I’ve sat down many times to write this birth story, but every time I try, I’m filled with some sadness. I get anxious, my heart starts racing, and there are parts I just don’t want to replay in my mind. The frustrating thing is I had a great birth. It was powerful, intense, empowering, raw, safe, and meaningful. I even got the waterbirth I wanted, labored through the night like I envisioned, and my son got to be there to see his baby sister born (spoilers). But just because you get everything you’re hoping for from an experience – just because those check boxes were filled – doesn’t mean the experience was perfect. I didn’t expect the mental and emotional fallout of this birth. After a little reflection, I think there were a few things at play that have caused the feelings I’m having, but I think most importantly was that I wasn’t mentally prepared for this birth. I think I really phoned it in, knowing I had done it and how awesome it was the first time. Surely if I could do it like that once, I could do it again, right? But each birth brings with it new challenges and an entirely different baby. No, you can never know what to expect with birth – it’s a wild and uncontrollable event – but you can do the work to prepare yourself and your partner for the unknowns. And we didn’t. At least not as much this time. It’s partly because I “knew it all.” I studied everything during my first pregnancy. Never having given birth before, I focused on learning anything and everything about it. I was learning a whole new discipline. Doing so got me into the mental space for birth, feeling very prepared and knowing each step my body would likely take. This time though, I didn’t spend the hours and hours in class and pouring through books soaking in all this new information. I vaguely reviewed things, but honestly, my only preparation for this birth was listening to a homebirth podcast whenever I was driving. Which was great and reignited my confidence in homebirth, but it honestly wasn’t enough to get my head right and ready to bring my daughter into this world.
So with all that said, here’s how her birth played out.
I went to see my midwife on Thursday when I was 40+3 knowing I wasn’t close to labor. My son came at 40+5, so I really wasn’t expecting to carry longer this time around, but my baby had different plans. I definitely felt more at peace being “overdue” this time than last. We agreed to get a 41 week ultrasound if I was still pregnant after the weekend, so we scheduled an ultrasound for the following Tuesday. We wanted to verify that baby was doing well and that the placenta was still in good shape to keep supporting his or her growth (we kept sex a surprise for birth again). I felt both like I was going to go into labor any second and like I would have to be induced at 42 weeks at the same time. I wanted to give birth, but I also knew my body wasn’t ready. I woke up the Tuesday of my ultrasound feeling pretty nauseated and exhausted. I was feeling very poorly, so much so that I was pretty convinced I was in early labor and almost canceled the ultrasound. My husband hung out with my son to let me rest. I was so nauseous, and I did not want to leave the house. Talking to our doula, she recommended listening to my gut about if we should go to the ultrasound or not. I was about 60% sure I was in labor even though the contractions I was having were not at all uncomfortable. I kept waiting for the period cramp-like discomfort that comes with labor contractions, but it wasn’t coming. All the while, I was nauseous and feeling so run down. Ultimately, I said we should go to the ultrasound to be safe. With no true signs of labor – no consistent contractions, no bloody show, no intensity – I knew I could still be a week away from birth (even if any of those had been there, I still could have been a week or more away!). I knew I would be more concerned skipping the ultrasound and carrying longer. In retrospect, I should have just trusted my body and my baby.
It was a miserable drive to the ultrasound thinking I may vomit at any moment and every bump in the road causing a contraction. Though they still didn’t have any bite to them, the contractions were definitely noticeable, just without pain. We walked into the office, and our sweet sonographer was quickly able to show us that baby was doing wonderfully, developed perfectly, and attached to a still very healthy, very slightly calcified placenta. We got to see the amazing umbilical cord, and we discovered our baby had hair! I was betting he or she didn’t because my heartburn hadn’t been as consistent or intense this pregnancy. Ultrasounds this late in pregnancy – I was 41+1 – are weird because you really can’t see all that much. Things are packed so tightly at that point that it’s hard to distinguish body parts. With the head so low and engaged, it can be hard to see a face. Our sonographer asked if we wanted to know what the weight prediction was. I went back and forth, but decided to say yes, knowing that it’s likely wrong. The prediction was 8 lbs 8 oz – plus or minus 20 oz (ultrasounds are generally highly inaccurate….generally). She laughed with us, knowing our son was only 7 lbs and a half ounce at birth. All of this baby’s measurements were in the 30th to 50th percentile as well, so our sonographer was pretty confident this baby would not be that big. We left knowing baby was happy and healthy and just taking his or her sweet time, the confidence we were looking for to wait patiently.
When we got home, I took a bath to try to relax, rest, and deal with the nausea. My husband was awesome, taking care of our son while I rested. That night, my husband cut up a pineapple for me. I sucked on the core, where supposedly most of the bromelain is, to try to help my body move toward labor even though there probably isn’t enough in there to truly make a difference. It felt good to DO something. We got our son ready for bed together and I put him to sleep, something I felt strongly about because I didn’t know when would be the last time I’d be able to do it for a while (his room is upstairs, and I knew postpartum, I shouldn’t be doing stairs right away).
We woke up the next morning, and I was not in labor. Every night, I went to sleep thinking I would be woken up by contractions. And at 41+2, I was starting to feel a little time pressure with 42 weeks quickly approaching. I ate breakfast bouncing on my exercise ball, my son next to me on a playground ball doing the same. By around 9:30, I was noticing the contractions more, and they were starting to have that crampy feeling I was waiting for. I had a massage scheduled for 11 am that I debated canceling. I didn’t want to be in the car and in labor (one of the many reasons I do homebirths). My husband and I decided I should go but not drive myself, so my mom drove me. On our way, I told my mom I was 99% sure I was in labor. I wasn’t timing the contractions, but I felt them regularly and strongly enough to notice. My massage therapist was happy to see me, especially if I was about to go into labor. She helped open my hips, relax all my muscles, and get my body and mind into a state of preparedness for the upcoming marathon. She sensed the impending labor, my repeatedly tightening belly a dead giveaway for what was happening.
On the drive home, I called my doula to chat. I told her I was definitely in labor, but it was nothing serious yet. “Trying to ignore and keep going about my day,” is what I told her. By early afternoon, I was feeling the contractions pick up in intensity with no other signs of labor. (Ironically, at about 3 pm, I had been timing contractions just to see, and my contraction app told me it was time to go to the hospital. Insane! If I were to have listened and gone to a hospital, I either would have been turned away and feel defeated or have been checked in and put on a clock that I would have almost definitely timed out of. Don’t listen to the app! Listen to your body!). To be safe, we decided to call my sister who was going to be my son’s buddy and have her come over with the plan being that she spend the night. The contractions were still very manageable, but they became much more noticeable and by the evening, they were pretty consistently 5 minutes apart. That evening, we put up the birth affirmations my sister designed for my first birth. Our son helped stick them up on the wall, making the space that much more special.
I put my son down for the last time as an only child. I took an extra minute or two to hold his sweet, innocent face before leaving him peacefully sleeping.
By 8 pm, my contractions were between 3 and 4 minutes apart and consistent at 30-40 seconds long. We knew things could happen quickly, but we also knew it had been a long day for me and the best answer was rest. We let our doula know, I was in bed by 9:30 pm, and I was pretty confident this would be the night I would be awoken by contractions….I really hoped so at least.
And at 11:57 pm, I was given my answer. I woke up to an intense contraction, one that took my breath away.
I smiled. It’s go time.
I labored on my own for about an hour to let me husband get as much rest as possible. Contractions were coming dependably every 3 minutes and lasting for 45 seconds. I tried one or two contractions still in bed to try to continue resting even though I was awake, and I couldn’t do them laying still. I needed to move. I got out of bed to sway through contractions and laid down on the floor between. After 4 or 5 of those, I decided I needed to pee. I contracted on the toilet, and I let out an involuntary moan. “Woah,” I thought. I wanted my husband to rest, so I resolved to continue as long as I could on my own. I had some bloody show, so I knew we were in it for real now. I continued on the floor, and I went back to pee after 45 minutes. The toilet contraction had an intensity and pressure that I knew I was no longer able to handle on my own. I woke my husband at 1 am.
Maybe part of him already knew I was up, but he went from a restful slumber to wide awake in all of two seconds. He hopped up, saw one contraction, and said, “I’m calling Shelly.” At 1:08 am, he called. At 1:22 am, she was on her way. At 1:30 am, her hands were on my hips applying counterpressure. In the meantime, I reminded Harrison to put our “birth center” poster he jokingly made for our first birth on the door (always remembering the important things), and he put on a pot of coffee. I remembered to take one last photo to remember my bump,
and then I walked into our kitchen to see what appeared to be a leak from our dishwasher, so I have a photo of that, too (it never happened again…I don’t know what that was about).
Once our doula arrived, she took over the physical support of labor while my husband set up the birth tub. At this point, I was still able to converse, joke, laugh, but I could feel myself starting to shut in and block out the world. I was on the floor in our bedroom by my husband’s side of the bed in view of my affirmations. There I sat for an hour. I’m still not sure why, but it’s what felt right. I sat in a cross-legged position which gave SO much pressure through the contractions. In my head, I was repeating “down and open, down and open, down and open.” I asked for Cheerios and ice water. I knew I needed sustenance, but I knew I didn’t have much ability to eat anything heavy. After about an hour, I lay on my side because the pressure of the floor against my hips felt nice. My sister was woken up, and quietly came into the birth space. By 3, our photographer and midwife arrived which I only know because that’s when our pictures start. They began filling the birth tub while I continued the hard work of labor.
I knew with every tightening, things were progressing, but it was an intensity I never had with my son’s labor. Each squeezing of my belly brought a girdle of pressure around my entire core, and truly intense pain in my back. The entire pregnancy, I struggled with low back pain near my SI joint. It’s like it just couldn’t stay put. I was concerned about how it would impact labor, and my fears came to fruition – it made labor VERY painful. It made me want to quit. It made me want to scream to make it all stop. It made me not want to give birth, to give the baby back, to crawl into a corner. It hurt.
I stood for the first time in a while which brought on a big contraction. I bent over the bed and grabbed our sheets. This was the first time my midwife interacted with me since arriving, gently asking if she could check the baby’s heart tones after I made it through the contraction. Happily, the tub was ready, so I just had to make a pit stop in the bathroom before entering the sweet relief of the tub. I was stopped in the doorway with an intense contraction, held up by my husband while my doula did a hip squeeze. It was 3:38 am.
Getting into the tub was glorious. It relaxed me so much, and while it didn’t stop the back pain, I think it helped me recover more between contractions. My time in the pool is a blur. I was there for about 4 hours (something our midwife later said she typically tries not to happen for fear of labor stalling out from the monotony, but she knew I wanted to try for a waterbirth and wanted to assist in making that happen). Contractions continued to get more intense, but I didn’t feel like things were progressing. It kind of felt like I was just doing these hard things but not getting much closer. I started losing temperature regulation, and they were putting a cool towel on me to help with that. I was also downing ice like crazy.
Quick shoutout to my sister. I don’t know if she knew what to expect, but she jumped right in with zero hesitation. She provided support when my hand was empty (I need a hand during contractions), and she respected the birth space’s sanctity and intimacy. I am forever grateful for her help and for her presence at our daughter’s birth. It was so, so special to share that with her.
My midwife and doula recommended a few different positions in the tub – mostly legs up on the side of the tub to open my hips – which HURT but I could tell it was what I needed to get baby down. I was told after the fact that I was basically coaching myself. I kept vocalizing “down, baby, down” and “open” and “breathe, breathe” during my contractions. I was apparently loud. I have no recollection of this.
At around 6 or 6:30 am, our son woke up, though I didn’t really notice. He hung out with my sister, sometimes coming into the birth space, sometimes preferring to play in our family room. My sister said he seemed comfortable and at ease, even when I was loud. We prepared by watching a lot of videos, and he seemed to really develop an affinity for birth, maybe in part because he really likes babies.
Soon after my son was up, our midwife suggested a move to try to break my water that was bulging. My husband with zero hesitation jumped into the pool (“can I just wear these shorts?” “yes, moms can be naked, but no naked dads” is my recollection of his conversation between he and our midwife) with the rebozo. He stood with it strapped tightly around his shoulders while I had a few contractions in a deep, deep squat leaning back on my heels. My water broke with so much force that I bounced a little. My midwife thought she could see a head right as my water broke so she reached quickly down to feel. The head was close, but it was not quite as far as she thought. My husband took off his shirt, and sat down in the tub with me.
I was protecting myself. I was shying away from the contractions because they were hurting my back so badly. I knew what I needed to do, but I wasn’t letting myself. I was staying still, and I wasn’t opening my hips. With the help of my midwife, doula, and husband, I started keeping my legs open during contractions, and progress started happening rapidly. I remember getting hiccups, and I also remember trembling. I knew I was getting close. We all did.
I remember seeing the natural light begin to come into the room as the sun was rising. I remember hearing our dogs barking like crazy outside our windows, likely wondering what the heck was going on and why I was roaring.
During a contraction (that our amazing photographer captured on video), I said after “I couldn’t control that.” It almost felt like my uterus punched me in the stomach and my baby dropped quickly down the birth canal. In a very gentle voice, my midwife said, “Kelsey, you’re fully dilated. You can push whenever you feel like you need to.”
I had another contraction, and I felt my uterus squeeze down. It took my breath away. I kept riding the contractions, and then I realized my body was pushing with them. I wasn’t mentally telling myself to, no one in the room was counting, nothing but my body doing the work. It was the weirdest, most incredible experience. My husband across the water from me quietly supporting my every breath, my son and sister in and out of the room with no interruption, my birth team placing hands and thoughts in all the supportive places.
I had pushed for about 40 minutes when baby’s head came out and things got a little tense. I was not present – I was off in labor land feeling all the ecstasies of birth when I heard my midwife’s midwife voice say, “Kelsey, I need you to take in a deep breath and push your baby’s shoulders out.” It was the first time I consciously pushed rather than relying on my body. I thought it was a more dire situation than it was, but I was never for a moment scared or filled with fear. I knew something was happening, but I knew my team had me and my baby safe. My midwife had to do a slight maneuver to get a shoulder unstuck, and then she was born. In the water into my husband’s hands (mostly) with my son in the room after a nighttime labor. Just how I envisioned.
Baby came to my chest, and I greeted her with a tearful, “hi.” After a few moments, I spread the legs to check: “it’s a girl, it’s a girl.”
We spent a little time in the tub as I came back to earth and to the room. My sister brought my son to the side of the tub where he gave his new baby sister a big high five. We slowly moved to the bed, baby girl never leaving my chest. I laid on my back and worked with Eloise to get her to latch while the placenta slowly came out. She wasn’t very interested in latching right away which made me a little panicky thinking back to my previous postpartum. But my midwife’s hushed tones and the general calm in the room with my husband’s loving touch and son offering snacks, my panic was quieted. In those moments was when I looked down and realized her slowly drying hair had a hint of red to it. I was still coming down from the birth high, realizing slowly that we had a beautiful baby girl laying on my chest.
I birthed the placenta, and it was placed in a bowl. I had no tears or other issues to attend to, so at this point, my midwife suggested I try to go pee. I happily obliged, and my husband got to hold his sweet daughter for the first time.
This was about 40 minutes after her birth. I climbed back into bed, and Harrison passed me our daughter so I could try nursing her again. Sitting up, we got set up and I brought her to my left breast. I was nervous, the fear of the experience I had with my son right there at the top of mind. And then she latched. I will never forget the overwhelm of relief and joy that latch brought with it. I wept. Her latch was strong, and she had a solid first feeding. While she ate, our son ate, too….the eggs that were made for me! Happily, our birth team was all over it, keeping a buffet of eggs and toast coming to the bedroom. While baby girl nursed, some of the first newborn exams began. Our bed was the hub – nursing daughter, newborn screenings, our son looking through a book with our doula, my husband doting on his wife and baby girl.
Over two hours after her birth, our midwife took baby girl to check her over. My husband and our son stayed by her side (granted, it was all done at the side and foot of our bed, so it’s not like I was too far away!). My son helped my husband cut the cord, and then my husband got to weigh and announce her weight – 8 pounds, 8.5 ounces – a full pound and a half larger than our first. The whole room collectively gasped. Daddy diapered her and brought her back over to me while our midwife made a print and then gave us all a tour of the placenta.
Nearly 4 hours after her birth – the hum of the dryer in the background, the dishes drying by the sink, the birth tub cleaned and packed away in it’s red bin, fresh sheets on the bed – my midwife tucked baby girl and I in, gave hugs and kisses all around, and our birth team left us as a family of 4. We made calls to the grandparents inviting them over later that day so we could get some rest after being up all night, careful not to reveal who the little baby was or any details about the birth – some things are best left to be said in person!
We spent the day resting, cuddling, and nursing. Our son brought toys to share with his new sister, and we spent many hours just staring in awe at this new human who joined our family.