beautiful reminder

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world."

Nelson Mandela

recommended reading

I've been reading TerryPratchett lately. Greg has been reading him for years. Every time I had tried in the past,I just couldn't stay into it. He writes a kind of fantasy fiction that is not all goofy-ass unicorns and fairys shite. He's heee-larious! Seriously, it's this great, tongue-in-cheek English humor that makes me want to tell all my friends one-liners from what I have read. But I don't because I can't remember them (there's so many!) and I don't want to be that annoying person.
BUT, I highly recommend his books. I've just read Guards!Guards! and Feet of Clay (which is the sequal to Guards!). It was 3am this morning and I couldn't sleep so I started reading again and woke Eamon up from shaking the bed with my stifled laughter. Seriously, it's that funny.

Vanessa, if you are reading this, you should try reading his stuff. It's cheap-o paperbacks for $4.95 a pop or something like that. Very good comic relief. I'm in love with the character of Sir Samuel Vimes~ he's awesome.

All right, I'm off now to go mess around on the lap top.Greg installed some free trial of Norton security on there (despite the fact that I just bought a year's subscription to McAfee~he never listens to details, this man). Now I can't open anything with a login or password. Which makes using email impossible. I'm about to launch the damn thing out the front door. I'm removing the program entirely. What is the point of internet security if it's so good at blocking stuff that you can't even check your email? Why would they do this to simple people like myself?
Bastards.

Birth and now more paper work

The mama/baby I was waiting on had a lovely home birth this Saturday morning. Fortunately, I got called at 2:40am. Greg was still home , but was planning on going to work and was up. I stumbled out of the bedroom and to the table where he was drinking coffee and on the lap top. He asked what I was doing up. I told him I got called to a birth. "Greeeaat," he said. A bit sarcastic but whatever. I was pleased as punch that I didn't have to call my mom and ask her to come over. Because there's always the chance that she won't answer the phone, and honsetly, I have no one else to call. Event yping that makes my adrenalin start to pump. What am I going to do?
But it was all good. I got into my car and began the 40 minute drive to Chelsea. I got onto 94 and started my Birth Prayer. The one that every midwife says as she drives to a laboring woman. This was the woman that I was worried about having a ginormous baby. Her husband is about 6'4 and probably 300 pounds. She's 5'2. The worst shoulder dystocia I've ever seen in my life happened to a similarly paired couple. Huge daddy, petite mama. All last week after I put everyone to bed, I would lay down and review what to do in case of a shoulder dystocia.
So as i prayed my Birth Prayer, I found myself saying the usual things and then pleading with God: Please don't let her have a huge baby that gets stuck, God, please. Please, please no shoulder dystocia, please. And then it occured to me that God probably doesn't like such sniveling. So I stopped and thought about it. Try again: Okay God, if this woman has a shoulder dystocia., please keep Stacia and I calm and grounded. Keep the fear out of us so that we may use our skills to get the baby out in a safe, timely, healthy manner. Guide our hands and our brains. Thanks.
The snow was falling, falling. Crazy swirly stuff mixed with rain. The air smelled like mud and spring yet the snow was falling all Twilight Zone style. I arrived just after 3am. The mama wanted mostly to be alone, so we left her, only checking on her for heart tones every 30-40 minutes. By 7:30 she was pushing in this great big water tub (a animal water trough actually, a great vessel for having a water birth). She pushed the head out. I couldn't see b/c her bottom was near the wall. Stacia could just feel the head, said she could the posterior shoulder up a bit, but coming. Next contraction, the woman pushed but no baby. Next contraction she pushed, no baby. She pushes like mad, Stacia reaches inside and looks at me and says: Let's get her out of the tub. So I reach under the woman's arm pits (she's on hands and knees) and I pull her up (it's like lifting a truck but you're so in Let's Go! mode that you don't feel it til later when your back is aching). The woman is getting up and rolling over at the same time. And rolling over is just what she needs to move her pelvis because like nothing the baby shoots out of her like a silver fish in a black pool, clear to the other side of the tub. Stacia let's go of the woman and catches the new little boy. He's lovely and healthy and mama is healthy and drank a ton of red raspberry leaf tea during pregnancy and bled so very, very little. I was home by 10:30am.
It didn't occur to me until later in the day that I was at a birth without the "grown ups" present. Meaning, of course, any senior midwife. It was kind of a giggly feeling. Look at us, catching babies. But it felt right. And not scary or like I wasn't prepared for it. I think praying the way I did really helped to ground me. Because in the moment, all you can do is get the baby out. And you try your tricks and keep trying them until something works. And most of the time, no tricks are needed. Babies are just born.
And it really helped to have Christine there, the doula who volunteers to attend just about any home birth. Christine is like the part-time apprentice. She's very helpful and you can bark out orders when you need something quick and she's right on it. She's planning on being a nurse midwife some day. I'm glad we can mold her in our home-birthy hands. She'll be a good midwife in the hospital some day.

So that birth is done. And I'm a bit sad that Idon't have anything lined up until early May when my doula cient is due. I need to do something. I'm day dreaming of cleaning out our back office area and taking on my own clients. But I'm swamped with NARM shite. I just realized yesterday that one of the forms that I have to have each midwife notarize has a blip on there about my having presented to both midwife and notary the following documents:
practice guidlines, an informed consent document, forms and handouts relating to midwifery practice, an emergency care plan. Now how in the hell did I over look this page? Like, these are no small tasks. I have a plan, of course. Practice guidelines, easy, really. Just adapt MANA's basic guidlines, which most midwives live by anyway without thinking about it. You can find informed consent documents on line, I already have forms and such thanks to Tammy's pregnancy jump starting me on these, and an emergency plan?
I don't quite know what that means. I immediately think of taking a big, black Sharpie and writing Emergency Plan: Dial 911. But I don't think that's what they're looking for.
Anyone have a clue?

At any rate, Eamon is napping and I got online to start busting out some documents like the above and all I have done is a little blog therapy.

Notary Woes

The NARM portfolio process is schtuuuuuuuuuuuuupid!
It's so bulky and repetitive and .....it makes me crazy.
I was so pleased with myself yesterday, getting one midwife signature out of the way and notarized. This afternoon I just realized there's like 4 other forms that I need to copy and add to notary pile.
And I'm scared to lug the book around with me. I have this horrible nightmare that someone will break into my car to steal my bag, and with it my blood, sweat and tears of the last 4 years.

Yesterday, while adding up how many births I went to with each midwife, I finally realized how special those numbers are. Because try as one might not to get fixated on numbers while going through the PEP process, I realized I did. There were 31 births with Mer, 20 with Mic, and 35 with A.S. That's 86 births. New life. Well, actually, one of those was a sweet little still born. Amazing. I know midwives can get pretty snarky with their numbers and all, but I really came back to the ground and was in awe of all that I have seen, of the women I've attended, of the power and life that I was witness to. Lucky me. Really.

Greg went to go see that movie V for Vendetta (is that right?). He was sitting around on the lap top while I got Eamon down for a nap, fixed lunch, did laundry, did paperwork, etc. He announced: I'm going to the movies. I'm bored.
I said: That's great. Wow, why have I never thought of that? I'm bored quite often. It never occured to me to go out by myself and treat myself to a movie. Good for you, sweetie.
(is that that new thing called sarcasm?)
Really, I don't care. I have no desire to see that movie. And I wouldn't get someone to watch Eamon so I could go. Just not my thing. And since I really had nothing for Greg and I to do together, be gone with you!

All right, back to obsessing over my porfolio and its never-ending details. It's like some Jim Henson Labryinthe-style book. Every time you open it some new, dumb-ass thing pops out and makes you realize you've got to jet to Kinkos once again, before tracking down a very busy midwife and dragging her to a notary in a town where parking is extremely hard to find.

I'll be so glad when I don't have to deal with all these numbers, dates, details any more.
It's kind of like being pregnant: You're initially afraid of labor, until all those weeks pass and you're big as a house and you'd walk on hot coals to get your baby out. No more fear.
Same here: Initially afraid of the porfolio process and the exam, but by the time you've written your name, date, birth date and social security number on 45 pages, and by the time you've attended many births, and by the time you've finished all paperwork, you're screaming: "Bring it on! Please!"

more NARM obsessing

Today I'm to meet with one of the midwives at a notary to have her signature in my portfolio, well, notarized. I dug out my portfolio after tucking it away for a month. I really don't need a whole lot. And for some reason, the whole thing makes me nervous. Like when I'm afraid to check my online banking. "Shit! Either I'll be pleasantly surprised or I'll have to run to the bathroom for stress vomit!" Exactly the same feeling.
Like I have typed in my user name, my password and the mouse is lingering over the submit button.
(for those of you who have excellent banking skills and/or sufficient funds all of the time, you might not know about this anxiety. i'm good friends with this)
The NARM stuff is the same for me. All I have to do is submit it, really. And then take the skills exam and written exam.
I'm more nervous about the skills exam. I hate acting things out. Even simple stuff like aseptic technique and hand washing. Probably only because I'd hate to not pass a test because I left out some dumb detail like forgetting to turn off the tap with a clean cloth in my hand. It's those details that make me batty.

At any rate, here's a list of what I need to do yet:

Obtain $700 in certified check or money order form
Fill the 3 pages of the general application form (not a big deal, but I keep putting it off)
2 copies of legal photo ID
2 copies of my CPR and Neonatal Resuscitation certificates
4 passport photos (with signature on the back)
Send out my 3 reference letters (one past client, one a friend, one a professional~ have no idea who to use for a "professional")
Notarize each of the 3 midwives signatures

Like, that's nothing, right? Everything else is done.
Take skills exam. Pass.
Send in the other $700 and take written exam. Pass.

Have a celebratory raspberry lambic and a really good meal.

Here's a silly confession:
The other night around midnight Agnes needed to go outside. So I let her out and went into the back room to check emails while I waited for her to her business. I got an advertisement email from Vista Print (place to get free, nice-looking business cards~ you only pay shipping). So I go to their website and I'm browse through their card selection. I picked one out. you can type your info on the card and actually see how it looks as you type it in. So, I write: Me Blah Blah, CPM and doula.....and then the rest of my info. I was really pleased with the way it all looked. But I figured that would be some bad mojo should I order CPM cards prematurely. I felt like such a dork, grinning big at the three little letters after my name. Letters that aren't even there yet. It' s kind of like the daffy young girl who practices writing her not-yet new last name before she gets married. Mrs. Blah Blah surrounded by hearts and flowers. Just for the record, I never did that, you know.

Okay, I'm going to use this Eamon nap time to fill in my 3 page general application.

New doula client

I met my new doula client this morning. She is such a sweet woman! Very cute, articulate and together. She seems to be very well-grounded and open to this labor and birth. Granted, it's her second baby, but she's really a breath of fresh air. After having so many doula clients that were usually very over-educated, control freaks having their firsts babies, this woman is awesome.
I think working with them will be a lot of fun. What a relief. I really wasn't looking forward to taking on new doula clients. Maybe I just have to not take first-timers. :) Maybe I can be a complete crab and not take on any first-timers if they have more than 2 years of college.

I think I'm just overly traumatized from the woman who screamed at me while she pushed. saying things like: "How can you expect me to do this?! This is not fair! Why are you making me do this?!" This woman was on an epidural. And she still screamed at me because she could feel a little bit (so she could work with contractions and push). I still think she must have had some history of abuse. She became the victim and I was made to feel like some creepy perp. who was torturing her. She was fine with the nurses and doctor who were screaming at her to push. She just chose me to scream at and cry to, accusing me of hurting her. This woman was very wealthy. She and her husband were very well educated, high society (fancy dinner party having people, the type who go to $500 a plate charity dinners) folks. They waited til they were in their early 40s to have kids. I still shiver to think of that birth. I had to do a lot of processing with more experienced midwives and doulas to get over that one.
So today when I drove to my new client's house, I was a wee bit nervous. Their address was in a nice, big-house neighborhood. However, they were very down to earth. Sweet and honest. No putting on airs. Good stuff.

My mom seems to be doing all right. She watched the kids for me this morning. Her husband still doesn't know, or hasn't bothered to ask if they're divorced. One would think he'd put two and two together. And how my mom can stand not telling him is beyond me. Apparently when she came home Wednesday all he asked was if she went to court. She said yes. That was it.
No more questions and she's not telling him anything. She's just waiting for him to get the settlement papers and divorce paper in the mail. Now, he was supposed to have already received a copy of the settlement before the court date. If he did, he never said anything about it. Bizarre. Crazy guy.
My mom has kind of re-dedicated herself to helping me with child care, especially the middle of the night stuff. Greg and I had a big once-a-year discussion about finances and job stuff on Tuesday (the full moon was that night and I'm hearing a lot of people were arguing that night). We came to the conclusion that I can't rush off and get clients if I have no childcare for the middle of the night stuff. He doesn't really have the option to change shifts. Well, not without taking on a way more phyically demanding job. And he says he's too old for that shift. This makes me feel awful. And I know that once I start bringing in decent money, it will alleviate some of the burden he feels and maybe even possibly open up the chance for him to look for another job. At any rate, I was telling my mom about this and she said she'd help out. Be available for night time care.
Who ever heard of a midwife who can't leave her kids at 2am? Blech.

All right. I need to go. I'm supposed to make some Irish soda bread to bring to Donn and Kate's day after St. Patty's corned beef and cabbage dinner. Greg isn't coming because it's at 5pm, and he got all of 4 hours sleep last night and he's got to get up again at 2am tonight/tomorrow morning. Married single mom night.
Just kidding. I don't mind this time. Sometimes I do, but this is no big deal.

Sarah and I made yarn pictures with Elmers glue and cardboard. She made a unicorn and I made Sarah and Eamon out of yarn. It was fun. I'm feeling all crafty these days. I'm in the process of shrinking some second hand wool sweaters to hopefully try and make some felted bags (minus the pain-in-the-ass knitting for ever and ever).

Divorce is final~not for me, thank God!

So my mom is legally divorced. Because her now ex-husband didn't show up to court (Still never even got a lawyer), the judge granted the settlement as fair and the marriage as dissolved in as little as 10 minutes. Amazing. This was a great outcome. There are still a bunch of details and paperwork and selling the house and all of that, but the good news is that she won't be sent to the poor house (just yet) and the divorce process won't go on and on.

It was really strange sitting in the court room though. Anyone can watch the process of people getting divorced.It seems you're given a date and a time, but it's still first-come, first-serve. I watched at least 7 couples have their marriages dissolved in less than an hour. 3 of these people were alone like my mom. How can you not show up to your own divorce? What a slap in the face that must be. Two women were silently bawling their eyes out. Most of the people were young and were only married 3-4 years. Some had kids. It was surreal. I was there in my midwife mode: straight back, easy expression, breathing evenly, rubbing my mom's back and holding her trembling hands. After a while though, I was fairly depressed yet equally grateful that Greg and I have managed to keep our shit together over these past 11 years.
And to add some oomph to it, this was after one of those yearly drag-out discussions about money and debt and all that fun stuff. The same script, but the emotions that come up never cease to amaze me.We weren't fighting, but we were in "serious discussion" mode.
We made up before bed, but I was drained and puffy-eyed the next morning. So it was strange watching all these strangers getting divorced. Blech.

After the courthouse, the mood of the day changed for the better and my mom and I ate at a Cracker Barrel, of all places. We were both more chatty and lighter. Not bad. A much better day than we had hoped for.

I think I must be ovulating because I had a dream that George Clooney (in O Brother, Where Art Thou character) was having sex with me under a clothing rack in a department store. And I am so not the type to swoon over handsome celebrities. Weird.

I'm in the middle of doing our taxes via Turbo Tax. I hate this task. I dread it. But it's so much money to pay someone to do them.
I also need to get my shit together to have my portfolio ready to send in. I need to have the midwives come with me to a notary on their signatures, I need the 3 letters of recommendation filled out, I need a bunch of piddly stuff that will make me keep putting it off.

All right, I need to go eat something.

Hey, did you know that if you click on the pictures, you can see them bigger? I've been disappointed at they way they appear, but you just have to click them. A little slow here, but working it out, thank you.

Court house of Love

My MIL just brought more photos from her camera. Look how tan we are! That was only 2 weeks ago! We've pretty much all lost it except for Greg due to his working outside. So his head and neck are very tan.

And we all got so excited because this weekend was so sunny. Sunday it was very warm, in the mid-60s. Yesterday it rained a lot but it was still in the low 60s. This morning when I drove Sarah to school, we had a windchill of 17 frickin' degrees. That's just not right. Spring time in Michigan. Sarah was pissed. She ranted about the weather for most of the drive, while I tried to explain Spring time here and how manic it is.

I had to call DTE this morning to see how much I paid for our gas bill so that I can deduct 33% for the apartment upstairs. As the guy read off the numbers: $286.45, $279.37, $189.29, etc. I felt my stomach lurch. On and on with the big numbers. In the summer months it was usually $60 or so. All of this wouldn't be so bad, but our house is so cold and we keep our thermostat at 62. It's just not right. One would never describe their physical state as "comfortable" while visiting our house any time between October through early May. Unless you're sitting in front of one of the space heaters, you might describe yourself as being "quite ready to leave".

I swear I'll quit bitching about the weather and waiting for real Spring. Give me a few months and I'll be bitching about how damn humid it is and how I can't get out of the shower without working up a sweat as I towel off.

So nothing terribly exciting right now. I have to go to court tomorrow with my mom who has filed for divorce from husband #2. He's a lovely man, if you're into that irresponsible, alcoholic, coke addict type. Seriously, he is nice. He's just a train wreck. And he makes my mom miserable. He's nearly 60, has worked for Ford all his life and besides their house, hasn't got a pot to piss in. No retirement, barely a pension. Everything he earns goes straight up his nose or to his liver for a little more pickling action. He was served his divorce papers back in September where it was advised he get a lawyer. He received another letter in October really advising him to get a lawyer. He did nothing. Now they've got a court date for tomorrow and he still hasn't got a lawyer. And he keeps telling their friends that they're "working things out", despite the fact they haven't really spoken in months. Hmmm, I think I've heard something about alcoholics living in denial, no? My mom's lawyer wrote a nice, fair settlement. We're hoping that mom's husband kind of blips of remembering this court date. His absence would make the whole thing final tomorrow. But I think he'll get it together enough to show, despite not having a lawyer. This makes my mom nervous. I told her she should expect this to drag out a bit, and if it doesn't then that will be a pleasant surprise. Until then, expect a bit of dragging. When my parents divorced, my mom demanded virtually nothing because it was stressful and she didn't want to be a "bitch". So she got virtually nothing but a pittance of a child support payment and nothing else. I told her she's too old and uninsured to play that card and she needs to find some inner-bitch this time around. Her lawyer seems like a really cool woman.

I hope it goes well and to make it AllAboutMe, I really hope we don't end up sitting around in the Monroe County court house all day waiting for a 10 minute session where Mr. Happy Drunk pulls himself together enough to say, "I need time to find a lawyer", and then we're given another court date. It would be great if he just agrees to the very reasonable settlement and we call it a day, a marriage. Then we can work on what to do with mom next. It's so weird. I was asked to be their witness when they got married at a court house, and now here I am escorting my mom to another court house for a divorce. I really hope it goes well.

Eamon is napping, Sarah's at school and my MIL has gone home. I should do something productive but I can't rouse myself to do anything. I sold another book on half.com, so I need to mail that off today. Half.com is my get-rich-real-slow scheme. I sell a book for around $4 every 9 days or so. It's barely making a dent in my huge collection of books I Don't Want Anymore, and it's making even less of a dent in my shallow checking account. But it's something. I've sold cookbooks, gardening books, and today's book is War and Peace. Who on earth would buy that for $1 (brand new paperback, yellowing pages from 15 years on our shelves)? I listed it so cheaply because it has a bargain book sticker on there that says 1 Pound. I couldn't scrape the sticker off and figured I couldn't sell for more than $1. This guy is paying more for shipping than he is the book. Cha-ching, there goes $3.47 into my checking account. I know you're jealous.

Food. It does a body good.

My mood these last few days has been all about food, music and color.
Michigan is fucking gray right now. The gray that used to be green but is now gray and is waiting to turn green again. Gray with a hint of green. Even with a good day of bright sunshine, it's still gray with a memory of green to it.
It's just ugly. That institutional green-gray.
At any rate, I got this great CD from the library. It's a compilation of Mexican music, all styles spanning many decades. There's old, glamorous big band stuff, mariachi, ranchero, modern ska type of stuff, crazy drunken women crooning their hearts out. It's mad. I love it. You can only imagine sunshine and dust and color and food. Every time I set foot in the kitchen I turn this CD on.
It makes me want to make 17 different dishes of food, throw a big party, paint my house Frida Kahlo blue, and grow my dish-water blonde hair long enough to put it in those stunning Zapatista braids. (Don't think I'd achieve that same beautiful Latina look, but I can dream.)

So I thought I'd make a list of the foods I am craving these days. The foods that I am making on the fly, or taking time to cook.
I'm making a ton of quesadillas, with sides of beans and rice, Trader Hoe's guacamole (Avocado's Number~that's funny), and cholula hot sauce. How can such a substantial meal take only 20 minutes to prepare and taste so damn good?

Another quick one: half a block of extra firm tofu, crumbled. 3-5 Tb chutney (right now I have a really good spicey pear chutney one of the midwives made, canned and gave as gifts), some curry powder (or your own blend of cumin, coriander, turmeric, etc.), 3 Tb mayonaise, some currants or raisins, some walnuts, mix it all up and you've got some yummy, high protein curry salad that tastes really good on pita with some greens. Cheap and tasty!

I'm all about white beans right now. They're creamy and stick to your ribs. In the crock pot: 2 cans of white beans, one can of tomatoes (3 fresh tomatoes if you have them, they're not worth buying fresh yet), 1/4 cup sundried tomatoes, 1 1/2 cups vegetable stock, one sauteed onion and a couple cloves garlic...all together on low for 2-6 hours (the beauty of a crock pot, no?). Just before you serve it, throw in a 3 Tb or so basil pesto. I eat it with pasta just to make it a bit heavier. But it's supposed to be a stew. Even the kids dug it. Greg doesn't like sundried tomatoes. I don't understand that, but it seems to be true.

The other white bean fabulous dish (and this is my new sin since coming back to the world of meat eaters after a 7 year hiatus): white bean chicken cassoulet. Those of my friends who got a Eating Well subscription from me (and it was such a good deal over the holidays that I got it for at least 6 people) will find this recipe in the Jan/ Feb issue. It's got white beans, chicken and look out: kielbasa. This was the first time I had kielbasa (this Polack girl's favorite comfort food) in years and I was in love. There's something about the saltiness of the kielbasaa mixed with the little bit of white wine just making those beans and chicken swim around in it.... good God, that's the goods.

I love food. I love eating. It's one of those pleasures that make me a better person. I actually get excited and feel my endorphins pumping when I know I'm going to a restaurant I really love or to someone's house that can cook really well. (Like Clint and Tammy's kick ass pozole)
It's like running endorphins, it's like being in labor and giving that half-crocked smile between contractions, it's like good sex after having a few beers and feeling slap-happy. Food does this to me. And I am thankful for it.
Like really good coffee or insanely dark chocolate. People need to slow the hell down and taste every little morsel. Try to figure out what spices are creating the myriad of tastes in their mouths. Itty bitty shivers.

Add to this splendor a really great Mexican music CD and I am transported to somewhere warm. There's lots of colors, rich colors. People are tan, healthy. Not puffy, white, doughy bodies covered in layers of synthetic fibers. Barefoot. Warm backs. No goose bumps. No gray grass.
My big, Victorian, gingerbread colored/styled house is transformed in that blue Frida house with an open court yard full of flowers and lemon trees. Windows are open, dogs and kids are running crazy and we're cooking mad, fabulous food. Throw in a couple of chickens running around aimlessly.

I've been pulled back by my dog who has taken to barking at something outside when everyone is asleep but me. Gotta go out into the cold and pull her in.

Mr. Mary Poppins?

My mother-in-law just sent me this picture from our trip. We caught Mary Poppins (one of our fave characters) just before heading towards the castle for the closing fireworks. As we approached, we realized that Mary Poppins was frickin' huge. Greg took the pic and said, "Say cheese!", they said cheese and Mary Poppins stuck out his huge seemingly sized 12 kid boot and said "cheese" like a proper English lady.
Too funny. I forgot about it until seeing this picture.
When I showed Sarah the picture after school yesterday she said, "That is SUCH a drag queen!"

Oh my. My 6 year old has been schooled in the ways of gender bending. No thanks to watching, To Wong Fu, With Love (remember the Patrick Swaze movie?).
We laughed so hard.
Good family fun, kids!

Who me, a DOULA?

Wow. I talked to this woman on the phone last week who is looking for a doula. She had one at her last birth (a home birth midwife, no less) and asked about my services. I told her my price, what I offer, etc. and she said she'd call me back. So we talked this morning and she says very matter-of-factly: "We've decided to hire you. That is, if you're still available at the time of my due date."
I was struck dumb. I've never even met this couple. I had a 10 minute phone conversation about my background and what I do. Normally, this is followed by another phone call either saying, "We're not interested" or "Let's meet and have an interview."
It's kind of strange. So I'm going to sendmy contract in the mail and meet them next weekend.
As Margaret would say, I'm gobsmacked.

How can you hire someone to come to such an intimate situation and not even know what they looked like? I couldn't. I'd want to see that they're clean, friendly, a good listener, hell, that they don't suffer from halitosis! (Bad trait for a birth attendant to have. I'm addicted to Altoids for this very reason~ and I don't even have halitosis. Pregnant women and their noses~ look out!)
So there you go. A birth lined up. A hospital birth. Haven't been to a hospital birth in 2 years. And that last one was one of those typical I Get Stuck With Doula Birth. Ahem, something like this: Client calls Friday evening with piddly contractions that she can totally talk through. I advise her to eat an easy meal, maybe have a glass of wine and try to sleep. Instead, the client goes out for spicy Indian food, drinks a Coke and decides to walk the streets of Ann Arbor for 3 hours. Contractions mildly stronger but still fifteen minutes apart! I get another call at 2am, client can't sleep. Contractions still only 10 minutes apart but she claims she needs to go to the hospital. So I drive up to the U and find her in triage. They don't want to admit her but do anyway. Within 6 hours, we're hooked up to Pit and an epidural. I stay all day Saturday and Saturday night. Baby is born sometime Sunday afternoon.
Do you know that I've had FOUR doula clients pretty much play out this entire scenario? Is that not crazy? All of them via cesarean. I used to beat myself up about being a shitty doula. How come all my clients get sectioned? What am I doing wrong? But many births (mostly homebirths) later, I realized that we need to honor (completely, not just lip service) each birth as it unfolds. Even if we think this woman has a beautifully roomy pelvis and could've totally pushed her teensy 6 pounder through there. The phenomena of psychologic dystocia is incredily true and powerful. Women need to feel safe to let go. And for some women, there is no place that feels safe enough to let go to the powers and pains of labor and birth. And of course it doesn't help to have a clock hanging across the room at the end of each laboring woman's bed. With nurses, midwives, OBs, janitors, annoying phone calls all clanging away during labor, watching the clock screaming, FASTER, FASTER!
And me as the doula trying to keep them out but also thinking, I've been here for 48 hours, can you please have your baby now? And then feeling incredibly guilty about this.

Phew, I guess I needed to process some of my own birth fears!

At any rate, this stranger who has hired me had a good vaginal birth last time. With a short (for a first baby) 8 hour labor with the help of Pit and a doula. Don't know if she had an epidural or not. I really don't care. Sounds like she's all business and healthy. It should be okay.

Now I really need to find night time child care. Gosh, I don't even know where to start looking.
Blech.

All right, I really need to take a shower. Eamon is napping, it's 12:30 and I didn't have time before taking Sarah to school. I'm half tempted just to stay dirty. I'm not doing anything but cleaning the credit union, but then I'll feel really gross. Shower it is.

Step into the light

I went to the Zingerman Bakehouse this morning and paid an obnoxious amount of money for a couple muffins, a croissant and a coffee. They're always so nice there though, that I just smile and hand over my debit card like a maroon. At any rate, I was totally smitten with the view of all the bakers in the bakery room (behind the plate glass window). I immediately thought of myself working there in the wee hours, pounding dough and making yummy things. Having a paycheck and scheduled hours.
I dream of having a regular paycheck and hours. Crazy. But then I hear the details of some birth and I go all oogly and sigh and swoon.
I need to figure something out because: 1. I am pretty bored. I need to stay busy and although I'm happy to report that my house is really clean these days, it's just not enough. and 2. We're broke. Or we're on the road to getting even poorer. And I don't want to go back there.

Most of my apprenticeship was spent being really, really poor. I don't want to go back to not buying decent groceries and relying on rehydrated beans for dinner. I was pathetically optimistic during those days and knew that there would be a change "when I finished my apprenticeship", but man, I don't want to go back there. Being in Florida for that short spell made me realize that it's not completely sinful to want nice things. It's not horrible to want cute new shoes. And not new shoes because you need them but because you LIKE them. I've spent most of myself telling myself that I am very blessed with what I have and that I don't need anything~ which is true for the most part. But there's no reason why I can't make some money to make life and paying our bills a little less stressful.
No. I'm tired of creative bill paying. The dance and shuffle of credit cards, cutting corners, doing without.
So I need to get on the ball and figure out some way to make money in a regular kind of fashion. Either midwifery in a continuous way or beating dough in a bakery or something.
And I still think that we are very, very blessed. Thank you. Not at all ungrateful, believe me. Good stuff, really.

I have two things I'm going to really focus on NOT doing: 1. no complaining. I bitch a lot. And I'm tired of hearing myself, honestly. It's embarassing. I bitch about work, my family, my dog, strangers, the weather, etc. Enough. I read something in my daily inspirations book (or whatever it's called) and it said something along the lines of not complaining. You speak of the lovely fruit and you shall receive of the lovely fruit. Bitch and moan, and you get nada.
2. No talking shit about other people. I'm not too bad about this. But really, I caught myself getting all pissed off at some guy I hadn't yet met the other day, because it seemed he was trying to be shadey about a transaction with a friend. So in my pissiness, I belittled his lifestyle just for the sake of talking shit. I'm really, really good at talking shit. It's a shame one can't make a living on it (well I suppose you can via television or any media), but I don't want to be that person. I am making a concentrated effort to stop talkling shit. It's the same as complaining. I will not receive the lovely fruit when I'm blasting other people's fruit.

There you have it. I am trying to be better. Nicer. More patient. There's no need for my hurried, harried, George Costanza behavior.
I have exposed some of my shadow. I'm sure there's more lingering in there. But I'm taking baby steps.

And now, I'm off to make some kind of move to hopefully better my finances.

Damn these Girl Scout cookies! I've only just picked them up last night and have eaten at least 6 or 7 caramel delights. They're sooo yummy. Horrible devil food.
The cookies came in some time when I was on vacation. And now I'm supposed to collect something like $150 from everyone who ordered from us and turn in the money tomorrow.
T'ain't gonna happen.
Last night I went to bed with that sick feeling in my stomach. Was it another stomach bug?Nope. It was the realization that once again I am on-call. I have committed to helping Stacia with a birth for a woman due next weekend. Second baby. First birth went fine, but with a big baby, like 9 1/2 pounds. This woman is probably 5'1 or so. Stacia called yesterday to update me on the woman and said all is well, she's healthy, but it feels like another big baby (groan), probably more in the 10 pound range. Fabulous. What is it with the ginormous babies? Stacia just had a stressful shoulder dystocia 2 weeks ago that she's recovering from. It put fear back into me. I was feeling good for a while. Quite confident in my skills. And I know well enough that it takes only one beautiful birth to make up for a scary one and put your faith back into this work.
ACOG just realeased a statement regarding lay midwifery that was just shitty. It's none too surprising off course, but it brought back that lingering question: Just why have I been called to do this work? No, really.
In the face of the possibility of working in a legally grey state, in a country where home birth is frowned upon, where the medical community and insurance companies run the show like a big, bad mafia...I have to ask time and time again, why?
I love working with women and babies and families. I love assisting women have the births that they want in spite of the "risks" of not having an operating room down the hall.
But is it worth it? And what are the options otherwise?
When I think of going to school to be a CNM,it makes me sick. First of all, I just couldn't cut it. Too much work and time and blather that has nothing to do with birth. Not to mention oh, 5-6 years of my life in school full time, racking up $40K worth of loans (I'm guessing, probably more?). So I start working at the age of 40? And work 10 years to pay off my loans and then retire. Working in an environment that is not supportive of women, babies or the sanctity of their bodies. I just don't believe in it.
So home birth it is.
Back to trying to fall asleep without freaking out about being called at 1am and wondering where I will take my kids.
My mom is around, but she had a small stroke. I didn't write about it, but she had a small stroke just before I left for Florida. She has obscenely high blood pressure that she's not done anything about despite having health insurance. After 4 years of not being treated and having BP of 210/105, she had a mini stroke that ended up bursting a bunch of blood vessels in her eye, obstructing 2/3 of her vision in her one eye. Fortunately, it seems to be a bit of a wake up call and she is now taking medication and being proactive about her health (well to some degree).
At any rate, now she doesn't want to drive when it's dark out, so I would probably have to drive the kids to her place if she would be willing to watch them. I so need to find a local child care person whom I trust and is reliable.
All right, I need to quit procrastinating and start calling all the cookie orders who owe me money before I have a girl scout leader leaving me hateful voicemail messages.