out. His job is to try to be there for me. My job is to push the baby out. Doula’s job is to help both of us do our jobs. *GONG*

On the fun side of things, I’ve felt a few flutters. I’m 18 weeks today, so that’s happening right on schedule. Also, Ziggy has begun screwing with my mind in the following ways:

  • After brushing my teeth one morning, instead of spitting the toothpaste into the sink, I spat it into a hand towel
  • Ziggy decided that hand soap would be a better choice to use while lotioning myself than, you know, lotion
  • Just now, I tried to put my headphone jack into my ear
  • JUST just now, I spelled ‘ear’ ‘hear’

So, that’s happening.

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