Home Birth At The Break Of dawn

I was driving down Marmion Way when I felt a trickle into my underwear. It was about 5 PM on a hot summer day, and I was on my way to pick up my husband at the metro station. "I either peed my pants or my water just broke," I told Dave as he sat in the car. Excitement rushed over us. We knew that if the latter was true, true labor would start in the next 12 hours.

I called my midwives to share my suspicions as liquid continued to leak into my pants. She instructed me to catch some of the liquid so she could test it to confirm. She showed up a bit later, knowing that at 37 weeks, with the baby facing down, I was cleared for a home birth. I was excited and in disbelief that it could be happening today. I handed Seanie the French press carafe with the mystery liquid. I clearly remember the musky, life-affirming smell of it. After dipping a pH strip in it, she confirmed it was amniotic fluid. She instructed us to go for a walk, get some rest while we can, and call her with contractions five minutes apart.

The atmosphere was calmly excited, youthfully giddy. We checked our home birth list. As ordered by the list, I made a herbal soak for period pads and wondered why and how I would use these as I stacked herbal tincture soaked period pads in the freezer for compresses after birth. Contraction counter app installed, cookie tray - check, swaddles - check, home birth kit - check.

We were too giddy to cook, so we decided to go out for dinner. Labor was not happening yet, and with some of the fluid lost, the baby dropped lower in my pelvis. I was feeling lighter. We sat at Café Birdie with wide smiles and our little secret, knowing that this was our last dinner as a couple and soon we would be a family. After dinner, we walked our loop on Mount Washington Drive before retiring to bed.

As a teenager, my periods were extra painful. I would routinely be sent home from school, where I would curl up and sleep. To this day, the womb pains, low back tension, the feeling of uterus cramps, and that moist achy downward pressure of puts me to sleep. Lucky for me, it was either that, the grace of God, or my body wisely doing as designed.

I slept soundly until contractions woke me up at 2:30 AM. The baby head pressure in my pelvis made it feel like I'm about to pass the biggest BM of my life. The contraction app timed me at three minutes apart. My moans woke Dave up, who called the witches (the loving nickname we adopted for the midwife duo who lived a five-minute drive on the other side of the hill and took care of us throughout my pregnancy).

Time became a blur. I sat on the toilet with my forehead pressed against Dave's lower belly, my hands against his hips. He was my anchor to this world as the pain and contractions transported me to the world beyond. I would later recognize this space as the spiritual realm, where our sacred medicine trips would take me later during Covid. "Nine centimeters," said one of the midwives, and the other was spreading her instruments out on the cookie tray. Waves of contractions followed, peaked, with time to relax in between, and the safe present and grounded belly and hips of my husband anchoring me. At some point, I moved upstairs and onto the bed, knowing it was time to push. The ring of fire. Pain was intense and scary. I hung in this in-between space, starting to feel exhausted. I knew I had to gather all my courage and push with all my might. I was vaguely aware of the midwives and Dave at the head of the bed, expecting, watching, safekeeping, holding space.
I remember myself feeling annoyed and comically thinking, "Darn, do I have to do everything myself around here?" I gathered determination, vigor, and pushed. Surprised by the pain and the burn, I kept pulling back, chickening out. The midwife saw my struggles, and then with the next push, she grabbed hold of my hand to feel the little soft head of hair in the bottom of my pelvis. I'm sure that was supposed to be motivating, and it was, but maybe not in the way meant. Feeling the little head scared me even more, and at this point, I just wanted to be done. Understanding that I have to get out of my way here and go for it, I pushed the baby's head out. Exhausted, relieved. The rest of our baby boy emerged as Dave caught him. The day was starting to break; it was 5 AM.
I held our baby boy in the morning light. Relief, the post-adrenaline rush slump, the joy of the pain being gone, and gratitude for having a healthy baby. We waited until the umbilical cord wasn't pulsing anymore to cut it. I foggily recall the midwife asking me to push once more to remove the placenta as our little boy nursed, and soon the midwives measured and cleaned him before leaving us as we retired to bed, sleeping, the three of us.

We woke up a couple of hours later, bewildered and happy, scared and surprised, and joyfully ignorant of how life is going to change in the years to come. We had a baby, it was the three of us. We were a family.