From the moment we met, obstetrician Clay Reynolds scorned my profession as a birthing coach. His scathing remarks left me crying on the shoulder of my potbellied pig, Gertie! It seems only the handsome doc's eight-year-old son, who thinks I hung the moon, can make Clay be civil to me.

Clay is a great doctor and loving father. And we're finding a lot in common as we volunteer together at a free clinic. But he's still frowning at me in the delivery room.

So how can I convince him God gave me skills that complement his own? Maybe with a little help from above I can change Clay's attitude toward doulas in general. and me in particular.