So, as I mentioned, we’ll be moving. Across the country. Soon. Not only do I hate moving, I also hate adapting. I mean, I have to figure out the new library, grocery store, good dog walks, and on and on until something actually really important: a baby doctor. Oh man, I don’t even mean a pediatrician, I mean a doctor that’s going to deal with me! Do I want an OB, who is technically a surgeon trained to get that baby out asap despite any complications? Or do I want a midwife, 
who is maybe more relaxed and less likely to tie me down to the bed and inject all types of drugs to get this baby out—but not capable of surgery and maybe like a cheerleader I might smack in the heat of the moment? I definitely don’t want some hippy under-the-radar uncertified midwifey person, like we saw in that movie. But the more research I do the more scared I am of spending labor tied to a bed (they used to just chloroform women in the late 1800s and let them “sleep it off”) in the prone position with nothing to do and nowhere to go. I guess some more research is bound to help, unless all the doctors are like Robin Williams in 9 Months.
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