The anticipated - Why I DOULA-love Birth :)

 I get the question a lot.  

“So Cat.  Why did you become a doula?”   (It’s usually the second one after “What the heck is a doula?”  Which, by the way, is being a sidekick to a superhero.)  I digress. 

Why did I become a doula?  I can’t begin to answer this loaded question without telling a bit about the journey it took to get here.  After all, I had a successful teaching career, a Masters in Human Development and ECE, and, well, if you had asked my pre-pregnant self how I saw my labor going, I would have answered “with screaming and with drugs.”  Doesn’t exactly leave the inquirer with the - “She’s going to LOVE childbirth!” - notion.    

But then, on May 24th, 2012 at 8pm, I got the chance to experience what labor felt like for the first time as my waters broke in the movie theater while Paul and I were watching “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.”  (You can’t make this stuff up!)  On May 25th, 2012, around 4:45am, I was looking at my fresh into the world newborn son and remember clearly thinking,

“That was AWESOME!”  

With my husband, Paul, by my side, both of us looking at this little version of what I can only describe as the most beautiful person I had ever seen in my entire life, I thought about the journey that we had just taken to bring him into the world and realized something almost as beautiful as my new baby. 


I loved every minute of it.  


Even the part where, at 10pm, I decided we should get some rest since we didn’t know how long labor could be.  I tried my best but couldn’t sleep.  Paul, of course, could.  I remembering glaring straight through him, snarling as contractions flowed through me, not wanting to wake him because, at least this part, I was doing well on my own.  I knew I would need his support later and he is one of those dudes who can’t function at all without rest.  So I let him be.  Even if I was trying to wake him up with my mind with every contraction.   


I still loved every minute of it.


Even the part where my midwife, Karen, checked me and said I was HUZZAH!! 9 cm dilated but then, I heard a “No. Wait. She’s 7cm.”  WHAT!?!  Even today I think she must have been playing with me.  That was her way of giving me the push I needed.  Had to be.    


I still loved every minute of it. 


Even the part where I started doubting myself.  When I was exhausted from working all night long and still had no idea how much more work was in sight.  At that point, Paul had been awake for hours with me - guiding me through contractions, talking with me, attempting to make me laugh.  Supporting me and encouraging me through the hardest thing I have ever done at that point in my life.


I still loved every minute of it.    


As I looked at my baby boy, I felt so powerful.  So appreciated.  So loved.  (Thanks endorphins!)  It was pretty clear at that moment that I loved birth.  What I was fuzzy on though is exactly what I loved about it.  

It wasn’t until I started writing Connor’s birth story the next day that it dawned on me.  I could not write one sentence without reflecting back to my support team during his birth.  Not once, even while I labored “alone” as Paul slept on the poor excuse for a couch across the hospital room, did I think, “I can do this on my own.  I won’t need anyone to help me.”  I let him sleep because I KNEW I would need him. I couldn’t have done it without the support of Paul or without the support of my midwife and fabulous nurse, Lydia, whom I will never forget.  

Now, anyone who knows me can attest that I am a pretty strong lady.  I have a tendency to be a go getter and am not exactly one to back down from much, especially when it comes to a task of physical endurance and strength.  Laboring and delivering a human being was something I prepared for.  It was something I studied, something I meditated on, something I convinced myself that I was wholly capable of doing naturally, without unnecessary invention. I removed all fear.  All doubt.  Still, even with it all gone -  


I still knew I couldn’t do it alone.


It was then I realized the role I could play for other women in labor.   I needed to help other women have their journey be as amazing for them as mine had been for me.  Be their consistent support.  Be their consistent encouragement.  Be their consistent educational lifeline that I would have needed had I not taken classes prior to Connor’s birth.  I decided, as we brought Connor home, I was going to be a doula.  

I tell my clients all the time that I am there for them.  I remind them that I began this work so that I could help them have the birth they wanted, just like I had the births I did.  I do love babies.  Who doesn’t.  But, they aren’t why I do this work.  Its the pregnant women - the women about to embark on their journey - that I do this work for.   

So, why did I choose to be a doula?  No, not because I love birth.   I DOULA-LOVE it :)

Cheers!


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