Wasn't he a cutie? 

But seriously, he made eye contact with me and all was right with the world.  

You moment will happen too. Maybe in the first hour, maybe the first day, maybe not until month 3, 7, 11, but it will happen. And it will feel like something a little spot inside was just filled up with goodness.

Originally written for the Childbirth Collective Blog on 7/17/17 
www.childbirthcollective.org/2017/07/17/the-life-of-a-doula/
But I'm going to share it here as well, they are my words after all.

I so often get asked “So, like, what do you do, you know, while you wait for a birth?” Good question, my friend. And one I asked myself multiple times in the early days of my doulaing. In fact, I remember texting my doula after I had become a doula and was on-call and waiting for my client to request me. My text said something like “Oh my goodness, how do you not drive yourself crazy waiting for a call to a birth?!” And I was serious. Here I was, a new doula, anxiously waiting the we’re-ready-for-you call and I couldn’t sit still. I paced, I ate, I channel surfed the 7 channels we had, I obsessively checked my phone, I ate some more, I checked my phone again, nothing. As it should be. Babies come when they are ready. My doula responded with a light-hearted giggle I’m sure, and said “You do you. But do things that are easy to leave. Garden, read, write, coffee/lunch with friends, clean, nap.” All things I love to do anyway, what was my problem?
No problem, just an eagerness and a readiness to be satisfied. I quickly learned that what I do while I wait for a birth is I Do Me. Just as I tell all my clients, “You do you, Boo. Baby will come when baby is ready.” Funny, once I figured out how to follow my own advice, I became much more comfortable with the continuous waiting period of labor.
Labor can have very much a feel of “Hurry up. Wait. Hurry up. Wait.” You get everything set at work to be off for a set amount of time and then you wait. You get the baby’s space all set up and ready and then you wait. You text all the family members “No baby yet. We’ll let you know.” and then everyone waits. You go into labor and then are told to sleep. And by that I mean, you wait. You get to the place of birth and oh wait for it, you wait again. Babies come when babies are ready.
And no one understands that better than a doula. It’s all we do. And we absolutely love it. However, don’t be fooled, we do have lives. It’s not like we sit all serene-like with a never-ending cup of coffee and the best book ever written on a dock by the clearest lake, just calmly waiting. (But doesn’t that sound fantastic?) We have families and other jobs and responsibilities, all that adulting stuff they tell you about in school. But man, when that call comes, when that client who is at so-many-weeks-and-a-few-days who has been ready for that plus some, calls and says “We could really use your support.” it’s like some mysterious force lit a fire inside and to keep that fire alive, we NEED to get to that family.
The life of a doula is a life lived all on it’s own. Until it’s not. And for a small amount of time in this big expansive universe, it is a life that is lived just for that birth and that birth alone.

They say that birth changes you. One scientific study showed that giving birth actually does change the gray matter in a woman's brain.
www.scientificamerican.com/article/pregnancy-causes-lasting-changes-in-a-womans-brain/

Birth changes your relationship with your partner, with your other children and with yourself. No truer statement was ever said in my life, the birth of my son completely changed the trajectory of my life. And this post is his birth story.

I'm not going to give you the 9 month details just the labor and delivery part. I had my son 4 days before his due date, so the idea that first time mom's always go late did not ring true. I also had him on his oldest half-sister's birthday. I tried real hard to push him out before midnight, I did not succeed. About 3 weeks before I was due,I set a challenged for myself, to re-read all 7 Harry Potter books before he was born. It was in the heat of summer and it gave me something to do indoors besides TV. I made it about a third of the way through book 4. Maybe that was why he came early, "I'll show you mom. You'll never finish a book on time again! HA!"

My birthday is also in the heat of summer and we had lost power from a storm the night before so we went to my mom's from a little birthday brunch in the AC and then packed up the girls and went to hang at Lake Nokomis. The heat was so much and I was so pregnant, due in a week, and guessing I was going to go a week over. 
(Author's note, I do keep using the words "due date" because it's easy. I am fully aware and in support of the concept of "guess date." Babies come when babies come.)
So we're at the lake, the girls are swimming and I am ignoring the tightening that keeps happening every now and then in my belly. But at one point I worked my way over to my husband and said "Either I'm occasionally peeing my pants or my water is slowly dripping out." Good thing my swimsuit was black. 

My doula (and all doulas) said "Ignore the contractions until you just can't any more." So I did. I ignored everything so well I have no memory of what we did that evening. It was my birthday, I'm sure we did something. But I have no recollection of what it was. And thank goodness I've always been a good sleeper because I also don't recall having any contractions throughout that night.

But the next morning was a Sunday. After calling my doula and telling her what I experienced the day before, mild irregular contractions and some leaking fluid, she advised me to go about my day, continue to ignore them. So I did. A friend from college was in town, (a doula herself)  and we had planned to meet for coffee. We talked birth, her job, what I was hoping for in my birth, reminisced about college, discussed family. I got up once to use the bathroom and oh goodness, the fluid. It's funny, it always feels like so much, it's not. Until it really breaks, but the trickle really is that, a trickle. 

After we said goodbye and I went home, it was a picture perfect day. The sun was out, it wasn't too hot, the windows and doors of our house were open, there was a breeze, the local radio station, The Current, was on playing on our radio. It was a perfect day to go into labor. I think I got home about 10:30 or 11 am. The girls were at our house and we all were just enjoying the Sunday. I was still in the ignoring mindset, so I'd have a contraction and my husband would say "Honey, I think you're having a contraction."
I'd reply "No. Now shhhh. Give me a mintue." 
"Sarah, you're doing exactly what she did in our class. This is a contraction." (also showing the importance of Childbirth Education!)
"No, it's just... just hold on." I was ignoring them, I was supposed to ignore them. I try to do as I'm told. 

This went on for the rest of the morning until early afternoon. A funny little thing about my birth story is that I was really and I mean REALLY looking forward to drinking an entire Bell's Two Hearted beer after I gave birth. But I was in labor on a Sunday and at the time, no liquor store was open in MN on Sundays. (Dumb. They have since learned the error of their ways.) After one of my contractions my hubs says to me, "You know, babe, if you have the baby today, there is no Two Hearted. Liquor stores aren't open." Well, don't ever tell a laboring woman she can't have something. I spun on him and quite sternly said "Call your brother! Get him over here! He always has Two Hearted in his fridge. Get him over here!"

The men delivered. My brother in law showed up within the hour with 4 Two Hearteds for us to take with. I do remember being very grateful he came through but I also remember him not really knowing what to do with my moans and breathing and such through my contractions. (He's a pro now, two beautiful girls, my nieces.) But needless to say, he didn't hang out for long. Dropped off the beer, wished us good luck and then he was out.  At some point, around 3 pm I think, things started to pick up. We called the girls' mom and she came to pick them up. And I continued to labor and breathe and move as needed. I do remember absolutely loving the breeze and the music. It was calming and familiar.

So, for those that haven't birthed yet, here's some nitty gritty for you; you do poop and puke before baby comes. Yes, as you push too, but it may come out both ends for a bit during labor. It's just your body making room for baby. No big deal. So I laid on the couch with some pillows and a bowl on the floor and cool cloth on my forehead, listened to The Current, and threw up and pooped when needed. It was real. Nothing glamorous, no special poses, no special lighting, I just did what felt right. My left side was my comfort throughout the pregnancy, so laboring on that side felt right too. My husband packed up our car for the stay at the hospital, timed contractions occasionally. And we called our doula. At about 7:30-8pm she listened to a few contractions over the phone and suggested it was time to go in. So we started to head out the car. But not before I took off my eye make-up. I knew I was in for a bit of a long haul and I didn't want to me all mascara smudgy.  

I walked into the hospital and to the 4th floor. Maybe it was 2 or 3, whatever floor it was I took the elevator to it. And this was where it got annoying; people needing to ask me questions and questioning my answers.
I.E. Triage nurse: "When did your water break?"
Me: "Yesterday. I think."
Nurse: "Yesterday?! Why didn't you come in?!"
Me: "I didn't want to."
Seriously, why do they ask questions like that? 1. A laboring woman isn't going to be too pleased to have her reasons questioned. And 2. The fact that I didn't come in yesterday doesn't change the fact that I am here now, so get a move on!

So after they take all my info, I go into a triage room and they want to confirm that my water really has broken. Just a little strip of paper they place at your labia and if it changes color, water has broken. It was, like I had said. And then there was a cervical check. Knowing what I know now, I should have turned it down, but I said OK. And man alive, did she check me. Just shoved her whole big gloved hand right up there, no "OK, here's my touch." or "Little pressure here." Just up and in. And hard. So she immediately was on my Shit List. Good thing I didn't see her again. But yes, water was broken, I was dilated to a 3 (A three. Talk about disappointment. But as I have learned and experienced, the number means nothing.) and then they stand me up to go to a delivery room.  And the gush of fluid that came out when I stood up, OH MY GOD. It went everywhere! I even said something like, "Oh god, there is fluid coming out. So much fluid. This is so gross!" I made everyone laugh. And I guess that cervical shoving nurse got hers because it went all over her shoes.

Anyway, I get in the room and at about 3 minutes in, I'm naked and wanting to get in the shower.  (FYI for those getting ready to birth their first, don't worry about what you're going to wear. 95% of the time you want it all off anyway. It's too hot, scratchy, tight, etc. And it's not like those around you haven't seen that all before.) The shower was the one moment I had were I thought "I can't do this." It was really hard and I was in there alone, my people were in the bathroom but I was in the shower alone and it was tough. I do remember my doula saying I was doing great with following my body and my breath. During contractions I could not sit still.  Which is good, when mom is moving, baby is moving.

45 minutes I was in the shower. They wanted to monitor the baby and the contractions. And the asked if they could do another cervical check. This one was much better. I was complete. Which goes to show you that I came in at a 3 and I think it was about 2-3 hours later I was at a 10. Time to push. 

I remember my first few pushes were loud, I was doing that mama growl they talk about. Loud and guttural. I also got a vision of a ham all wrapped up in that string for meats, being thrown down a hallway. No idea what that means. And during my first several pushes, my eyes closed yet I would get a vision of red. Just bright fire engine red would flood my minds eye. (My doula said afterward that red is the color of power. Awesome.) She also corrected me on my vocalization. I had so much energy coming out of my mouth that I wasn't having enough to push. Keep my mouth closed and send it down to my butt.  OK. I like to think I'm good at following directions. But I also have no problem speaking my mind. I think it was shift change and there were nurses in the room discussing me, my care, my labor. And I called them on it, "Are you guys on shift change? Can you go talk outside?" And they did. Speak up for yourselves, mamas. You're not sick, you're not a patient. They are there to care for you, not the other way around.

Pushing started at a little before 11pm. The day before was my birthday and the day after would be my oldest step-daughter's birthday. She even said when I found out my due date (July, 24th) "You better not have him on my birthday." OK, I'll do everything I can to keep him in there. Prepping to be in labor after the 24th, never once did I think I'd go early. So in between the first several pushes, I noticed the time and gave myself 1 hour to push out this kid. So we all could have our own birthdays. I did not succeed. He was born nearly 4 hours later. Oops.

I pushed on my left side for 4 hours. I think had someone firmly said "Sarah. You need to get up and switch positions. This baby needs a new pathway." I would have listened. But my team was soft spoken and like many women in labor, I DID NOT want to move. So my left side it was. For 4 hours. Eesh. My right hip kept cramping, I was sweaty as hell, and months afterward when I asked my husband if I pooped he responded with "Oh man, it was like a playdough factory." Great and gross. And thank you for not saying anything at the time.

The nurse was pretty hands-off which I appreciated (except, go ahead and wipe my ass, please.) And my husband said at one point "Sarah, his ear! I can see his ear!" and I seemed to come out of the internal trance I was in and thought "Oh thank God, his head is almost out!" I think a few more pushes, the last few with me reaching down to pull him out myself; yep, I did that. The OB even said when I reached down "Hold on, his arms aren't out yet!" I wanted my son and I wanted him now. Once his arms were out, I put the thumbs under his armpits and pulled him up onto my chest. It was glorious and absolutely prefect.
Riley Hennessy 8 pounds 3 ounces, 21 inches long. 7/20/15 2:54am

I encourage all expectant mamas and any mama who has given birth, own your birth story. Write it down. Tell those that want to listen. It is a monumental moment in your life and it deserves to be honored. You deserve to be honored. You grew an entire human and brought it Earth side. That is really fucking awesome.

Remember the feeling of peer pressure and judgement growing up? I remember when I first noticed how what you look like, how you dress, what you carry with you started to define who I was to everyone else. I was in 5th grade and those Esprit canvas tote bags were THEE bag to carry. And you knew you were going to be in the Cool Crowd if you got a new set of Multiples to wear on the first day of school. I also remember thinking a few years later, "I can hardly wait until I'm grown-up and I won't have to care about what other people think."

Ha.  Yeah right.

Cue parenthood. I could say "Cue adulthood" but it's worse in parenthood, specifically motherhood. What is it about seeing another woman being the mom she knows how to be that puts so much judgement on them and second guessing on ourselves? 

The pressure to be This kind of mom who only does This thing or who would never do That thing all the while trying to navigate the foreign world of a newborn is enough to send anyone to the nuthouse. The Beatles had it right "Live and let live." Why is that so hard? I mean, we all know what's best, right? And our own mothers know the most, right? So why not tell it to anyone that will ask, right?

Uh no.  A BIG FAT NO. No no no.

Commiserating is one thing. Bonding, listening, sympathizing. But it's that unwelcomed-didn't-ask-for-mind-your-own-beezwax talk that really gets my goat. I blame social media. Our parents didn't have the world at their fingertips and we turned out just fine. And just as important, so did they. They didn't have Google and Facebook and Mommy Groups, they had a phone and pen and paper.  Ahhhh, simpler times. But truly, without the immediate reaction from someone else or the yahoo answers from some fool who claims to know all, our parents managed not to kill us and raised pretty rad humans.

I left all the breastfeeding groups I was a part of on facebook because of the amount of backlash I got when I said I fed my son formula. I didn't make enough milk, I didn't use the resources at hand to solve the problem and I HATED pumping.  So when I went back to work I sent formula with my son to daycare, he was fed and cared for, that was all I wanted. But I had women who didn't know anything of my situation saying "You're poisoning your child." "I can't believe you don't think breast is best." "You clearly haven't done your research on the benefits and risks of what you are doing." Thanks for nothing, ladies. So, Deuces. I'm out. And the relief I felt once I no longer saw those posts pop up on my page.... it was the same sort of relief in my head and heart as it was physically when I finally got to stretch my legs out straight after giving birth. You know that feeling, the best, most relieving, so damn tight stretch of your life.

The pressure of social media to do what everyone else thinks is right for you and your babe is ridiculous. It's like someone is going to come take away your Mom Card if you let baby sleep in a rock and play longer than so many hours a day.  Friends, I'm here to tell you, that ain't going to happen. You are going to be a mother forever. No matter if you breastfeed for a month or 3 years, if you co-sleep from day one until kindergarten or if babe is in their crib at month 2, if you follow baby led weaning or if those pouches of fruit/veggies have been your saving grace multiple times (Ahem. Me.) I did breast, formula, side-sleeper, co-sleep (that 4 month sleep regression is a real B), only 2 hours of PBS in the morning to watching Finding Dory 3 times in 1 day, from as many Goldfish crackers he wants to a real balanced healthy meal. I did what works for us and my kid is pretty fabulous. Funny, articulate, healthy, huge, lovable, empathetic, curious. 

My mom told me once that when I was still an infant she told the pediatrician that she was unsure how to be a good mom. And he said "You've never been a mom before. But baby has never been a baby before. They don't know when you screw up." Fact. Love your baby, feed them so they grow and are healthy, keep them safe, and do all you can to hold onto your sanity. If mama ain't happy ain't nobody happy. The rest all falls in line.

*Author's note: If you feel like you are struggling in motherhood, are unsure of who you are or how to parent. Or if you just need some extra support, please reach out. This website is a good place to start www.ppsupportmn.org/postpartumsupport You can also check out my Resources page. We are here for you.

You know the phrase, "Do something you love and you'll never work a day in your life?"  I worked for over 20 years in things I thought I loved; theatre, books, coffee, camp counselor (although that was pretty great and if I could make a living doing it, I just might.  You just play games all day.  Paid to be a kid?  Yes please.) I digress...

I worked for years and years trying to use my degree, trying to maintain the number one sales spot in my company, trying to find my niche.  And I was really good.  I could sell you anything, convince you to buy this book, make you try this coffee blend, get you to donate to charity.  Yet everything had that feeling of punching a clock, I liked what I did, I was good at it, but it wasn't fulfilling.  It paid the bills and it had me thinking I was going to be in retail for the rest of my life.

And then I gave birth.  It has been said that birth changes you.  No truer statement has ever been said in my life.  I have never worked so hard at something yet felt so powerful and in control than I did while I was in labor.  I know what you're thinking, "Crazy doula.  In control?  Pashaw.  I hear labor is the worst.  You're nuts, lady."  Maybe I am and maybe I am.  But I was educated, supported and respected which lead to feeling absolutely in control.  I was so in the zone that I even pulled my son out myself.  Reached down and pulled him right up to my chest.  It felt like the right thing to do.  

Months into my son's life, I could not stop talking about how amazing my birth experience was.  My doula opened doors for me that I didn't even know existed.  "They're not allowed to not allow you." was said to me over and over again.  And it was true.  Is true.  Now, seeing as how I can't give birth over and over again (I suppose I could, Hello Dugger Family! but I can't really.) becoming a doula was a desperate itch that needed to be scratched.  I needed to become immersed in the birth world, I needed to help other women learn of their power and their choice.  And to bear witness to expectant parents becoming new parents, in that moment, all is right in the world.

I doula (yes, I turned it into a verb) because giving birth is something that needs to be supported.  It is an absolute roller-coaster of emotions, for both partners, and someone needs to be there to catch them when they fall.  To let them know it's OK to let go.  To help them understand everything that is happening.  And to assure them they are not alone.  I doula because it is one of the purest moments in my life to witness such an intimate transition into parenthood and it feels good to be allowed in.  

It has become my calling to be a birth doula.  It is the first job that I have had that feels just right, like Goldilocks and the porridge, this job is just right.  It doesn't feel like work, it feels like I am fulfilling my life's purpose.