Dear Reader: This is the story of my experience giving birth to my first (currently only) child. We chose a natural birth with no medications and didn’t have any complications. I’m sharing this birth story because my pregnancy was characterized by anxiety and frustration that I had no real idea of what this was going to be like. How would I know it was time? What would it feel like? What if something went wrong? So here it is. The whole experience (my own, the only one I can write about) from the onset of my surges to waking up at home with baby.

If you’re not up for hearing about actual childbirth experiences (fluids, swearwords, and all) this is not for you. If you do want to read, let’s go!

Our first nursing session captured on camera.

Connell was due on December 20th, and I knew my mom had a plane ticket to come see us on Christmas day. I was determined he would be out by Christmas. I was kind of hoping for Christmas eve.

But as we got closer and closer to the due date, and then passed it, I started getting more and more anxious. When would he come? How would I know? What if I didn't get to the midwife in time? What if something went wrong and I had to go to the hospital?

I started "curb walking" whenever I walked the dogs. Just trying to help him get ready to come out. I took a long hike with my husband, because my mom swears that walking up hills is the best way to get the baby out.

Every night I'd have practice contractions. Was this it? I'd think. They always settled down eventually and let me get to sleep.

Until the night they didn't.

I waited until almost midnight. They didn't stop. I got in the bathtub to help me relax. It felt more manageable in the bathtub, but it didn't stop. I texted my midwife and she said to let her know when they were consistently 5 minutes apart. Thus started my obsession with timing all my contractions (which is hard as fuck to do while you are IN the contractions, and waiting for the contractions to come back). I made James help me time them until around 2am when I let him go to sleep. They were not consistent at all, but they also weren't stopping. I got back in the bathtub and turned on a guided meditation. Listened to some music. Refilled the bathtub with hot water what seemed like 8 or 9 times.

I told myself I wouldn't bother my midwife again until my alarm went off at 7. When my alarm went off at 7 I got out of the bathtub and tried to make myself some breakfast. I decided to fix a smoothie because I couldn't imagine eating anything solid. But I knew I'd need to eat something to keep my strength up.

The contractions were manageable if I kept moving, like dancing, while they happened. So I put in my headphones and put on classic Christmas songs (jingle bell rock, rocking around the Christmas tree) I waddle-danced my way around the kitchen making my smoothie, then called my midwife.

She agreed I was in labor, but it would probably be a while before I was ready to come in and actually get things started. I would know when it was time to come in, she said. I turned on a Christmas Movie (The Santa Clause, with Tim Allen) and continued to waddle-dance around my living room through the whole movie. James eventually got up and took the dogs for a walk. He made me a snack at some point (I think apple slices?) and blew up my yoga ball so I could waddle around on it through my contractions instead of waddle-dancing. This helped me get a bit of rest.

The movie ended and we put on another. Coco. Great movie. About 30 minutes in I was completely distracted by what was happening in my body. I was doing my calming breaths, trying to relax, and it was taking 100% of my focus and the feeling of each contraction was intense. James asked if I wanted him to take the dogs for a walk and I said NOOOOOO! I needed him there because it was probably almost time to go.

I called my midwife again. "Hi! So, my contractions are not consistently 5 minutes apart, but some of them are less than 5 minutes apart and I really think it might be time for me to come in".

She said, based on her experience and how I sounded, I probably wasn't there yet, but she had her lunch break at 1, so I could come in at 1:30 and if I wasn't ready she'd just send me back home to keep waiting.

I got in the bath to wait until 1:30.

Then we took the go-bag, got in the car (hard while pregnant. Harder while actively in labor) and drove the few minutes to the birth cottage.

The midwife saw us right away and after examining me she said “How far dilated do you think you are?” I remember saying “I have no tricking clue but I hope I’m close to done!”

I was fully 10 cm dilated. It was go time. So she got me settled in the back room and called in her assistant while my husband got me settled in their bathtub (it was much bigger than ours at home, which I really appreciated).

I was in that bathtub for like 5 hours, breathing and listening to a hypnobirthing meditation on repeat. James sat in the tub with me and rubbed my shoulders and poured warm water on me and offered me snacks what seemed like every five minutes but was probably only twice. I may have snapped at him the second time (something like “No I don’t want any fucking snacks!”).

My contractions were strong, my heart rate and the baby’s heart rate were good, but after hours my water still hadn’t broken. How will I know if it breaks, I though, if I’m here in this bathtub? My midwife answered that it would feel like a balloon popping. (WTF? But she was right).

I was getting exhausted after hours and hours of labor. I was ready to have this baby. And yet, no pop.

So my midwife told me to push and that would help the sac to burst and the labor would move faster. “I am pushing!”

“No, no you’re not” (said very kindly)

“Ok then how am I supposed to do it?”

I started pushing and after a few rounds I felt it.

“Pop! Pop! Pop!”

Literally that’s what I said. There was a moment of confusion before they were able to get out of me that my waters had broken.

Now I was in a bathtub full of fluids from the amniotic sac. Also the water had gotten pretty cold. It was time to get out.

We moved to the bed and started fiddling around with different positions.

Laying on my back? Unbearable.

Squatting near the wall? Exahausting.

I ended up going for a variation on cat/cow pose and continued to push.

I could feel it was about time. And then I started feeling just how much it was going to hurt.

I hadn’t had any pain killers (I didn’t even take Tylenol or anything which, in retrospect, I should at least have brought that.) and I just kept thinking “this is going to be awful” and also “well, it’s got to happen eventually” and I remembered why I had avoided peeing the whole time I was in labor: whenever I sat on the toilet I literally could NOT control my contractions. They got so strong that I felt completely out of control.

If I sat on the toilet, I knew, that baby would come out regardless of what I thought my pain tolerance was. And then, at least, whatever happened next I could at least lay down for a minute.

This was the motivation that brought my baby into the world.

I got my team (at this point they were a blur of people, James, Asheba, Layla, all sort of popping up in the corners of my vision saying generally calming things and asking what I wanted) to take me to the bathroom. I think they thought I finally had to pee. Joke’s on them , I thought, I am never peeing again. Nothing is every coming out of this part of me again. This is it. This is endgame.

I was on the toilet for like 2 contractions before the baby started poking it’s not-so-little head out. It was coming. Just like I though, I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to.

“On this next push, I need you to stand up” said either the midwife or her assistant.

This was of course impossible. I could not push down and also stand up. Not now. Not at this brave new level of exhaustion.

So James pulled me up as high as he could and I pushed down as hard as I could and out starts the head (there is an excellent photo of this moment, of my feet literally lifting off the floor as James pulls me up and my pregnant abs are flexing like some kind of warrior fertility goddess. It’s incredible).

Then someone asked James if he wanted to catch the baby. We had discussed this. The answer was going to be no - because it was going to be very very gross. He was to go nowhere near the business end of things.

But, of course, he did.

And was rewarded by a big splash of all the rest of the fluid that came out with what turned out to be our absolutely perfect baby boy.

I was done.

My job was over.

I could finally lay down!!!!

I was helped back to the bed and at this point I know that the fluttery people fluttered around doing helpful things and caring for my baby while I lay, basically dead to the world, on the bed.

I remember thinking that whatever happened next it wasn’t my problem. Everything was now, in my mind, firmly Someone Else’s Job.

My baby was put into my arms and he was warm and snuggly and perfect and I just wanted to sleep.

Then they started pushing on my belly in a deeply uncomfortable way (oh, right.. the placenta) and then cleaning me up and (OUCH!) sewing me up and then someone brought me tacos (thank you taco angels!) and I spilled tacos on my perfect baby’s perfect head.

He nursed. He fell asleep. I fell asleep. They made me stand up eventually (the nerve!) and shower and then my baby was dressed in the precious little outfit we picked for him and we got into the care and drove home. It was about 11:00pm.

We went home, sleepy baby was put back on sleepy momma’s sleepy chest, and we all went to sleep for probably the next 12 hours straight.

We woke up the next morning. We were home. We had our baby. And it was Christmas Eve.