If you've been following my blog, you might remember earlier in my pregnancy I wrote a post about the pros of Midwives vs the pros of Doctors. At the time, I had decided to go with a midwife (with my son, we had an OB) and I was very excited about my decision, because I had heard so many great things about midwives.
I had fantasies of a life-long friendship that would begin at our first appointment—We would braid our armpit hair together as we shared home-made granola recipes! We'd give ourselves matching henna tattoos that read, "Epidurals are for suckers." Then we'd laugh in unison as we casually noticed we were wearing matching Birkenstocks.
Unfortunately, this intentionally stereotpyical and possibly offensive daydream was quickly brought to a hault. From day one, I never felt 100% comfortable with my midwives or the clinic. Here's why:
All in all, it wasn't the warm, re-assuring, comforting experience I was expecting, and, truly, I didn't feel comfortable trusting them to bring my baby into the world.
So, I did what any woman at 33 weeks pregnant would do—I called my OB and begged for forgiveness, "I know I said I wanted to go with a midwife, but . . . would you take me back?" With my tail between my legs, they welcomed me with open arms.
I did a tour of the hospital I'd be delivering at, and within 0.5 seconds I fell in love with the nurse giving the tour. She was exactly the type of person I wanted—someone kind, yet strong, and knowledgeable. She was warm, easy to talk to, and laughed at my jokes (bonus!). At the end of the tour she said, "What is your name? I'm going to keep my eye out for you—I hope I get to be your nurse!"
Aw shucks. I hope so too, nurse Katherine!