Superdoula (yes, clearly, preg ment)

We have struck the doula jackpot, my friends: The most experienced doula in town has agreed to take us on as clients. This woman is amazing--a PhD holding, research loving, humor-filled wonder of a gal who can cite the most recent study on breast feeding initiation or labor at the drop of a hat.

My husband and I feel so blessed. She doesn't take many clients anymore, but decided she'd like to work with us because I'm an old buddy of her daughter and because of our challenging past.

I feel like we're building an incredible team between our nurse midwife and doula. It is such a comfort to me, as the little anxiety tsunamis come and wash over me from time to time.

Double D'oh!

I just committed one of the cardinal sins of the IFosphere, albeit in real life: I accidentally outed one of my (seemingly fertile) friends who's about 10-11 weeks pregnant.

And I did it on Facebook. As part of a message thread involving 20 other people.

Ooops.

Fortunately, she, like many fertiles, was relatively nonchalant about this kind of thing and blissfully accepted both my beanspilling and my humblest apology.

Yet another dull update (pg mentioned)

Yes, I have indeed finally become a very boring pregnant lady. Except for my inability to sleep well due to the nasty humidity and heat in our lovely heartland and some bizarre faint numbness in my left thigh, I am a-okay. Still not gaining anymore weight (?!?) and still enjoying the headbanger's ball in my belly.

Thus another OB appointment bites the dust. He was impressed with Bruiser's strong heartbeat. You show 'em, kid.

Oh, and I think I found a doula. I asked our amazing childbirth educator for some recommendations, explaining my experience with loss and thus anxiety. I'm meeting her top pick on Thursday morning. It's all coming together.

Yous Guys!

You're the best. Thanks for the commiseration, thoughts, birth stories (go, Joonie and Denise! Bucking the trends big time!), and non-legal advice (ah, Misfit!).

I feel much better. Still can't seem to find a doula (and I swear, I'm not that difficult a personality!). But it will all work out somehow.

Wishing all y'all a splendid, restful weekend.

Anxiety and Weeds (birth and stuff mentioned)

They are two sides of the same coin for me, anxiety and depression. Last night's childbirth class was all about c-sections and the reasons for them. It wasn't anything I hadn't heard before, but it still filled me with deep anxiety and fear.

I'm terrified of another pelvic surgery. I'm terrified that I'll wind up with even more cards stacked against me, fertility-wise. I cringe at the thought of being fairly incapacitated, right when I'm supposed to be getting used to one of the bigger changes in my life.

But the bigger terror behind is all is that more stuff will be done to me without a very good medical reason. Now, of course, there are many life-saving reasons why women get c-sections and some women have no choice: It's do or die.

But the stats are harrowing: births by c-section have exploded from 5% in 1975 to around 30% in the past few years, twice the rate recommended by the WHO. Your chances of having a c-section if you've undergone treatment for primary infertility? More than 70%! (according to a study I read from the early 2000s) What the hell? Though many IFers wind up being higher risk for various legit reasons, you can't tell me there's not some physician skittishness and fear of litigation driving that particular number.

I've been misdiagnosed and mistreated several times in my life, and the experience has left its scars. This deep fear comes welling up when I think about someone insisting I need major surgery without a very strong, evidence-based justification where the benefits truly outweigh the risks. I feel like, once again, my infertility has smooshed me, a round peg, into a square hole where I may not be able to get what I want. And that that experience will in turn lead to a cascade of consequences...

Anyway, I woke up right as my husband was leaving for work at the crack of dawn. And then I was alone. I started to feel blue.

It's an anxiety hangover. So I went out in our garden, which has gotten terribly overgrown with weeds this summer, and ripped the shit out of some of the beds. I gathered our somewhat pitiful harvest of beets and carrots and a tomato and some kale that managed to make it despite our benign, guilt-ridden neglect of our veggie friends.

The lesson for me in this: keep digging. Even in the biggest mess, maybe you'll still find the golden, fragrant carrot.

(For those of you who haven't grown carrots, when they are fresh from the ground, they have a whole other smell, something heady and almost perfume-like that fades after a bit.)

Now I get...

...why the whales' ancestors returned to the sea: It's impossible to find a good position for sleeping at the moment. Which helps a lot with the short-term memory loss, of course.

I'm sure I have more to say; I just can't remember it.

Non sequitur

May I just say, organic chocolate chocolate chip ice cream with a slathering of peanut butter is truly the nectar of the gods.

Bassakwards (more pg crap)

Interesting. My TSH is the lowest its ever been since I started getting my thyroid tested (well, except for the time I got all twitchy and ticky due to a brief flirtation with hyperthyroidism). I've stopped gaining weight (but the little one is growing right on target). I apparently passed the glucose threat test "with flying colors," to quote my midwife.

Body, must you always do everything assbackwards? At least the interesting bit is good, not bad, this time around.

I have a cold, but still feel good. We've decided to hire a doula. I really hope I can do this with minimal medical excitement and maximum hippitude. I don't think I have anything to prove; I just want to know what birth without all the bells, whistles, and interventions is like.

Glucose Threat Level:

Green.

My next move: bathe in maple syrup and eat a case of bacon. Mwah ha ha.