I ordered three books from Amazon last week, and they arrived yesterday. I picked "Baby Catcher" from the small cardboard box of books, clapping my hands and shrieking with glee. I started reading it at noon yesterday, and I finished it today. Five minutes ago.
Hello, my name is Melissa and I am a birth addict. Books are my crack, DVDs my heroin, and I pimp myself out to this really hot cop who pays for all my drugs and tells me he loves me.
Its full title is Baby Catcher: Chronicles of a Modern Midwife, by Peggy Vincent (sorry, professor Pell but Blogger won't let me underline, so italics is going to have to do). It chronicles Peggy Vincent's career in obstetrics, pretty much telling birth story after birth story after birth story. Hilarious, unflappable, and down to earth, any woman would be lucky to have this woman catch her babies! It's different from your Ina May brand of birth stories, because these are written from the midwife's perspective, honestly and with humour and self deprication. It's awe. Some. I'm sorry it's over. I love medical books written like this, with story after story, some of them battles and some of them learning experiences and some of them peaceful. But the best ones of all are the baby catching books. This one is even endorsed on the FRONT COVER by ANNE LAMOTT, one of my favourite authors and spiritual gurus. And can you get over that cover? Though Nirvana should sue, it fits the cover of this book a lot better than their album.
Awk. Hook. Line. Sinker. Thunk.
Next in line is Pushed: The Painful Truth About Childbirth and Modern Maternity Care by Jennifer Block (that came in the same Amazon package yesterday. I'm wriggling like a puppy. Like, seriously. My bum is wriggling back and forth and it is most unbecoming). Ya think, maybe, just maybe, I found my calling in life? Though how can I truly know until I actually go to a birth that's not my own, right? [I know with the same intuition that knew I was pregnant with Riley before I missed a period or took the test or even had the sore boobs--you know, the someone-has-cut-off-my-boobs-with-a-dull-razor-while-I-was-sleeping-I-SWEAR-IT sore boobs]
Which reminds me, my first (second) doula client is due with her first baby on Monday. I'm super excited. It's going to be good, and calm, and peaceful, and so great [insert crossed fingers HERE]: this is the Most Prepared Couple in the universe, with the right amount of flexibility and excitement and baby things and lists and openness. They wanted a midwife, but couldn't find one with availability around her due date, so they had to go with a physician they don't really know and have spent all of five minutes at a time with at each appointment thus far. They have done their homework, people. All I have to do is stand by and cheer [butI'msofreakingnervous], right? I'm terrified.
I have to keep reminding myself that this upcoming birth is not about me.
Interested in birth? Baby Catcher is riveting. Five thumbs up.