Kid in an Adult Candy Shop

Today was a day for running errands. We're having a bit of a bachelorette party for one of my roommates tonight so I had a some preparing to do. We'll be having dinner at our house first so I had to go grocery shopping and then we're going out on the town so I had to go party favor shopping.

Girl Scouts are certainly in season right now and I had yet another encounter while grocery shopping today. I was impressed by the skill level of this bunch. 3 girl scouts are always stronger than 1. As I walked out the door I mentally prepared myself for the ever-so-sweet "would you like to buy some girl scout cookies?". Determined to be strong and not give in to their huge puppy dog eyes I responded in an equally sweet manner "No thank you. But good luck!". I was walking away when the second wave hit. "Well then would you like a recipe for Thin Mint brownies?" Crap! They were unrelenting! I turned around slowly. "And would you like to try one?". I knew it was over. I begrudgingly admitted defeat, tried a brownie and told them I would buy a box of Thin Mints. This is not the first time an unsuspecting customer has been seduced by these cookie selling fiends. My friend Luke got chanted into buying a box yesterday. "One more box! One more box!" was chanted at him as he left a store and he succumbed to the power of the chant almost immediately. So I decided these girls could use a little marketing hint and suggested they start chanting that towards the end of their day as an extra push to sell a few more boxes. One of their dads laughed. The girls stared at me blankly. Clearly they have never experienced the power of the chant. They will one day. And they'll think back on me fondly.

A story about girl scout cookies, however, is just a teaser to the real excitement of the day. A trip to candyland. And by candyland I mean an adult store which will go unnamed. You know, for party favors. I really had to gear up for this one. Never have I ever entered one of these stores. I really didn't know what to expect. All I knew was that I found it hilarious to be going to one. Apparently I'm still in middle school. I even came up with funny little anecdotes to say to the desk clerk on the way in. Such as "Would you point me to the penis paraphernalia please?". Such great alliteration in that sentence! However, I decided that probably wouldn't get me very far because there is a lot of paraphernalia of the penile type in such a store.

I drove up. Parked. Put my game face on. And walked to the front door. (Not carrying my mace as my grandmother had insisted upon. Apparently these places are supposedly sketchier than I thought.) As I walked through the front door I noticed a large poster for a play toy that said "Have we met?". Classy, adult store...very classy. I went in, immediately saw a "bachelorette party" section and made a bee-line for it. This might be easier than I'd thought! But there was very little to offer and I was a slightly disappointed so I decided to venture through the rest of the store. Wow. That's all I have to say. It really was like being in a candy store. So many different colors, flavors, sparkly things, toys, outfits...if the pictures on the boxes didn't make me blush I might have had a really fun time giggling to myself as I walked around the store. When I had scoured every rack and found nothing (except the x-rated section. oops) I went back to the clerk and when she asked if she could help me I resisted the urge to say "I'm looking for some penises". (peni?) What's the plural? I don't think I've ever used that word in the plural form. I instead told the clerk I was throwing a bachelorette party and was wondering if there was anything else besides what was on the display. She told me to go upstairs. There was a whole second level! Who knew the need for these kinds of things was so widespread?!

I went upstairs. Resisted the urge to buy a veil with penis sequins and bought a sash instead that said Miss Bachelorette. Plus an inappropriate shot glass. I couldn't help myself. And I also made an impulse purchase. Which I would not have expected of myself. But it's a gift. For Jen Seris. Because she deserves it for coming up with all of those excellent Doula names. Don't worry, Mary. If you're reading this, it goes in the kitchen. Not in the bedroom :)

Anyway. I learned a little lesson today. Which I think I already knew, but it never gets old. Confidence gets you a lot of places. In life, in adult stores, in the labor room, etc. I'm just starting out as a doula, but as I continue to learn and grow as such confidence will help me support women so much better. Confidence in encouragement. Confidence in healing touch. Confidence in suggesting pain relieving techniques. Confidence.

And a little humor goes a long way as well!

Big Girl Pants

So I had to put on my big girl pants this week. Not my hot pants or my party pants, both of which I wear on a regular basis, but my big girl pants. Big girl pants can be worn to accomplish all sorts of grown up like situations. For instance, I wore my big girl pants to the grocery store yesterday partly because I made myself buy items for a salad even though most of the time I don't want to eat salad and partly because I had to go to the grocery store twice because I forgot some things for the soup I was making. I HATE the grocery store. But this is what happens when you're a grown up. You do things you hate because it's the right thing to do. While at the grocery store, though, I did come across a middle school-aged girl scout selling girl scout cookies. Oh how I wanted to buy cookies from her. Not because I really want to eat girl scout cookies, mind you. I don't really like sweet things. However, I felt this innate need to support her in what she was doing. Poor girl was at least in upper middle school and she was still in girl scouts. I mean, by that age, you are usually questioning your girl scout identity. Wondering if you still have any chance at being cool, wondering why you are still selling cookies when you now know that selling cookies is not as exciting as it seems. You have to sit in the cold to sell cookies and you really don't make much money off of each box. That, and people expect to buy cookies from the cute little brownie (that's a young girl scout) not a teenager.

How do I have such excellent insight into a middle school girl scout's psyche you ask? Oh because I was one. Until I graduated from high school. That's right. And I actually enjoyed it for the most part. I mean, slightly embarrassing, but mainly enjoyable. And I'm not just writing that because my mom might read this and she was the leader. So there you go. Something most people don't know about me. I sold A LOT of girl scout cookies in my day. And I paid for a girl scout trip to Hawaii mostly through bake sales. If you've ever wondered why I'm a good baker you now know you can thank my girl scouting career.

But let's get back to the point of my blog. Me being a doula. And wearing my big girl pants as such. I received a phone call last week from a woman hoping to hire a doula for her upcoming birth. My phone rang, I let it go to voicemail because it was a number I didn't recognize, and when I listened to the message, all I could hear was "Hi Megan, this is ______ I got your number from ______ and _____________________________________________". So I knew she was calling the right number but had no idea who she was or who had given her said number.

I called her back with the full expectation that she was a Yobel volunteer because I get a lot of calls from people I don't know wanting to volunteer with us. So when she told me Ana had given her my number I was very confused. I don't know any Ana's! I think I missed the whole first part of our conversation because all I could think was "Ana? Ana? Ana? Ana? Ana?". As if repeating a person's name over and over will help you place that person. Yeah right. She finally told me Ana was my instructor. Oh! Light bulb! My doula instructor! Ok, now I understand the context of this call. I switch into doula mode (whatever that means) and start answering questions about my natural birth philosophy (which I have not fully defined yet) and what my price is (which I also have not defined yet). Thank you high school debate for teaching me to think on my feet and make it up as I go (yep. still a nerd over here). All in all, I think the conversation went well for me being completely caught off guard and slightly awkward and she emailed me back a few days later asking if we could meet to discuss a few more questions she had.

At this point I remembered doula training 101 and thought to ask her due date. There's no point in us meeting if I can't actually attend her birth. She emails back and tells me her due date is essentially in 1 WEEK! Woah! While I am available a week from now, I don't actually think I am ready to attend a birth a week from now. Not only do I not have all of my paperwork together but this would be my first birth attended as a doula. And as a new doula I really need time to build a relationship with my client before I can know how to support them well in labor. So, while I really wanted to jump in and take a client, I decided to decline. Because I didn't feel like it would be fair to her. She wants to do things naturally and if I can't support her well, she may not be able to accomplish that goal.

I emailed her. Told her why I wouldn't be a good fit and suggested a more experienced doula. And then I cried a little on the inside. But, she emailed me back, told me thank you for my honesty and that I would make a great doula someday. I decided there's no use crying over spilled milk and I am counting this experience as a growing one and one that puts me not only in the world of big girl pants, but also in the world of professionals. Success.

All that to say, if anyone knows anyone due in a couple months, sign me up! Like my first potential client said, I'm going to be a great doula. Just maybe not in a week.

(Black) Eye of the Beholder

This past weekend I went to Fairplay for a retreat with Yobel Market. It was fantastic! I hung out with our incredible volunteers, ate great food, worshiped the Lord, cast vision for the upcoming year, and played many many games. One game, in particular, I had never played before. It is called 'Psychiatrist'. Essentially the object of the game is for everyone in the room to be in on a secret and to ostracize one person and make them guess what that secret is.

My friend Hannah told me she thought I'd be great at being the person in the middle which of course made me want to do it immediately! I can't be sure if she was lying just to me to get me to do it or if she actually believed I would be good at guessing secrets but either way I accepted the challenge. You see, peer pressure doesn't work on me, but lavishing me with complements will usually get me to do something. You can all now use that to your advantage.

I was relegated to the basement which we had deemed the "man cave" while they told secrets. Supposedly this was the only place in the house where I wouldn't here them telling secrets without me. (I like to whisper too). I plodded down the steps dutifully, and arrived in the man cave with nothing to do but wait. Which is never a good idea for me. I get bored. And then I do stupid things. As I looked around the man cave/make-shift tool shed I got a little idea. Why not pull a little prank while I'm down here? I immediately went to work. I didn't have much time, so I did as much damage in as little time as possible. Objective: Place as many uncomfortable things in as many of my friends' beds as possible. Objects: A blow torch, a screw gun, a hammer, some dowel rods. If it makes you feel any better, I did hesitate for the briefest of moments when trying to decide whether or not to put a blow torch in someone's bed. I had visions of them getting under the covers, running their foot along the on switch not knowing it was there and the blowtorch turning on and catching my friend's leg hair on fire as well as his bedding and then naturally the whole house. But I ignored my inner momming and decided to put the torch there anyway. The chances of that happening were minimal.

But apparently there is such a thing as Karma (ok, I don't really believe in this) because while I was collecting my tools I reached to grab the hammer from under the shelf and came up too quickly, misjudged the proximity of the upper shelf and hit my eyebrow so hard that I gave myself a black eye. Awesome.

Don't worry, I am a pranking pro and I only let this phase me for a couple of seconds. I finished my prank, put on every item of clothing I could find that wasn't mine and raced up the stairs wearing men's jeans, men's swim trunks, a very large striped shirt and a towel for a cape. You know, just to wow them. I eventually guessed the secret. I think it had something to do with my new found superpower that came along with wearing a cape. And now I sit here writing this to you with a swollen eye that's nice and pink. I can only hope it turns purple, then green, then yellow, etc. If I'm going to have a black eye, I may as well have a good one, right?

Other than games and black eyes, a lot of my time at the retreat was spent talking about this new endeavor I'm embarking on. I felt really well supported by friends and family. Many of them didn't know what a doula was until they read my first blog or until I told them about it this weekend, but overall I'd say I was super encouraged by the people who have come around me and are excited about this new adventure for me. I started reading "The Doula Book" by Klaus, Kennell & Klaus which is really informative and exciting. And I had a chance to do some education as well! I had conversations ranging from the cultural influence of Western medicine on births in the U.S. to the importance of a doula for both the mother and the father to perineal massage (Men, if you don't know what this is, don't google it. You won't like the pictures that come up). All in all a great weekend, thanks Yobel for providing a space for greatness!

The Origin of the Doula (La)

I have never created a blog before. I can't decide whether I'm really excited or just really self-absorbed. I remember when blogs started popping up in the 90s. I thought they were a little weird; some sort of "online diary". That's right. I said diary. I was probably still writing about boys in my diary at that point in time. I have now graduated to calling it a journal. I'm very mature. As time traveled on my view of blogs traveled on as well. I began seeing them as outlets for the world-traveler or, and I'm apologizing in advance for this comment, an outlet for the self-absorbed. The people who like to hear themselves talk. But, just like pointy toed heels and skinny jeans, I've finally succumbed to the fad and 15 years later I'm writing this thing called a blog for the first time. That's right. It's an outlet to hear myself talk. But mostly I'm writing it because I think that as I really start embracing my doulaness women who look into using me as their support person might want to read some of these things, you know, learn about who I am through what I've written.

I hope they don't read this first one. Yikes!

Now that that's out of the way, I would like to make my first blog topic a memoir. Wait. Memoir? Memory? I don't know. Regardless, you're going to read about how I chose the name "DouLa La"....which is a memory of mine. So...memory? Anyway, if I'm really honest about it, sometimes I still have a hard time believing I actually chose that name and want to be counted as a professional. So here we go, my reasoning/excuses:

Once upon a time someone named Mark Zuckerberg created this little thing called Facebook. Facebook, just like pointy-toed high heels, skinny jeans and blogging, was a trend I ran away from at first but have now embraced with absolute fervor. They continually "improve" Facebook to make it more "user friendly" and News Feed was one of those improvements (unfortunately they failed recently in the improvement category by adding the little black box picture framey thingy that I hate with the fire of a thousand swords).

So News Feed, tangent aside, was a great aid in creating the name for my new doula business. I simply asked what I should name my business and people responded over and over because it kept popping (I almost wrote pooping) up on their News Feed rendering them utterly useless against its power of persuasion. That, and I offered the winner cookies. So if you didn't read it there or you'd like to read it again here were the suggestions from my clever friends and family:

Baby whisperer, Doula it the right way: Doula it the Galloway, Doula wished I'd said banana, WWJDoula, DouLa-La, Doulacious, Doulivah yo baybay, the Doulagins, Doulapagos Islands (but only if I moved to a remote island and specialized in very large tortoises), "G.O.O.D" Doula Services- Galloway Outreach to Optimize Delivery- Doula Services, "GO Doula" Galloway Optimal Doula!, Doula a Favor, Doula-iver Me Baby!, Doula-ots of 'em, Doula have a baby I could borrow?, Doula doulda doula doula... Doulda all day long.... Doula doula doula doula... Everybody sing along!, Doula Gal, Doula Hoop, Nobody's Cool-ah than a Doula, Follow the Rule-ahs and Hire a Doula, Doulas-R-US, Sheep Teat Doula Inc. (inside joke), From the Groin Up (because I work at From the Ground Up coffee shop), Dou-la-la (yet again!), At Your Cervix, How Doula Do, Howdie Doula, Somebody do ya? Call a doula!, Shoo-be-doo-be-doula, Push It (Push it Real Good), Spread your legs for Megs, Fortieth Week’s Welcome, Megan’s Labor of Love, The Parturient Peddler, The Rocky Mountain Monitrice, Mile High Fundus, Denver’s Doyenne of Doulas, Tender Loving Doula

Phew! I mean, really?! You guys are awesome! I could never have come up with most of those. And I certainly wouldn't have come up with some of them. Spread your legs for Megs? Sinner...

But all kidding aside, DouLa La continued to jump out at me. Maybe because two people suggested it, maybe because I just really liked it. But here I am, a new business owner, registered by the trade name DouLa La. And it works. It fits. It has my personality written all over it. And it has my practicality all under it. (I know that didn't make sense, but I liked the way it sounded, so leave it alone.) It will pop up in Google searches and when people see that name amongst a hundred other Doula names, they'll go to my website simply because it pops out at them.

So there it is. The end of my first blog and my excuses for not only starting a blog but for naming my business what I did. I will be making no further excuses. Thank you for reading. This has been very therapeutic. I'm off to make my friend Luke some cookies for winning the name game.

How do I end this? Signing off? 10-4 good buddy? I don't know...you probably didn't even read this far it doesn't matter anyway. Ugh! I'm so long-winded! I can't even sign off without being long-winded. That's it. I'm done. The end.