Musings of a Doula
Today is an anniversary of sorts for me. Three years ago today my first doula baby was born after a LONG 36 hours of labor.
Maybe I’m sick, but I love the exhaustion that settles into my bones after I’ve been up all night with a laboring woman and she has delivered a healthy baby. There is nothing greater than watching that tiny head come down the birth canal and crown. There is nothing sweeter than the tears of complete joy as a woman’s baby is placed onto her belly and she gazes upon her child for the first time. And it doesn’t matter if this is her first baby or her tenth; the tears of joy are still there. And I bawl like a fool, too. I cry with her when a woman is struggling in labor. I cry with her when she reaches that emotional wall and she just can’t do one more contraction. I cry, and cry, and cry. At my first birth I gasped and then broke into sobs as a tiny, beautiful, perfect baby girl was delivered into the world.
As a doula you’re supposed to be professional and together and composed. Not this doula. This doula cries in the bathroom where nobody else can see that she is struggling to do her very best to help this struggling mother; this doula cries in the hall when doctors have scared her client so badly that she is succumbing to the pressures for pitocin only a few hours into her labor; this doula cries because she wants the perfect birth for every client, no matter what this woman’s definition of the perfect birth is; this doula cries as a perfect little being is born to her teenage mother and is sent home to repeat the cycle all over again; this doula cries because she cares.
Does it make me a bad doula? No, on the contrary. I think it makes me a better one. Would you rather have a cold clinical woman or someone whose heart bleeds too easily? If you need a doula, I’m your gal.
I will forever be linked to each and every baby I have been with from birth. I have contact with each and every parent and with some, like Baby Girl and Lil Sis, I have an unbreakable bond and never-ending love for them and their mom.
There are no words to describe how fulfilling this job is. My heart soars whenever I think of a delivery that I have witnessed and assisted with. The thought of a brand new life coming into the world is overwhelming sometimes and being invited to be there to witness this event is often more than I can handle.
My biggest frustration in my life? Not being able to be a practicing doula. I am a doula in spirit right now. I have to work in an office and wear suits and comply with the rules so I can pay the bills. My spirit yearns to break free, to soar, to help bring these little perfect lives into the world. But alas, it is not to be for me now.
But someday…
Happy Third Birthday Sophia! Thank you for making me a doula!
Maybe I’m sick, but I love the exhaustion that settles into my bones after I’ve been up all night with a laboring woman and she has delivered a healthy baby. There is nothing greater than watching that tiny head come down the birth canal and crown. There is nothing sweeter than the tears of complete joy as a woman’s baby is placed onto her belly and she gazes upon her child for the first time. And it doesn’t matter if this is her first baby or her tenth; the tears of joy are still there. And I bawl like a fool, too. I cry with her when a woman is struggling in labor. I cry with her when she reaches that emotional wall and she just can’t do one more contraction. I cry, and cry, and cry. At my first birth I gasped and then broke into sobs as a tiny, beautiful, perfect baby girl was delivered into the world.
As a doula you’re supposed to be professional and together and composed. Not this doula. This doula cries in the bathroom where nobody else can see that she is struggling to do her very best to help this struggling mother; this doula cries in the hall when doctors have scared her client so badly that she is succumbing to the pressures for pitocin only a few hours into her labor; this doula cries because she wants the perfect birth for every client, no matter what this woman’s definition of the perfect birth is; this doula cries as a perfect little being is born to her teenage mother and is sent home to repeat the cycle all over again; this doula cries because she cares.
Does it make me a bad doula? No, on the contrary. I think it makes me a better one. Would you rather have a cold clinical woman or someone whose heart bleeds too easily? If you need a doula, I’m your gal.
I will forever be linked to each and every baby I have been with from birth. I have contact with each and every parent and with some, like Baby Girl and Lil Sis, I have an unbreakable bond and never-ending love for them and their mom.
There are no words to describe how fulfilling this job is. My heart soars whenever I think of a delivery that I have witnessed and assisted with. The thought of a brand new life coming into the world is overwhelming sometimes and being invited to be there to witness this event is often more than I can handle.
My biggest frustration in my life? Not being able to be a practicing doula. I am a doula in spirit right now. I have to work in an office and wear suits and comply with the rules so I can pay the bills. My spirit yearns to break free, to soar, to help bring these little perfect lives into the world. But alas, it is not to be for me now.
But someday…
Happy Third Birthday Sophia! Thank you for making me a doula!
posted by zanie @ 8:54 AM
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