DISCLAIMER: There are details here that would be considered “too much information” by some. You’ve been fairly warned.
On September 15, 2024, I was about 10 days away from my originally calculated due date. (I say “originally calculated” because my 20-week anatomy ultrasound suggested that I was due on October 2 instead of September 26. Let the records show that my midwife stuck to the September due date all along.) My husband went to work in the morning to wrap up the church fall kick-off weekend services. This was one of the boxes that needed to check out in my mind before our baby came. That morning I received a long awaited text from my dear friend, who was five days overdue with her third baby. At 1:00 am that morning, she had given birth. Another box that needed to be checked.
The morning was uneventful. I was super uncomfortable at this point in my pregnancy, daily asking the Lord for patience as my hormones and emotions were unpredictable at best. Patience for this baby to come, to parent my toddler well, to be kind and respectful toward my husband etc.
After lunch I did the usual naptime routine with my son. Around 1:30 I went to lie down myself, hoping to nap (sleep had been dodgy for several weeks already). I started having mild contractions, but decided to stay in bed and rest. I was still at least a week and a half out from my due date, and had experienced false labour with my first baby. I assumed this was just that, so I lay and rested as best I could, though I wasn’t able to sleep. Around 3:00 pm I got up to go for a shower before my toddler would wake up from his nap. It was still consistently warm outside, and a summer pregnancy makes for a sweaty mama. But the contractions were growing in intensity, so I took a HOT shower and breathed through the more intense contractions. My husband was home by this time. When I got out of the shower, I put on comfy clothes and braided my hair. I went to the kitchen for a snack, thinking to myself: if this is the real deal (yeah, right), then I should probably have a snack so that I have some energy to get through this. So I ate a small snack and informed my husband of what was going on. I didn’t believe it was real labour at that point yet. (From this point onward in the story, I don’t know exactly what times things were happening). Scott got our son up from his nap, and helped me get comfortable in the living room with my birth ball, a wooden comb, and a TENS machine (one of my favourite labour pain management devices to date). I had worship music playing in the background. I was sipping on Gatorade Fit (free of the dyes found in regular Gatorade). Scott started packing a bag for our boy to go away for the night, contacted our babysitter, and called our midwife. Scott timed some of my contractions, which were about two minutes apart by this point. My midwife and our babysitter arrived at about the same time. I remember my midwife coming in and sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of me, watching, smiling, chatting, asking me questions. She was wearing a bright red sweater and black leggings (funny the details you remember, but forget other things). I remember still trying to tell myself that this wasn’t real labour (HA). I also remember being in transition, because I had the common symptom of shaking. After my son was gone, I was ready to move upstairs into the bathtub.
INTERJECTION: I was supposed to borrow an inflatable birth pool from a friend of mine. However, it had been used at my other friend’s 1:00 am birth the night before, so it never made it to my house. Bathtub it was!
They say water is the midwife’s epidural (or aquadural). Well LET ME TELL YOU, it is TRUE. The warm water felt AMAZING. I was kneeling over the edge of the tub with my hubby squeezing my hips (hallelujah), and my midwife pouring water over my back and periodically snapping a photo. Once I was in the water, it was only a very short time before the fetal ejection reflex kicked in — yup, that’s a thing, in case you didn’t know! Up until this point I had been able to talk and smile, and breath calmly through contractions. “Calm” went out the window once I started pushing. It was either two contractions back to back, or one long one, and her head was out. I had a very short break to take a breath, and then the second/third contraction came, and out slid our tiny baby girl. Scott caught her coming out, and she was brought up into my arms. Purple, tiny, wrinkly, covered in vernix, wailing, and absolutely beautiful to my eyes (but also kinda alien looking). There was no tearing; but I cried tears of joy (see what I did there?).
After E was born, I lay back in the bathtub until the placenta was birthed and we were ready to cut the cord, which Scott also did. I don’t think he ever imagined himself being so hands on during the birth of one of his children, but he handled it like a champ. Especially being in the bathtub with me. Our midwife was kind enough to give us a placenta tour. She showed us the birth sack our sweet baby had lived in for nine months, where it had been attached to the uterus, and how it was attached to the placenta. What a fascinating, beautifully constructed organ that our bodies just GROW to nourish a baby! God’s design is truly awesome.
Our little girl was 6 pounds and 4 ounces at birth, and 19 inches long. She was (and still is) healthy, beautiful, petite and feminine.
This birth was, in a multitude of ways, an answer to prayer. My postpartum journey has been seasoned with so much grace. I thank God that I have not experienced postpartum depression this time around. I’ve been there once, and I have so much empathy for mamas who have to walk that road. It’s not something we choose, but it can be a powerful tool in the hands of a loving heavenly Father to create compassion and humility in the heart of someone like me.
My midwife, God bless her, was amazing. She provided outstanding prenatal and postpartum care, and did exactly what all midwives hope to do in a birth — sit and watch an amazing process unfold, and support the mama going through it.
My husband was so steady, supportive, present, attentive, and willing to get his hands dirty — quite literally. He would say he didn’t really feel like he knew what he was doing, but I think the Holy Spirit guided him. He was fantastic.
Our son had a great time with good friends of ours, who were kind enough to keep him for a night so that we could have a little extra time to rest. I think he even got serenaded by the whole family before he went to bed.
I was reflecting with Scott recently, and his comment was: “Birth is beautiful, but it’s disgusting.” Lol. Maybe not the words I would use myself… It is beautiful, but certainly not glamorous.
I am so thankful to God that I got to have my dream birth. I love the peacefulness of being at home and getting tucked into my own bed right after giving birth. I love the thorough, straightforward, empowering care given by the midwives, and the uncomplicated approach that my specific midwife took. I still like to look at the place in my living room where I laboured, or look at the bathtub (in some disbelief) and remember that this is where it happened.
If you are a woman reading this, I don’t know where you are in your journey with fertility, pregnancy, labour, delivery, motherhood, loss etc. I am sobered to think that this post may be like salt in a wound for some, while inspiring happy recollections for others. God knows you. And He knows your journey. He is perfect in rejoicing with those who rejoice, and weeping with those who weep. My prayer is that, wherever you are at when you read this, He may use it to minister to you somehow.
To Him be all the glory and praise.
songs of stippled stardust 