Omg it's Wednesday

and I'm going to be a doula.

I am, what my therapist calls, a control “enthusiast.” It’s especially severe around scheduling. She does not think I am autistic- but if we’re talking clocks, calendars, and plans? My train obsession equivalent. Doctor’s appointment? Thirty minutes early with a Kindle. Zero plans before or after, unless loose, like a coffee drive through. After. A friend’s birthday dinner at 7pm? I’m in the dark, nonverbal, from 4-5pm. 5:01-6:15 I am getting ready. 6:16 I call an Uber because I am the only person in any state in America who understands how long it takes to get an Uber. And also Murphy’s Law of traffic. I am usually at birthday dinners before the birthday girl. I have Kindle on my phone, but I’ll use that wait time as delicious untaxed scroll time with a clear end upon friend arrival.

I was late to Caitie’s birthday dinner, but that doesn’t count.

I love these girls, I would go to the hospital (but not the airport) for all of them. That being said, I have this thread on mute. I am on a different time zone, and they share a lot of information about some topics I don’t subscribe to (aliens, Harry Styles), and my sensitive ass brain can’t handle all of the notifications. Evening of dinner, I got these texts when I went downstairs to get my Uber dad to get in the car and checked the thread.

And Caitie understood my mental illness enough (esp after sharing a cell at Kripalu- I would go to our class early without her), said, “Yes yes. We know you’re so good at being on time, it’s fine, it’s over,” when I came in LAST (pretending I wasn’t flustered). Didn’t help that openly very famous and cool Jitlada is in an “eh-skatchy” (according to my dad/driver) plaza, so I had to spend at least an entire minute convincing my dad we were in the correct location.

All of that to say, for the first time since starting my newsletter November 18, 2022, I FORGOT to post yesterday. I have been in different countries on roaming data to spit out a quick hello to you. I’ve risked car sickness to mobile upload in the while a passenger princess.

This is the type of shit my therapist gets proud of me for. A sign. My tight tight little butthole is loosening up a little.

I’m being extra woo-woo these days (omfg remind me to talk about Caroline’s gorgeous Sedona wedding last weekend another day). I had been “trying” to be a Wednesday poster, and now look. Call me Drake, because this is just God’s plan.

I am going to a pendulum reading class tomorrow at a witchy store. I got new dowsing rods in the mail yesterday. I signed up for a doula class that begins at the end of this month. I am not pregnant, but I will be eventually, because I said so. As a chill girl planner, I started looking into prices of doulas. Then I thought, okay wait. I would be a better doula than the Trump girl doula (tell me that isn’t an oxymoron? I’m NOT getting political, I’m just saying) I recently met at a first birthday party. (To go back to control enthusiast, one of the staff of the venue of this bday asked me where I wanted the gifts to go. I was like, this is not my party, I was just here first, and give off “in charge” energy). If this girlie, who I liked btw, can shit on women’s rights (I said what I said) and then be a DOULA, then I, a woman who had only ever thought of hiring one, would BECOME a doula. Also I looked up doula pricing and my Jewish ass was like nvm BYOD (be your own doula).

The workshop is $500 for three days. The worst doula (in WHAT WORLD would I be starting at the low end) STARTS at $500 a day. This is investing. On top of that, because I’ve been in therapy for so long, I have Tiffy Time’s (therapist is named Tiffany, wrestler Tiffany’s thing is Tiffy Time. Therapy is Tiffy Time) voice in my head:

“If you want a doula to advocate for you, you can not be your own doula. You need your own doula. Take the class for fun, but lean on someone if you want that help in the process.” Which I would! I can’t both deliver a baby I’m-not-yet-pregnant-with AND lead breathing exercises.

Well queen, this convo only happened in my head, but, I have the PERFECT ROI answer.

I’m about to spend 3 days with other Orlando based freaks in irl doula certification class. Other women who are about to fall in love with me. They won’t ~understand~ me at first, but by day 3 they’ll be saying, “I can’t believe I thought you were too beautiful to be nice, and now I’m dying to be your doula.” Who will want to ~gift~ me their freshly minted services. And I will have already spied on them through class, and will intuitively get to choose my own doula out of the new batch. I’ll already know who takes copious notes, who has the correct energy, who I would feel okay shitting while delivering in front of.

Side note: I opened to a random page of one of my new study books the other day and it was like, “to encourage contractions (or labor or lactation idk I just got way too distracted trying to find the actual quote in The Birth Partner) queeze, massage, or lick, the nipple.” Bro. That is wild.

I also love the idea of immersion therapy. When flipping through the book there were some not even graphic illustrations and I was like wtf have I gotten myself into????? but normalize the things I would have thrown up about. I almost threw up watching The Substance but now I’m paying to get a front row seat to BirthingVagCity.

I wonder if this will make me more or less gay.

I can’t wait to see how the classes go.

Xoxo,

Doulana