Birth planning, that is.
Come rain or shine, Dash will be born and all other alternatives are out the window. Not that I would have chosen a D&C before, but now I am far enough along that there aren't any alternatives left for the two of us.
I spent the babies' naptime this morning researching doulas. For the sake of simplicity, a doula is a woman trained to assist other women through the birth and postpartum process. Evidence Based Birth, one of my "go to" sites because it uses statistics to back the opinions of the authors, has a great definition, history, and statistical birth outcomes for labors that are doula assisted. The link is here and worth the read!
For the live births of my two daughters, my mother was present. For Jackson, David and I spent most of the day alone, in silence. We discussed the necessary things, such as cremation vs. burial, made a few phone calls to so we could tell the hospital where to send Jackson's remains, and otherwise tried to pass the time.
But it was awful. Neither of us knew what to do or say to each other and I don't want that to happen again.
It turns out there is an organization that trains doulas to assist in stillbirths, postpartum care after a stillbirth, and rainbow births.
I spent a significant amount of time on their website and hope to have some luck finding a doula through their list.
It is difficult to separate my moment by moment thoughts from the constant awareness that this is the gestational week where we lost our son. Every little kick and punch affirms that Dash is alive and well and her moments of quiet keep me on edge.
I haven't made any progress on the sleeping front. Last night was every bit as rough as the last few nights. What I'm going to do is try and find a high density foam wedge that I can use to keep me propped up in a reclined position, whether I am on my side or if I want to lay back without being flat. If I can't find something commercially made, then I will go to the fabric store and make one.
Until then, I'll stay half-sleeping or snuggle up in my rocking chair for the night. . .
