Sarah and I have decided to retain the services of a doula, Kristin Evans, for the birth of our first baby. We met Kristin at our childbirth preparation class, where she is the teacher.
We um-ed and ah-ed for a while over whether we needed a doula to complement our midwife, but eventually decided that it would be nice to have some extra support before Rosanna arrives. Given Sarah’s temperament, there’s a not insignificant chance she’ll tell me to fuck right off at some point, but Kristin has more credibility and can probably retain Sarah’s respect when her patience with me will be wearing thin.
This takes the pressure off me a little bit. If I forget how to help Sarah with her breathing during her contractions, I can be sure that Kristin won’t. That’s not meant to sound like I’m going to shirk my duties — I’m not — but it’s nice to know that someone else will be able to pitch in if I prove useless as a supportive birth partner.
Of course, Rosanna will be there, too, but she’ll be focussed on the medical stuff. Kristin is more for the practical, emotional and spiritual needs of the mother.
It’s going to be cool, I think. Hopefully, the house won’t feel too much like Piccadilly Circus (that’s Grand Central Station, for the Americans out there) with all of these bodies ambling about. Whatever happens, there’ll be a little baby at the end of it all, so I don’t imagine we’ll care much about anything by that point.