Oh, Baby!. Judy Baer

we were going to a museum one day.”

      “Fine, be cerebral and dull. How about the Science Museum? That’s my speed. They’ve got lots of dinosaurs.”

      “Do we need to borrow a child to go there?”

      “Nah. We’ll just pretend ours are already there, running around. That place is always stuffed with kids. You shop with me, I’ll go to the museum with you. Deal?”

      Why fight it? Lissy is a lot like Geranium and Hildy. It rarely pays to argue with hardheaded females.

      Chapter Three

      Of course Lissy had her way and I didn’t. We went shopping.

      Lissy pulled a navy-blue suit off the rack and waved it under my nose. “How about this? This would be great for church and it would subdue that red hair of yours.”

      “Why on earth would I want to do that?” I held up a broomstick skirt in all the colors of the rainbow. “What do you think of this?”

      “It’s a bad accident in the crayon factory. Too many colors.”

      I held it up and looked at myself in the mirror. My red hair was fighting against the bond of the braid I’d woven, and so a wild cloud of rusty red framed my face. The bright teal shirt I wore accented the giddy colors in the skirt.

      “If that skirt could talk, it would say—” Lissy covered her ears “—too loud, turn down the volume!”

      That helped me to make up my mind. I handed it to a hovering clerk. “I’ll take it.”

      “She’s a free spirit,” Lissy muttered grimly, as if in apology for my fashion blunder. “I’ve been trying to tame her but it is like domesticating the wind.”

      “I think it’s lovely,” the clerk assured me. “Distinctive.”

      “See?” I hissed when the woman moved away. “Distinctive. Like me.”

      “I can’t shop with you any longer,” Lissy announced. “I’m having a color overload. Let’s get something to eat.”

      That was fine with me. I’d rather eat than shop any day.

      After we ordered lunch, Lissy sat back into the padded booth and studied me.

      “How’s The Project going?”

      The Project. My big idea, my dream.

      Maybe it has something to do with the fact that as a kindergarten teacher I used to like things orderly in my classroom. Everything had a place and that’s where we kept it. Although I actually thrive in chaos at home—my arty side coming out, I suppose—I was very different at school, the only teacher at school who had a Rolodex and a tickle file to remind me of upcoming events. Things make sense to me when they’re organized into groups. Snow pants go in closets, blocks go with blocks and crayons go into the crayon bins.

      And doulas, I think, would fit nicely into an agency where they are available and easy to find. When patients start asking questions about birthing assistants or coaches, I believe a doctor should be able to hand them a business card with the name of my big idea—Birthing Buddies—as I fondly refer to it, and allow women to research dozens of doulas before they pick the one best suited for them.

      My biggest hurdle and one of the most important parts of the dream is to be an independent agency that has office space and headquarters within the facility. Just being under the Bradshaw Medical roof would be an amazing way to let people know we exist. They rent space to the people with coffee and snack carts on the main floor. Why not me?

      Why they should oppose it, I can’t imagine. Labors are shorter by twenty-five percent, and the use of C-sections, epidurals, forceps and medication drop significantly when doulas are involved. We also help the bonding process between mother and baby. When a laboring mother has someone mothering her, things simply go more smoothly.

      “It’s going to be an uphill climb. Worse, now that Dr. Reynolds is at the hospital. I suspect he will be opposed to a doula program, especially one offered in conjunction with the birthing classes with which I’m involved.”

      “Why Bradshaw General? Why not an independent office somewhere?”

      “Because a gift was left to the hospital for the express benefit of encouraging them to enhance a doula and midwife program.”

      “I heard something about that. Why? What happened?”

      “Some wealthy grandparents watched their daughter breeze through her labor and delivery and credited it all to her doula.”

      “And that would be you?” Lissy asked suspiciously. “Why didn’t you tell me until now? That’s a huge affirmation to doulas everywhere.”

      “I was just doing my job. Apparently the woman had been very difficult prior to hiring me, that’s all.”

      “You do much more than that,” Lissy said. “I’ve had patients tell me that if they could have one person with them through labor and delivery, they’d pick their doula over their spouses, even over the doctor.”

      She eyed me thoughtfully. “So that buzz about the hospital getting some sort of gift was because of you. Impressive.”

      “It’s not that big a deal.” There’s been more than one time in my life—and less stressful ones than giving birth—that I would have liked someone to watch over me, give me ice chips, rub my back and turn up the aromatherapy. “A doctor I met at another hospital while his own wife was giving birth encouraged me to pursue it. Dr. Chase Andrews seemed to think it would work.”

      “Then why don’t you go to his hospital and ask if you can coordinate Doula Central there?”

      “Bradshaw is the hospital that received the money. I’d like to see it here. It’s a five-minute drive from my house. I help Tony with classes here at Bradshaw and—” I hung my head, ashamed to admit I’d been snooping in the nooks and crannies of the hospital “—they have a couple of unused rooms right now. It would be easy to have something up and running there in no time.”

      “Bradshaw is a pretty staid private hospital,” Lissy pointed out. “But it seems that agreeing to spend money already specified for a doula program wouldn’t be that difficult. What is standing in your way now?”

      “The new wrinkle is Dr. Clay Reynolds. Everyone defers to him, and I know he’s opposed. He steamrolled right over me and my client. His form of medicine is ‘my way or the highway.’ There’s no way he’ll encourage this.”

      “Just the kind of guy that bothers you most.” Lissy looked concerned. “Don’t stir up any trouble, Molly. People love you and you have a great reputation, but if Bradshaw has to choose between you and their new golden-boy doctor, you know they won’t choose you.”

      I know that all too well. It’s just that I care so much about seeing this happen and I believe so completely in what doulas do. We make a difference.

      “I’ve already spent way too much time trying to figure out what Clay Reynolds’s problem is. It’s getting boring.”

      “Yeah. What’s not to like about birthing coaches? You’d think he’d like the idea of having someone in the room calming nervous mothers before they give birth. You’ll just have to prove to him how indispensable you are.”

      “I’m as ‘indispensable’ as tissue paper as far as Reynolds is concerned. It’s written all over his face.”

      “His very handsome face,” Lissy corrected.

      “When he looks at me it’s as if he smells bad cheese or sour milk.”

      “Don’t you think you’re exaggerating just a little?”

      I thought about my encounter with Dr. Reynolds on my way out of the hospital after Brenda’s