Judy Baer - Oh, Baby!

“I just wish He’d hurry up. My sister is going nuts.”

“I can’t do anything else but I can pray,” I offered. “That’s one thing I’ve had a lot of practice at.”

A smile broke through, and the sparkle came back into his eyes. “You’re something else, Molly. I’m crazy about you.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and swung me in a big circle. “If I ever were to settle down, it would be with someone like you.”

That statement didn’t even make me think twice. Tony will never be ready to settle down. He’ll be flirting his way through the nursing home, making every woman there, no matter her age, wish they had a Tony in their life.

“Now tell me exactly what a doula does.”

Emily Hancock, a painfully well-dressed, worried-looking creature stared at me intently, as if I were planning to extract a wisdom tooth, not aid her in guiding a new child into the world. We sat in the highly polished stainless-steel kitchen of her three-story Tudor, looking out over gardens and grass manicured within an inch of its life.

“I know very little about this. Midwives, I’m familiar with, but doulas… They’re new, aren’t they?”

New? As in something developed recently to maintain new technology such as the latest generation of cell phones or MP3 players? Hardly. “A doula is actually a very old concept.

“Doula is a Greek word meaning a woman who serves other women.” I tried to smile encouragingly at the nervous woman. “We use massage, aromatherapy, positioning and reflexology to make our clients comfortable during birth.”

“I had no idea,” Emily murmured approvingly.

“A doula’s function is to be there for a mother in labor in any way she can, from ice chips to foot rubs, reading aloud to singing lullabies. During labor, your wish is my command.”

“Nothing medical?”

I held up a hand as if to ward off a bad idea. “I always defer to medical personnel. I know how to stay out of the way when necessary. Women have even hired me to be in charge of their husbands so that they won’t have to worry about them fainting during labor.”

“There’s no worry about that with my husband,” she said wistfully. “He won’t faint. If he’s even there, that is. He’s taking part in a mission trip to Guatemala about the time the baby is to be born. The trip has been in the works much longer than the baby, and he’s been instrumental in the planning, so he’s hoping to go and still get back in time for the birth.”

Finally her shell cracked and tears sprang into her eyes. “What made me think it would be a good idea to have a baby when I’m well over forty? I should have known better.”

“You aren’t the first forty-year-old mother and you won’t be the last. You are in wonderful shape, healthy and you’ve had an easy pregnancy so far. My mother had her last child at forty-two and she’s absolutely fantastic. She took up golf last summer.”

“Really?” Emily looked hopeful.

“I’m from a family of nine. My mother had a baby every two years for eighteen years. Her ‘caboose’ baby was born at forty-two.” Poor little Kevin, I thought. Mother, when she called him the little caboose on a very long train, had never meant for the name to stick. At twenty, his nickname is still “Caboose.” I know very few people outside our family who actually realize his name is Kevin. His girlfriend calls him Coby so maybe the next generation will eventually forget the nickname.

“Nine? Imagine.” Emily appeared unable to grasp the concept.

“We did come one at a time, and we were small to begin with. Fortunately, my dad said that our house was made of rubber and that the walls could stretch to accommodate any number of children. Somehow he was right.”

“No wonder you are in this business. You love children, don’t you?”

“I do. I taught both preschool and kindergarten before becoming a doula. I can’t get away from people under six years of age—or their mothers.”

Emily looked at me thoughtfully. “Frankly, when I asked you here today to interview you, I really didn’t plan to hire you. It was more to salve my curiosity, to leave ‘no stone unturned’ concerning my pregnancy. My doctor didn’t recommend having a doula. In fact, he discouraged it rather vehemently.”

I felt a knowing chill run through me.

“But I’ve changed my mind. I like you, Molly, and I like what you say a doula is and does.” She gave a small, wry laugh. “And at my age, I need all the help I can get.”

I drained my teacup before speaking. “Your physician wouldn’t happen to be Dr. Clay Reynolds at Bradshaw Medical Center, would he?”

Emily looked surprised. “Yes, it is. How did you know?”

“I didn’t. I just know that he’s not a fan of having doulas—or anyone but medical personnel—around during a delivery. Lucky guess.” Or very unlucky.

“He’s a wonderful doctor,” Emily said. “So compassionate and thorough. I know he is a bit old-fashioned when it comes to his mothers, but he’d do anything in his power to protect a woman or a child. A lot of women trust him implicitly.”

There it was again, his mothers. I’m not sure I like anyone as proprietary about mothers as he is. Until he came along, they were mine, all mine.

“I had high hopes for Bradshaw,” I admitted, “but now I think I’ll have to turn my sights elsewhere.”

Emily stood up to refill my teacup. Her body profile was slender but for the “baby bump” around her middle. She wore a black sleeveless knit top, trim khaki pants, casually expensive black heels and diamonds that would make the queen wince. She could have been taken for twenty-five instead of forty. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind, I shouldn’t have said anything. Just a pipe dream.”

“It’s too late now. You’ve already started.” She also refilled the plate of tender date cookies and rich macaroons.

“I have this vision,” I admitted reluctantly, “of creating an agency through which mothers and doulas can connect. Somewhere an expectant mother can go to discover if a doula is right for her. Currently moms are referred to us by health nurses, nurse practitioners, doctors or by word of mouth from friends who’ve used a doula. Some doulas have formed small group associations in order to promote their practices, but I envision something more.”

I was on a roll now, excited, like I am every time I think of what I’d like to have happen. “I want everyone to know what a doula is and how to hire one. I’d like to create an agency that not only has a roster of doulas but also educational programs and support groups about all things concerning mother and baby.”

“It sounds like a wonderful idea. Why would you give that up?” Emily sat down, kicked off one shoe and tucked her foot beneath her leg.

“I’m not giving it up entirely, but I may have to give up on creating it at Bradshaw Medical Center. I’d love to start the program through a hospital. Because of Bradshaw’s size, it would be a good place to begin a pilot program. They already have a free clinic in one of the more depressed neighbor-hoods so it would be a simple matter to add an agency like this. But now that Dr. Reynolds is head of the obstetrics department…”

Emily had an odd expression on her face as she patted my hand. “Don’t worry about the hospital or Dr. Reynolds right now, my dear. That can be worked out. You did, after all, sell me on the value of a doula.”

For no good reason that I could discern, Emily’s words comforted me greatly.

After I left the Hancock home, I drove my red Volkswagen convertible to the Yarn Shack to buy what was, for me, almost better than chocolate or sleeping in late—baby yarn.