My first birth was an okay-but-not-great hospital birth with midwives, my second an emergency cesarean when we relocated to a rural area during my pregnancy. They say “the veil is thin” during birth, meaning the divide between the material world and the spiritual world is… less. I absolutely experienced this three years ago with the birth of Rosie Jo, my youngest. Like a crunchy mom stereotype, I birthed her into a pool of warm water in our house, and it was a turning point in my life regarding trust for myself and trust in the Divine. Though I don’t think at all that you need to give birth at home to have a good experience, Rosie’s birth was deeply spiritual and totally redemptive. This was originally published on my blog in four parts, so it’s a bit of a longer read! Enjoy and I’d love to hear from you and talk birth—anytime. (And if you’re not into birth or don’t understand why a woman would take the time to document and process and share her birth story, you’re totally welcome to skip this one.)
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Rose was born on July 18 in a beautiful, healing homebirth. I’ve sat with all that happened a while now and just recently started to write it all out. I’ve learned only by doing so just how much anxiety still pervades my life, and yet, I had so many incredible, spiritual experiences preparing for her birth and then during the birth itself. So here we go… starting with an experience I had exactly a week before she was born.
It was a Saturday night, and I was 39 weeks and 2 days. I’d been getting ready for many months: learning and re-learning about birth, taking supplements, meeting with the midwife, doing projects around the house, gathering the supplies. Through all the preparation I remained a little anxious. First, I was planning for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean), which many consider an accomplishment in and of itself and is still somewhat controversial in the conventional medical space. Second, of course, I was doing it at home, which meant a birth with no access to an epidural. This was a big undertaking. Could I handle it? Would everything be okay?
Of course we’d carefully weighed all the things in their specifics and had made a very intentional choice. But still, I’m a neurotic person. Worst-case scenarios come naturally to my brain; anxiety is basically my baseline. So after the kids were in bed on this Saturday night, I had a bit of a meltdown. Ryan took the hit.
“I’m doing a million things to prepare for this birth!” I said/yelled. “What are YOU doing? Have you even re-read The Birth Partner like I asked you to like four months ago?!” etc. etc.
As often happens in marriage, I was releasing pent-up stress onto him that had mostly nothing to do with him. Even though I’d done a lot of work on my mindset already, obviously some fear and anxiety remained. I knew I needed to do some processing, so the next morning I woke up early and snuck out of the house. I decided to grab an iced coffee and then go sit at a park and write. As I got to the park, I saw some activity at the bandshell, and then a sign that a local church was having an outdoor service that day. It was a beautiful morning. After writing for the time it took me to finish my coffee, I went home. I felt calm and refreshed, and I told Ryan we should take the girls to church in the park.
So we did. The service was lovely and it was an absolutely gorgeous day. While the morning had been just what I needed so far, there was something else in store for me in the conversation afterward. First, a hip-looking couple came to talk to us. As we exchanged basic information about ourselves and told them we were planning to have the baby at home, they casually told us they’d had both of their kids at home. Then, another man joined our conversation. He told us his wife had had five successful VBACs. Five!
(For those who don’t know, I live in a small Midwestern town. VBACs and homebirths are not the norm.)
What a morning after such a night. I came away feeling incredible peace and a strong knowing that God was with us in this decision. I knew I could let the fear go.
A stubborn trip alone
My Thursday “due date” came and went, of course. I seem to carry my babies for a while, just as my own mother did—Alice was born at 41 and 5, Clare around 41 and she was still cookin’ when the OB decided on the cesarean. So I didn’t expect to go into labor for another week, if not longer. Because of that, I made plans to see our friends from the Twin Cities who were going to be in Sioux Falls (an hour away) that weekend.
Saturday morning arrived and we went to a parade on Main Street. We were tired when we got home and Ryan told me he didn’t want to go to Sioux Falls. I wanted to see our friends and had lined up Nana and Papa to watch the girls. We had a little… spat, during which I stubbornly decided to go alone. Byeeee!
(I’m fun to be married to.)
So at 40 weeks and 2 days, I made the drive. I met our friends for a lovely lunch, and then I took my sweet (alone) time. I had a leisurely shopping trip at World Market and grabbed a few things from the Aldi next door. I swung through Sonic for a strawberry slushie on the way out of town. I was tired, but I was feeling great and was glad I went. I got home about 8pm. I helped with bedtime for the kiddos, and then instead of going to bed early-ish like normal, I stayed up. I unpacked my World Market finds and had a strong urge to give the kitchen a thorough cleaning.
(Lol. Should have known what was about to happen.)
I’d barely laid down around 11:30 when I felt a contraction. I knew immediately that labor was probably starting, as the contraction felt different from the Braxton-Hicks I’d been having for weeks. I laid in my dark room for a while, and they kept coming: totally manageable, but definitely probably labor contractions.
Keeping anxiety at bay in the early morning hours
This first hour or so I had a bit of a mental battle. I was tempted to be anxious, for two reasons, one having to do with my first birth and the other with my second.
One, part of what went awry with Alice’s birth was that labor started just like this: an hour or so after I went to bed for the night. I never slept after it began; it being my first, I didn’t know how important rest is in early labor. This time my midwife had explicitly talked to me about this several times. She said the most common reason for a homebirth transfer is maternal exhaustion. So as I had those first few contractions my thoughts sounded like this: Of course this is happening. Of course. After a super long day and having barely gone to bed. And I doubt I’ll be able to rest through contractions… even early labor with Alice was super hard. Ugh, this is exactly what we didn’t want. This is just like Alice’s birth.
The other reason was because of the fight Ryan and I had had that day. Clare’s birth and postpartum period was difficult and I developed some trust issues around him being there for me. We’d worked through this quite a bit, but again, I felt tempted to panicky thoughts. They sounded like this: Of course I’m going into labor after a fight and a day spent apart. We haven’t even talked it out. Now I’m not going to feel safe or supported. Again. Just like last time.
(Anxiety is just… wow. If you know you know.)
But this wasn’t my first birth, or my second birth. This was a new experience, and I’d worked so hard on my mindset the last few months. So I chose to lean into trust instead, despite the temptation of anxiety. I put my birth affirmations on my headphones and laid in my bed for a while before I decided to go tell Ryan. Despite the fact that we’d had a fight and barely talked all day, when I went to the living room to wake him up, he was soft toward me. Loving and calm. He said he’d actually been worried I’d go into labor tonight when we hadn’t resolved this conflict. Then he suggested we say a prayer. So we did (well, he did), and all felt well.
I called my midwife to let her know labor had started and crawled back in bed. The goal at this point was rest. I sent some text messages as I laid there and fell in and out of sleep, letting people know things had started up. Some replied right away, some hours later, and all made me feel seen, held, and loved.
Through these early morning hours, I had another experience that felt like divine reassurance.
A few weeks prior I’d asked my neighbor, a nurse at the local hospital, for the OB call schedule. She’d taken a picture and texted it to me. Because this is a small town, I knew the reputation of all 7 or so OBs, and I wanted to know who I’d be seeing if I transferred to the hospital for any reason. So as I laid there, I tried to access the text she’d sent to see who was on call the next day. But my phone was acting weird, and it wouldn’t let me pull the photo up. I felt a clear message come through this technology glitch: You won’t be transferring to the hospital, so there’s no need for you to see that.
I remember feeling amazed and grateful and so at peace. And I continued to try to rest.
Girls leaving and midwife coming
About 5am I texted my midwife that things were going fine. I felt supported and confident and very committed to continue resting. At some point I called my mom to let her know to pick up Clare and ate a peach. I wasn’t too hungry but was trying to stay fed and hydrated. Not 30 minutes later I threw it up! I’d thrown up a lot in labor with Alice, so I was thinking maybe I’d do that again. I texted my midwife about 8am to ask if she could start making her way here (she lives about 45 minutes away). I wanted to talk about what it would look like to do an IV for fluids, and honestly, I just wanted her in town. The throwing up had made me a little anxious.
Alice (my oldest) had been sleeping with me, so I woke her up and told her that the baby was going to come soon. I asked her if she wanted to go with Clare and Nana, and she said she did. (The plan had been for her to be present for all or some of the labor, but this felt right in the moment.) My mom and grandma came to get the girls before my midwife arrived. At this point Ryan had already set up the birth pool in the living room. I was sitting on the exercise ball beside it as they came in. My mom and grandma seemed calm and happy, though they’d both expressed concern and nervousness over my choice to birth at home. They hugged me and we shared some quick conversation. I said goodbye to the girls and waited for my midwife to arrive.
When my midwife and her assistant arrived it was around 9am. We chatted a bit about what it would look like to do an IV or have a heplock in labor, and she gave me some Dramamine. I was happy they were in town now. Since things hadn’t picked up yet and I was coping well, they left us and went somewhere (I don’t actually know where) to wait until labor was more active. Things progressed steadily from there. From the time they left about 9:30 until around 1, I continued to rest (mostly in my bed, if I remember right), eat a tiny bit here and there, and drink water as I coped with the contractions. I didn’t throw up again! (Well, ’til later lol.)
It was probably around 2pm or so that I found the position in which I’d spend the majority of active labor. I was knelt down by the couch, knees on the floor and upper body on the couch. I’d grabbed one of my rice socks (the kind you heat up in the mic—make one immediately if you don’t have one) and had it either around my neck or on the couch so I was putting my forehead on it. At this point I was still coping with contractions totally on my own. The app I was using to time them (Freya; amazing) had a feature that did some breath counting. I remember experimenting with that, finally deciding I didn’t need the automated lady to tell me how to breathe and shutting it off. I was developing my rhythm and I felt totally in control and at peace.
Let’s get this party started
About 2:30pm contractions were closer together and lasting longer. I screenshotted the contraction timer app screen and sent it to my midwife. A bit later she called me (or I called her, not sure) to touch base. At 3:30 I asked her to come back. The text is a little wonky, but I did include a heart face emoji, so apparently I was still coping okay! I was still just breathing and kneeling in that position when the contractions came, while Ryan was busy getting me food and doing other random things.
Things were going so well. Active labor had arrived!
I’d asked a friend to come snap some photos. I can’t remember exactly when she arrived, but I remember she hung up the birth affirmations the girls and I had made all around the living room, which I so appreciated as they were lovingly made by me and the girls and I hadn’t done anything with them yet (they were just sitting around lol). So my friend arrived, and a bit later my midwife and her daughter Emily, her assistant.
(She has two daughters that work as her birth assistants and I love that.)
So there we were, the 5 of us, on a Sunday afternoon. Active labor was in full swing, with regular contractions, and I was totally in the zone.
Coping with the waves
I spent almost every contraction in the exact same position: kneeling on the floor with my upper body over the couch, my head resting on my rice sock. Other than a few trips to the bathroom, I stayed right there by the couch, the birth tub right behind me, filled partially with water but not totally, as we weren’t sure when I would get in and the goal is to have the water be nice and warm.
My midwife showed Ryan how to do hip squeezes, as he couldn’t quite remember from Alice’s birth (my second was a c-section, so it had been a while!). She also got out a tennis ball and showed him how he could rub the ball in circles at the base of my spine. These two things were incredibly helpful in relieving the discomfort, but I wanted different combinations for different contractions. Some contractions I wanted only hip squeezes, some only the tennis ball, some hip squeezes and then tennis ball, some vice versa. At some point Ryan and I developed a way to communicate what I wanted. As I recall, it was mostly me loudly saying “NOPE” and him switching quickly to another option, lol.
In addition to that help from Ryan and using my breath, a simple mantra came to me and it helped so much. It was “Yes. Thank you.” I remember dreading the coming of a new contraction during Alice’s birth, because of the searing pain it brought. As I’ve educated myself more about birth, I’ve learned about the fear-tension-pain cycle: that fear creates tension in the body which creates pain. So instead of screaming “F$%#! No!” as I felt a contraction begin (lol), I’d say loudly in my mind “Yes! Thank you,” welcoming the contraction and expressing gratitude for it because, as they say, every contraction brings you closer to meeting your baby. I believe this mantra really helped me manage any sense of physical pain during this stage. I felt discomfort, but it truly felt completely tolerable.
Calm and confident space
In between contractions, I’d lean back in a sitting or kneeling position. Part of what was so beautiful during this time was the calm, respectful space that was held for me. My midwife sat near me cross-legged on the floor, watching, occasionally checking baby’s heartbeat and my blood pressure, talking quietly with us, whispering with Emily and helping her chart. Ryan and my friend fetched food, drinks, and other comfort measures. Anxiety was nowhere to be found. My every noise and word and action was attended to, but all with a calm, confident energy.
It was absolutely amazing.
Various things happened over the next few hours as things progressed. The timeline is fuzzy but I remember the following:
Various trips to the bathroom, during which I coped with the contractions by hanging onto Ryan and my midwife providing hip squeezes or pressure
Changing from my leggings into looser pants
Ryan and Emily starting to fill the tub all the way up
Asking my midwife if she would pray and her putting her hands on me and saying a stunningly beautiful prayer
Throwing up into a blue bowl and my midwife rubbing peppermint oil into it after cleaning it out
Transition and into the water
I opted to have no cervical checks during labor. Despite not having any “official” information, it was quite clear I was in or nearing transition (an attentive midwife doesn’t need to check a cervix to tell how labor is progressing). I remember the last trip to the bathroom. Despite the increased intensity, there was still a general sense of calm and good momentum in the air, and it was agreed I could get into the tub soon. My water broke as I was walking back across the kitchen from that last trip to the bathroom.
At things point things had gone so well. The pain of the contractions had been manageable and I was SO relieved about that. I felt like a queen, truly. I was doing it. I stepped over the edge of the pool into the warm water.
Now, it was just time to breathe the baby out. As I’d learned more about birth, I’d also become passionate about this stage of labor (pushing), and how it’s often, sadly, mismanaged. My midwife and I had discussed this at our appointments. She wouldn’t be telling me to push; instead, she’d remind me to continue to breathe through contractions and let my body do the work. According to my midwife’s notes, I got into the tub at 7:03pm. I basked in the 100-degree water and rested. The hardest part is over, I thought as I stretched out and rested my head on my arms over the side of the birth pool.
Except it wasn’t. I had no idea what was to come.
WHAT is happening?!
It was about 7pm, and I’d just gotten into the water. Those first few minutes in the tub were glorious, and my outlook at this point was like, OK! Let’s do this! Let’s have this baby! I assumed she would be here soon, and I felt like the hardest part was surely over. I’d read so many unmedicated birth stories where women said the pushing stage felt good, and things had been going so well and felt so doable.
I felt confident and excited. I relaxed into the water.
There was a short period of rest where contractions were either nonexistent or very light. I was pretty sure I’d been through transition and was fully dilated, though as I mentioned I hadn’t had any checks. I was ready to breathe this baby out.
Booooy, was I in for a surprise.
The first big contraction that came in the tub was super intense. Even though I was in warm water, which is a wonderful pain reliever, it was very…uh, painful. I pushed with the contraction. I tried to breathe but it was too much; pushing felt better. More contractions like that came and went. My midwife was silently observing. These strong contractions and the fact that I was pushing already confirmed my idea that baby must be close to being born. I thought my midwife was just letting me do my thing.
I knew something was off when after a little while she still wasn’t saying much. It’s not like she’d been very vocal thus far, but she wouldn’t be silent if baby was almost here. Is the baby not coming soon? What’s going on? I thought. I felt some fear creep in. I couldn’t believe how painful and challenging the contractions were at this point, and there was a weird vibe in the air.
It was about 8pm when I spoke up, saying something like, “Hey, I need someone to say something. These contractions are SUPER HARD.” My midwife gently asked me if I felt like I was breathing through the contractions as much as I could. I said yes, I thought so. I could tell she was trying to strike the delicate balance between trusting me as the laboring woman and weighing in with her expertise. She said she was getting a bit nervous since I hadn’t been checked and was pushing like I was. (I think she knew baby was not close to being born.) The concerns were pushing on a not-quite-fully-dilated cervix (which can cause swelling), and/or getting tired out. She said she knows I didn’t want any cervical exams, but that it might be good at this point to have a look. I readily agreed that it made sense to check.
Digging deep and surrender
During these few minutes as I was flipping over in the pool for the exam, I had a moment of what I’d describe as panic. It felt like things were hanging in the balance. The worst-case scenario came to my mind—that I would soon find out I wasn’t even at 10 cm. I had no idea how I’d continue to cope if this baby wasn’t somewhat close to being here. It was a vulnerable moment. The check was swift, and I felt a huge surge of relief when my midwife said, “Oh, you’re definitely at a ten. And baby’s head is right there [at the cervix].” She then encouraged me to try harder to breathe until I was further into each contraction.
Never one to take advice lightly, I became laser-focused on breathing deeper and longer and not pushing until I literally couldn’t help it. It was here that I had to dig deep. I thought I’d been doing the best I could, but I needed to do better. I remember thinking “the hell if I’m going to the hospital at this point.” I remember actively choosing to believe I could do this.
There was no time for overthinking. The contractions were coming. It was time to trust and surrender.
So the next contraction I breathed through the pain as long as humanly possible. It was SO hard, but I found a way to not push until my body basically took over. I quickly developed my rhythm with this, and things began to feel good again mentally. But the physical aspect was still so, so intense. One at a time, as they say, but each one took everything I had. Here’s the picture during this time: me leaning over the pool side, clutching Ryan’s hands and arms as he sat beside it. My friend on the couch, and my midwife and her assistant kneeled at the head of the pool. I later learned that at one point my midwife turned off a bunch of lights in the house and pulled the living room curtains (it was the middle of July, so it was still light out!). More quiet, respectful space was held as I figured out what I needed to do.
Getting there, continued trust
In between contractions I felt this strange combination of being totally with it mentally, almost like I was watching and analyzing what was happening from the outside, and completely checked out, eyes closed and in a totally different world. It was strange, but as they say, the veil is thin in birth.
After a while my midwife began to make some gentle suggestions to help descend. One was getting out of the pool to labor on the toilet, which sounded absolutely terrible and I didn’t consider it for a second. She also suggested a position called Walcher’s, which she proceeded to demonstrate to me using a birthing stool (check it out here). It looked impossible, and I basically said nope, not doing that. She continued to trust me and I continued to trust my body. I kept laboring in the pool as she gave other ideas for position changes in the water so that baby could descend.
At one point I remember a podcast I’d listened to (I’m telling you, I was lucid for some moments and totally on another planet in others) that had said one knee up was a good position, like a runner’s starting position. So I did that for a while: one knee up for a bit, then the other knee. Despite the intensity of the contractions, I had found my rhythm, and baby was all good.
The vibe at this point was positive. I could do it. I was doing it.
She arrives!
(If you’re not into graphic details about birth, you may want to skip this section.)
After a while, I got into a position where I was belly down, my arms over the side of the tub with my whole body stretched out behind me. I started to feel her come into the birth canal. She was descending with contractions and then sliding back up a bit, which my midwife said is normal and common. This physical feeling was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I’ve heard the phrase “pooping out a bowling ball,” and I have to say, I can’t think of anything more accurate. I didn’t feel afraid; I knew I was almost done. But the sensation was… oof. I felt like I was being split in two.
At this point I had gone inward completely. The physical experience was so consuming that there was no thinking or awareness outside of my body whatsoever. My midwife started talking to me, saying baby would be born in the next few contractions and reminding me to take it easy. We’d talked about this in our prenatal appointments—to go gentle and slow toward the end, to avoid tearing. I remember her calm, encouraging voice. Part of me wanted to rocket this baby out (like LET’S BE DONE ALREADY), but that’s precisely what she was reminding me not to do. So at this point I became very focused on just letting the baby be born, with as little extra pressure as possible.
I soon felt the “ring of fire” and knew her head was coming out. I remember a sense of mental relief at this, knowing it was truly almost over. Usually I’ve heard women describe the ring of fire as the most painful part of the pushing stage, but for me, it was merely uncomfortable compared to the sensations I’d been feeling the last hour or so. It was like, “Oh, there’s the head; that burns a little.” (It’s so interesting how experiences vary!)
With the next contraction she was out. I clearly recall my midwife was saying “Catch your baby! Catch your baby, Amber!” and hearing her but totally ignoring her. I was mentally and physically drained. I just couldn’t respond. Ryan hadn’t wanted to catch the baby; he felt too nervous about it. (In a water birth, the baby needs to be handled with care—once brought out of the water for their first breath, they can’t go back under.) So my midwife slowly brought her along my side, and then out of the water onto my chest as I flipped over to get up on the birth pool seat.
She was here! Rose Jo, born at 9:02pm.
Fun/crazy detail: the position I had assumed to birth her, the stomach-down-arms-over-poolside-legs-dangling-behind was essentially Walcher’s in reverse! I had done the crazy-looking thing my midwife had suggested, but in my own way and completely on instinct. (Intuition and midwives are amazing.)
The golden hour
A bit sadly, those first moments with Rosie weren’t like idyllic home birth pictures you see on the Internet: I didn’t have any big reaction or expression when she was placed on my chest. I almost didn’t even look happy. I think it just took me a little bit to come back to the moment. And I was tired!
After being in the pool a few minutes, Rosie and I moved to the (totally plastic-covered) couch. I remember feeling weak so it wasn’t very easy to get there. Rosie started nursing almost immediately. My friend brought me some food, Ryan updated (anxiously waiting) family that baby was here, and my midwife and her assistant busily assessed to make sure all was good. I remember Pitocin was mentioned as I was having some pretty good bleeding, but it quickly slowed and my midwife decided I didn’t need it.
After a few minutes I gave a small push to deliver the placenta, which she set beside us in a bowl on a little table. Baby nursed, and they continued various checks and monitoring. She said she didn’t think I tore at all but she’d have a closer look a bit later. About an hour after the birth, we cut the cord, and I got into a warm bath (in our regular bathtub) that had been prepared for me with healing herbs. (So great.) Our midwife measured, weighed, and checked Rosie over beside me on the bathroom floor. 7 pounds, 14 ounces; 21 inches. I was so happy, and it was all pretty surreal.
Wrapping up
I got into my robe and then into my bed with Rosie. Our midwife checked me again and said I do have a very small lateral tear and she thinks she should do a few stitches. I protested a bit, as the idea of a numbing needle down there seemed awful (which is funny, as I had just given birth with no pain meds, lol). She said she really recommends we do it, and I agreed. It was no big deal.
After some more conversation, the midwife and her assistant left, and we were alone in our home with our sweet new babe. The girls came with my parents the next morning to meet her, and it was absolutely wonderful.
What an experience. I told a friend the next day, “I’m forever changed by this birth.” And I meant it. It strengthened our marriage. It solidified that I could trust my sense of things (even admidst the blatant doubt of others). It deepened my trust in God’s love for me and for women in general.
This is a weird way to end a birth story, but have you seen the movie 127 Hours? It’s the (insane) true story of a hiker who gets pinned by a rock and barely survives. What helps him push through is a vision of his future son. It’s one of the most beautiful movies I’ve ever seen. It’s really something when the veil becomes thin, and I hope for more women to get to experience a birth that puts them in touch with what’s true and hopeful and good the way this birth did for me.
Man, it’s wild to read that again and live it all over once more. I have so much more to say, on this birth and birth in general, but I’ll leave it there for now. For the real birth nerds out there, or anyone who’s curious about my first two births, I talked about them, the second one especially, on an episode of a lovely podcast called Healing Birth, which you can find right here.
Thanks for sharing your beautiful story! I’m about to have #6 and needed some good reminders of some things 😅😅❤️. (Plus it was fun to read, as I grew up in / still have immediate family in SD!)
I’ve thought deeply for years how God can really use birth (especially unmedicated) to strengthen us as women as we become mothers. From the entry of sin in the world / the increase in labor pains…It’s like he said, “if mothers are going to survive this world now they’ll need a little bit of a boot camp😬! Pain, hardship, doubt, the need for trust, surrender.. no avoiding these things now. Birth can have such a transformative power, thanks again for sharing your beautiful example of this. And HBD to your little one! 🎂🎉
So beautiful, Amber! Makes me want to give birth again 🥹. I’ve had three homebirths, and while all have been beautiful in their own ways, my third was by far the one where I felt most “carried” by God and if we are not blessed with another baby, it was a good one to go out on. I’m so, so glad you were able to have a healing birth experience (and an HBAC at that! 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻). I don’t think homebirth is for everyone, but I do wish every woman could experience the kind of trust, surrender, and ultimate peace that you describe with this birth. And I think it’s what God wants for his daughters to experience, too.