I’ll tell you what- creating a business from the ground up is not for the weak at heart. My original thought in the midst of my frustration, was actually, “starting your own business is not for puss***”, but then thought of how I hate when the slang word for something so beautiful, intriguing and miraculous is used to define someone who is weak or timid, and I decided to change my wording. Anyhoo- the point is, it takes a major pair of cajones to have the strength, organization, and perseverance (or at least pretend like you do) to run your own business.

Don’t get me wrong- I am so thankful for this opportunity, and have a ton of pride and courage for being brave enough to take the leap, but it was a hell of a lot funner to pick the font on my business cards, or add all of the cute and cuddly baby pictures to my website, than it is to write a business plan, research how to start a non-profit organization, or learn about the difference between sole proprietorship and a limited liability corporation. Just saying the word “proprietorship” is enough to make me want to switch to playing on Facebook, downing a glass of wine, and plop down to watch last week’s episode of “Pregnant in Heels” for the third time. But, apparently, since cracking open a bottle of wine at noon may lead to a bit of a problem for me and said business, I have to find other ways of coping.

One very important lesson that I have learned on this journey is, that this is the “Waiting and Becoming” time of my life. I learned this very reassuring idea from Dr. Lissa Rankin, an entrepreneur and wonder-woman that I am incredibly inspired by. This is my time to plant and water seeds, then when the time is right, they will grow. You know what they say, “Patience is a virtue”- clearly not a virtue that I was blessed with! I guess it’s not very realistic of me to expect to create a business name and website, then voila!, be standing at a podium, speaking at a public appearance, while simultaneously changing the world. These things take time, lots of research, a ton of support, and a wing and a prayer to flourish into successful endeavors.

I had a conversation with a dear friend yesterday, as I was lamenting (a.k.a. bitching) about how it will be so long before I make a living at what I’m doing, and how I still have so much schooling and training, and blah, blah, blah, and she said something very profound to me- first she said, “I love you, so I’m gonna give you a slap in the face!” Now, that’s a good friend, to know when you need a little slapping around (which I tend to like now and again.. wink). Then, she told me that just because I am not getting paid actual money to do what I am doing (yet), that it doesn’t mean that I am not being compensated for my work. That was a lightbulb-over-my-head moment for me. All of the hard work, grueling details, (yucky) financial and legal stuff to research, will someday be the backbone of my own successful organization.  She then went on to tell me that I am full of talent and to stop trying so hard to fit into a mold, that I should celebrate who I am, and that what makes me different from my peers is actually what will make me so successful. Wow- thank God for good friends who are willing to let ya have it once in a while- she definitely helped me get back to cooking with gas!

So, for now, I am grasping for patience, learning how to be more organized, and building a strong foundation for something I whole-heartedly believe in. At least ’til my whistle blows at 5:00 p.m.- then I’m pouring that glass (I have very over-sized wine glasses) of wine and cheers-ing to the leap that I have taken, to my support network of amazing family and friends, and finally, to getting slapped around a little!

The journey has begun… I am finally being certified as a birth and postpartum doula, breastfeeding coach, and childbirth educator, all at the same time! What is a doula, you ask? Well initially, it was a Greek word that literally translates to “female slave”- hmmm, I’ve always thought that was the direct  translation for the word “wife”? I digress… so a doula is essentially a labor companion and  support person for the birthing mother, and often helps the whole family after the birth, as well.

So- that is my new job description, in a nutshell! With a giant leap of faith, and a ton of learning and studying about amazing vaginas and uteruses, (is that the correct grammar? Is there a plural form, such as vaginai, or uteri? I guess I haven’t got to that part of the textbook yet?), it has been determined that I am a certified doula, that is, after I supervise two births.

Perfect! I have supervised two births- they are sitting right in front of me on the carpet eating Doritos for breakfast and watching “Yo, Gabba Gabba”! Certainly the fact that I directly supervised them emerge from my own body, then directly supervised the four stitches that followed (three from tearing, one ‘extra stitch’- a little postpartum gift from my OB), then I directly supervised months of swollen, leaky boobs and cracked nipples, and now I directly supervise the pervasive “muffin top” that I still blame on my pregnancy weight gain, from five years ago!

My rationalization sadly, did not convince the Board of Doula Certification, and in order to hold that coveted slip of paper in my hand, I must supervise two births, and in small print, the rules clearly say that they can not be of my own loins (in case you’re really sick of me saying ‘vagina’). This makes sense, of course- all professionals must practice before they graduate to having a practice of their own.  Hairstylists practice on doll heads in beauty school, doctors practice on cadavers, and doulas, well, actually, we actually practice on live, birthing mothers! At least until my invention of the blow-up pregnant and giving birth doll, complete with copious amounts of spilling bodily fluids, sharp-tongued obscenities recorded and played to an unnerved husband, and a slippery, screaming baby that emerges after 21 1/2 hours, is patented and marketed sufficiently, we are blessed to have living, breathing individuals on whom we practice our methods of labor support.

The tricky part for a new doula, is finding these willing participants. There is a super cute preggo mama in my Zumba class- I have often thought about how to approach her to offer my services. So far, my idea goes something like this, “Hi, you are such a beautiful pregnant woman!” I would chime cheerfully, “Here’s my card- I would love to volunteer to support you in the birth of your baby!” I would say with confidence and poise, until she pauses and looks at me a little funny, then I would explain, “I’m not a stalker, or obsessed with pregnant women, well actually, I sort of am, which is why I chose my profession- not being a stalker, but more like a pregnant-woman-obsesser, well, and a baby-obsesser too. But, I’m not a weirdo or anything.  Plus, because I’ve been trained to handle all birthing situations, you won’t have to be embarrassed at all if a little something comes out while you’re pushing your baby out- ’cause I’m totally trained to handle that kind of stuff, because I’m a healthcare professional! I am so open-minded, that even if you don’t shave your down-there action, I would never judge you- let’s face it- it takes a contortionist to weed-whack down there when your 9 months preggo! Even if you can braid it- I won’t say a single word- I won’t even think of making up song lyrics like, ‘do your pubes hang low? Do they dangle to and fro…. can you tie ‘em in a knot, can you tie ‘em in a bow?’- isn’t it funny how sometimes songs can just get stuck in your head?   Soooo- when are you due, again?”

Still practicing my approach…

There comes a time in a mother’s life, usually when her youngest is off to kindergarten, that she looks around her empty, quiet house, sits down to go to the bathroom for the first time in eight years without interruption of little knocking hands, and she thinks, “wow- I could get used to this!” But, it’s only for a short time that she enjoys her newfound freedom, and then starts to wonder, “now what?”

For all of us mamas who gave up illustrious careers to become stay-at-home mothers, it may be a fantasy to go back to the bustling business woman that you were before. In my case, I was a manager of a $9 million menswear division for Nordstrom in Los Angeles. I wore a designer suit and high heels, and matching bra and panties every single day. I had coffee breaks in the mornings, and lunch meetings in the afternoons. I was sent to meetings in Las Vegas, Palm Springs, and all over Southern California. I had an office, I had “people” that I was in charge of, I had reports and numbers, bar graphs and pie charts, and most importantly, a very thick employee discount at Nordstrom!

But, that was ten years ago. Matching bras and panties haven’t been a part of my wardrobe in so long. The only thing I could do matchy-matchy with is a black bra and my black Spanx with the hole in the waistband. Nothing like the gorgeous, intricate Felina underpinnings of my past. And the term wardrobe is used quite loosely- more like pile of yoga pants (all black), bra-top camis, and velour track suits that are easy to snatch off of the top of my dresser (or the floor), in my disheveled rush out the door to get my kids to school on time. I can’t remember the last time that I had a “coffee break” without one or both of my children running all over Starbucks, asking for another chocolate milk, or more “shell cookies.” I haven’t been in charge of $9 million worth of inventory for a long time, that’s for damn sure! But I have been in charge of selling a house we couldn’t afford, doing our taxes and managing a mountain of debt. I haven’t had “people” in so long that I surely wouldn’t remember how to manage them! Unless you count the little people that I currently manage, but I somehow don’t think that “If you call your brother a jackass one more time, you will not play wii for three days!” is very effective in the workplace.

Alas, I have come to realize that the power business woman that I once was, is very likely just another chapter in my book, but the question of “what now?” remains a very real one. I don’t regret my decision to give up my fashion career for motherhood. Sure, I may not run huge seminars, take clients to decadent restaurants in Santa Monica, or attend meetings in buildings who’s address contain the words, “Wilshire Blvd.” But, I have run a couple of Daisy-girl troop meetings, I was in charge of our class auction basket last year, and I know where  every McDonald’s with an indoor playground is, within four cities. For now, I’m just trying to think of how to make that look enticing on my resume…