When I was pregnant, I loved reading positive birth stories from other women. I knew very little about birth when I first became pregnant and by the end of nine months, I knew quite a bit more. Birth isn’t something to be feared and it doesn’t have to be traumatic, though unfortunately, in many cases it is.

When we take birth back to its natural state, it can be dreamy and blissful and empowering. When we reclaim birth as our own, rather than a medical emergency, we reclaim our power as women. And boy oh boy, are we powerful.

My first daughter, Brooks, was born at 6:55pm on Monday, May 8th after 26 hours of labor. Completely intervention free and unmedicated. I don’t have a “high pain tolerance”. I cringe at needles and feel faint when I see blood. Yet natural childbirth was one of the greatest, most joyful experiences of my life. I long for other women to get to experience it. If I can do it, anyone can. Here’s our story:

The final weeks of my pregnancy are blissful. I’m flooded with oxytocin, have a ton of energy, and feel so present and connected with God. 

I’m convinced that Brooks will be born early, in the 39^th week. When that week comes and goes, I decide to stop “waiting” for her. I’m prepared to go the whole 42 weeks. I know she’ll come when she’s ready. I’m soaking in the unknown. 

And then, on Sunday May 7^th, around 1:30pm in the afternoon, I suddenly start to feel a shift in my energy. I don’t think much of it. At this point, I’m doing my best to ignore any potential signs of labor. We have plans to drop off a casserole to our friends and neighbors down the street.

Around 4pm, early contractions begin. My husband, Powell, ends up dropping off the casserole on his own. I feel bad that I have to back out of the visit, but I know something’s amiss.

At first, it’s like a tightening in my lower back that radiates around to my front and then goes away. I decide to start timing the sensations to see if there’s any pattern to them. They’re coming every ten minutes and lasting around 30-45 seconds. But I’m still not sure this is labor. After all, being a first time mom, I don’t know what to expect. 

When Powell gets home, we go for a walk with our dog, Capone. I have a couple contractions on the walk as we head up a hill. I have to grab onto Powell for support. He takes notice. The contractions continue on like this through dinner, while we watch, “Don’t Look Up” on Netflix, and I make a flower art piece called, “Brooks”. 

We continue timing the contractions and text our Doula, Katie, to give her a heads up. The app that we’re using to time the contractions keeps saying, “Get ready to go to the hospital” or “Time to go to the hospital.” But I ignore it. My plan is to labor at home for as long as possible. Katie suggests we get some rest, so we go to bed early. 

The contractions get stronger when I lay down and I’m having trouble sleeping through them. The first half of the night, I wake up Powell every time one is coming. He rubs my back, applies counter pressure and a heating pad. I know something strange is happening in my body, but I’m still not convinced it’s labor. 

Around 3-4am, Powell expresses his desperation for sleep. I decide he’s right. One of us should be getting some rest. I can handle these on my own. So, for the rest of the morning, I labor on my own in bed. Thankfully, I’m able to fall asleep in between the contractions. Which are now ranging from 5-10 minutes apart and lasting about one minute each. 

When the sun comes up on Monday morning, Powell decides to stay home from work. I’m still not convinced about labor, but he thinks surely something meaningful is happening. It’s been going on for so long… 

Around 10:45am, I lose my mucus plug and have a bloody show. I’m excited! Something is actually happening! As the day goes on, I develop a coping mechanism for every time a contraction hits. It’s instinctual and I can’t help myself. I begin a low guttural chanting. It sounds African to me. Powell says it reminds him of Gregorian chanting, which I didn’t even know was a thing but he learned about it in high school. It does sound similar when we look up Gregorian chanting on YouTube. 

I do laundry and pick up around the house. Pausing for contractions as they come. They’re coming every 5 minutes now and I just stop whatever I’m doing and hum/chant/breathe my way through. Around 1:30pm, they’re getting stronger and closer to 3 or 4 minutes apart. I decide to cancel my 2:30pm massage appointment and tell Powell to get the bath ready. 

I get into the bath and shortly after, Powell suggests we call our doula, Katie. On the phone, I try to pull myself together, (still thinking maybe this isn’t active labor), and she says she’ll be over in an hour or so. Based off my voice, she doesn’t think I’m in active labor yet. 

But only about 45 mins later, I’m side lying on the bed and calling out to Powell, “Where’s Katie?!” By the time she arrives, around 3:30/4pm, I’m most certainly in active labor. My disposition has changed to one of true focus. Though I’m still convincing myself maybe this isn’t labor. I laugh in between contractions. And then I cry to Katie, “I’m just worried this isn’t dilating me and we’ll get to the hospital too early.” I know I want an intervention free birth. I’m determined to stay at home as long as possible. 

The song, “Rivers and Roads” by The Head and The Heart comes on my phone and we sing our way through another couple contractions. I’m back in the bath now and Katie says to me, “I’ve been seeing your body work really hard. I think it’s safe to say you’re in active labor and you may even be beyond that. Are you ready to go to the hospital?” Okay, I surrender. 

It takes us what feels like forever to get into the car. The contractions are coming every 2 minutes now and lasting about a minute each. I’m in transition. We have to get to the first floor of our house, as we’ve been in the master bedroom and bath upstairs. I contract going down the stairs. Then we have to get into the car. I contract in the driveway. I contract a few more times during the 5 minute drive to the hospital. 

I’m not even wearing shoes when we pull up to the fire lane at the hospital. I get out of the car and contract against the side of it. Someone from inside sees me and brings me a wheelchair. I’m wheeled into the lobby for check in. We realize I don’t have my ID or purse. So Powell rushes back home to get it.

I’m completely in my zone now. I’m barely speaking. I remember looking around the lobby. There’s probably about five people in there, looking back at me. I’m wondering why they’re looking at me. I’m holding it together, I think. And just then, I feel another one coming and yell out, “Sorry everybody! Here comes another one!” I then begin my loud groans and animalistic cries. They wheel me back into a labor room, skipping triage and check in. 

It’s around 6pm when we arrive to the hospital and our midwife doesn’t begin her shift until 6:30pm. I’m greeted by the hospital midwife who covers for her during the day, Laura. She used to work at the local birthing center. She’s familiar with natural childbirth. She checks me and tells me I’m 100% effaced and over 9cm dilated. This is great news! But I’m too focused to react. Another one is coming. About 20 minutes later, Powell is back and he’s in the room with us. Laura tells me when I feel the urge to push, to follow it. 

Sure enough, I soon feel the power that has been gripping me begin to move down through me. As it moves down, I groan and push it along. I’m side lying on the bed and Powell holds my leg in the air. At 6:30pm our midwife, Stacie, arrives to take over the shift. Laura slips out.

Stacie greets me sweetly and calmly. She whispers to me how great I’m doing and how close I am to meeting my baby. She asks me when’s the last time I peed. Not since before I got into the bath back home, I think to myself, as the others try to answer for me. Okay, let’s see if you can get up and try to pee. I think sitting on the toilet will be nice and I also think, if I stand up, this baby will fall out of me. I rise to make my way towards the bathroom. I take two steps before dropping into the squat position. My baby is crowning. 

Stacie is prepared in case I deliver right there on the floor. She can see my baby moving through the canal and says she’s doing so good. That I’m doing so good. Can I get back on the bed? She asks me. Oh boy, that will be difficult but okay, I think. I get back onto the bed on all fours and begin to push my baby out. Probably only three contractions later and I hear, “You’re doing great, this is the ring of fire.” Then I hear the head is out. Sure enough, the next contraction comes and with no straining at all my body pushes the rest of the baby out and Brooks is born. “Grab your baby!”

I reach between by legs and pull her up to my chest. I’m in total shock and disbelief. I did it! I proclaim. We did it! I look at Brooks. I’m so proud of her, and of myself. I lay down on the bed, finally on my back. What a relief! I bring her to my breast and she latches on. I assure everyone in the room that it wasn’t nearly as bad as it sounded. They laugh. We all laugh. I’m in pure ecstasy. And I stay that way for two whole weeks after the birth. It’s a high unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

A couple hours after the birth, Powell asks me, “What did it feel like?” I try to think of words to describe the sensation but I’m at a loss. Powerful? Yes. Intense? Yes. Painful? Not at all. It’s a bit like a train that’s coming towards you, and you can’t get out of the way. Like a huge wave in the ocean and you have no where to go. Finally, I think I’ve found the perfect phrase. It feels like, “Nothing can stop what is coming.”