Around 4 AM on December 23, 2023, I woke up to use the bathroom as usual, with the same crampy practice contraction I always experienced when my bladder was full. As I lay in bed, with my two-year-old daughter snuggled next to me sleeping soundly, I had another mildly crampy contraction. “Weird,” I thought. Twenty minutes later, another one. I tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, but like clockwork, twenty minutes later, another one! It was my due date, but I was very careful not to be too hopeful. My first wasn’t born until eleven days after her due date, so I had been telling myself the entire pregnancy that this baby was also coming late, and I was prepared for another two weeks of pregnancy. I wasn’t expecting anything before January, though I was definitely hoping for sooner than last time.
My first birth had been pretty traumatic in a lot of ways. This time we had planned a homebirth with two midwives, after a lot of thought and an initially very skeptical husband. I wanted something different, but my first labor was still my point of comparison for what birth was supposed to feel like.
I had not had any crazy obvious signs of labor approaching. I had noticed some small strings of mucus, different from my normal discharge, when I used the bathroom on and off for a couple of weeks. I never had the “full plug” come out noticeably, although I never had any signs of a mucus plug coming out with my first child prior to labor either. I had also been having some crampier Braxton Hicks contractions sporadically, though I had been having Braxton Hicks pretty much throughout the pregnancy. They started around nine weeks (fourteen with my first child) and got progressively more crampy the last couple of months of pregnancy. In any case, I got pretty good at tuning them out and disregarding them since they happened so frequently.
Was this actually labor?
The mildly crampy contractions continued over the next hour as I rested in bed, now around fifteen minutes apart. I started feeling hungry, so I decided to go downstairs and get a snack in case something was actually starting to happen. I wanted to get as much energy into my body as possible while I still felt like eating. While I munched my snack, I quietly folded diaper laundry in the dark. I had gotten in the habit of keeping the lights off at night if I got up in order to not disrupt my melatonin production (since melatonin is intimately involved in the process of labor).
I noticed that when I was up walking around, they came a bit more frequently, around five to ten minutes apart. It varied. I texted my primary midwife to keep her in the loop, but told her I expected them to die down by morning. I did not know if that was what I really thought, or if it was just my attempt at keeping my expectations in check. I told myself it was the former, but it was almost certainly the latter. I had heard enough birth stories to know that it was not uncommon for labor to slow down when morning comes, then return again the next night (again, see melatonin).
I finished folding the stack of diapers and decided to go back to bed to try again to sleep. I did not fall asleep, but rested there until around 8 AM, still snuggling next to my daughter and wondering if this was the last night of just us in this bed (my husband had taken to sleeping in the guest room to escape the toddler’s flailing and horizontal sleeping positions). The contractions were still mild but consistently about ten to fifteen minutes apart. I went to use the bathroom again and then decided to get up.
Not long after, my husband heard me moaning through a contraction and got up and joined me. I told him what was happening. He asked if they were real, and I was like… well, probably if they continue, but who knows if they will!
We went downstairs, made some bacon and eggs for breakfast, woke up our toddler, and ate together. My contractions were continuing and were now around five minutes apart again but completely manageable.
I was still totally in denial about it actually being real, though when I used the bathroom again, there was the tiniest, tiniest streak of blood in a glob of mucus. I started to feel that maybe I was actually in early labor after all. I updated my midwives again, and they both commented that it seemed like my body was “preparing for labor!” which made me doubt myself and go back to expecting it to all stop soon. I did take it as a good sign that, at the very least, my cervix was hopefully softening.
I decided it was best to keep busy by going ahead and starting the batch of sourdough bread I was planning on making. Once the dough was kneaded and rising, I tried to nap and see what happened if I lay down. The contractions did space out again to ten to fifteen minutes apart when I was lying down, but I noticed that when I got up to use the bathroom, a contraction came immediately upon standing up, and another when I sat on the toilet. Those ones were particularly uncomfortable, though altogether they were all mild enough that I was still questioning whether this was real labor or not. Compared to my labor with my daughter, this just seemed so mild.
I tried sitting on my birth ball next, and it was more comfortable than standing or lying down, so I decided to hang out like that for a while. At this point they got much, much closer together, around two and a half to three minutes apart, but they were not feeling too terribly uncomfortable. I updated my midwives, and they were a bit surprised and told me to inform them immediately if the contractions started getting noticeably more intense. I finally started to accept that this was actually happening, and I told my husband that it seemed like our baby would be born on Christmas Eve (the only day I was hoping to avoid!). It was still so manageable that I thought I was still at the very beginning. It was around 1 PM.
Soon, I did notice that they were becoming more uncomfortable, but at the same time they spaced back out to around five to six minutes apart. I let my midwives know, and the primary midwife decided she should come check on us and asked if that was okay. I reluctantly (because I did not think I was anywhere close to the finish line yet) said yes, since she had previously assured me that she could always leave again and stay nearby at a friend’s house instead of having to go all the way back home. The other midwife asked if she should come too, and I told her no, definitely not! I definitely did not think that was necessary yet.
Surely she had come too soon
My midwife lived around an hour away from us. The whole time she was driving, I was feeling kind of guilty, like I had called her too soon and I was sure everything would stop once she arrived.
She arrived at 3:15 p.m. and asked how I was feeling. I told her I was still doubting that this was anything more than very early labor. My contractions were varying between five and eight minutes apart, but were still more intense than when they had been two to three minutes apart earlier.
I started describing to her my labor with my first: how everything kept stalling, how this wasn’t as uncomfortable as when I was stalled at five centimeters last time, how I wasn’t nauseated yet. I was kneeling on the rug, leaning forward, and as we were talking, my contractions started coming much closer together. My midwife noticed and commented on that, saying “These are really close together now.” But I was still in denial. I wasn’t having fun anymore, sure. It hurt a lot, sure. But it still just didn’t seem that bad to me.
My midwife wanted to listen to the baby’s heart rate, so she suggested I use the bathroom and move to sitting on the ball. That sounded fine to me, so we did that. It was more difficult than I was expecting. I had a contraction as soon as I stood up, another on the toilet, and another on my way to sit on the ball, so what seemed like it should have taken just a moment actually took several minutes. The contraction on the toilet was the most intense one I had had yet, and I felt myself slipping into my own internal world. I was still very much aware of what was going on around me, but my focus was inwards instead of outwards.
It was at this point that I began to worry a bit that I wasn’t going to be able to do this. I kept comparing my feelings to my labor with my daughter, and even though my labor was now clearly intensifying, it still did not feel as undoable as when I had been stuck at five centimeters—or even before that when I had the Foley balloon, for that matter. I was not even nauseated yet, which was the thing that really got to me in my first labor. I really wasn’t looking forward to twelve or more hours of it, though, which was my attempt at a realistic estimate of how long I might have left to go.
I thought about asking my midwife to check my dilation to aid in my estimation attempts, then thought better of it, remembering that whatever number I was told would not tell me in any way how fast the rest of my labor would go. I decided that it would be better not to know, and stayed quiet. Besides, I really did not want any foreign bacteria introduced to my flora right before my baby was born, as this may disrupt the vertical transfer of beneficial bacteria to baby during birth.
My midwife started gently suggesting that now would be a good time to go to the bath. I wanted to try using water again, but was afraid of getting in the bath too soon and getting cold, since the water was not actually supposed to be very warm. She reassured me that I was clearly in active labor, but I was still not willing to accept it.
Twenty minutes in the tub
Again, the question of whether I could really do it came up in my mind, but I remembered one of the affirmations I had rehearsed: “I am already doing it.” Realizing that I was doing it, I finally agreed to go try the bath, so my husband went to prepare it and also light a fire in the adjacent sauna to make the bathroom nice and warm and cozy (one of my biggest fears going into this birth was being too cold, as I found that particularly unpleasant in my first labor in the cold hospital). It didn’t take long, and as soon as it was ready, I made a beeline for the bathroom right after a contraction ended.
I had to pause for another contraction once I got there, before getting in the tub. It was intense, but my husband pressed on my lower back through it, which helped a lot. As soon as it was over, he helped me peel my clothes off, and I practically jumped into the bathtub. I lay down in the tub on my left side in order to fully submerge myself, as that was how I usually bathed during my pregnancy. It was a familiar position and the most comfortable given the size of the tub.
We didn’t inflate the actual birth pool, as I was thinking that I was just going into the tub to labor, and we had plenty of time.
The water felt amazing because my body was basically floating a bit, which took off some of the insane pressure of the contractions. The room was dark, with just the light from the fire and a few candles dancing on the walls. The crackling of the fire was the only sound to be heard, exactly as I had imagined beforehand. Then, at the end of the second contraction I had after getting in the tub, my water broke. It felt like a rubber band snapping and a bullet shooting out of me.
Immediately I felt a super strange sensation, similar to trying to suppress a cough, but then the contraction was over and with it the feeling stopped. I said that something felt different, not like I needed to push (I really didn’t think so), but just weird. I even had a fleeting thought that maybe I should ask my husband to prepare the actual birth pool, as that might be more comfortable with more space. But of course, that takes quite a while to prepare, so I didn’t say anything. When the next contraction came, however, it was immediately clear to me that that was not an option, for I was in fact pushing.
It was full-on fetal ejection reflex. I was not even pushing. I did not need to try. It was just happening, and nothing could stop it, like vomiting.
Our daughter had been with us all day, quietly playing and reading books beside me through it all. Once I started pushing, my husband took her into the living room. I wasn’t sure how loud I might get, or whether it would scare her. I had watched many homebirth videos with her to prepare her, but I had never actually given birth at home myself and did not know exactly what to expect from myself.
The fact that the baby was coming now took me by surprise, and I said, “Well, I guess this is happening.” I don’t remember exactly what my midwife said, but I remember feeling very reassured. She was so wonderful. She sat unobtrusively in the corner, quietly watching, and said the things I needed to hear at the right moments.
I could feel an intense stinging sensation and the baby moving down with each contraction, but then coming right back up again afterward. I knew this was normal, and since he got further down each time, I felt confident things were progressing. I found it very comforting that this was happening without any conscious effort on my part at all, in contrast to with my first birth when it seemed like no matter how hard I tried, nothing worked. After just a few contractions I could feel him crowning. His head came out on the very next contraction. After the contraction ended, I felt his head full of hair with my hand, hardly believing what was happening. It felt like I was dreaming.
When the next contraction came, the rest of his body came out. My midwife helped fish him out of the water, and I remember taking him in my arms and just being in shock that it happened so fast. I was so happy, just sobbing happy tears and saying “It’s a baby!”
He was born exactly twenty minutes after I got into the tub, in the late afternoon; when I got into the tub, I still didn’t believe I was anywhere close to pushing! It was just so incredibly much easier than my first labor.
At home, with our baby
We hung out in the tub for a while. My husband brought our daughter in to come see the baby, and she was hugging him and patting him on the head, so proud to be a big sister. When the baby started trying to nurse, she ran and got her own baby doll to nurse too.
My other midwife arrived, and I realized that in the moment I had completely forgotten that she was even supposed to be there. At some point my primary midwife must have realized what was happening and summoned her colleague, but a bit too late. Thankfully it was not a problem. The placenta came out soon after she arrived, helped by the strong after-birth cramping I was experiencing. We put it in a metal mixing bowl so it could float in the water while still attached to my brand new baby.
After a bit more cuddling in the water, my husband cut the cord and took our baby boy for some skin-to-skin and snuggling with big sister while my midwives helped me rinse off in the shower and walk to the bedroom. They had me sniff peppermint essential oil, since last time I got dizzy and fainted in the shower (just due to vasovagal reflex, not blood loss) and it can help with that. My body felt a bit strange and empty, as it does right after giving birth, but I was happy to find that I felt completely fine otherwise.
We made our way to the bedroom, which my midwives had prepared with fresh sheets, supportive pillows, a heating pad, and plenty of blankets. It was so cozy and comfortable to be with my whole family in my own home. My daughter was enamored with her little brother, and I loved having her right there next to me and baby. She observed closely while he nursed and snoozed on my chest. My husband heated up beef stew for dinner and fed me bites of it and sips of chicken stock. We heard our neighbor come plow the driveway, and my husband ran outside excitedly to tell him we just had the baby.
After mostly just relaxing for awhile, we got on with the “business”. We made Tree of Life prints with the placenta, and the midwives checked it over to make sure it was whole. Then we weighed and measured baby. He was 3.7 kilograms, so slightly over eight pounds and bigger than my daughter was at birth. I was so surprised at this because he looked so tiny next to my toddler daughter and he had been so much easier to birth. He had exactly the same head circumference and length as my daughter when she was born.
My midwives determined that everyone was healthy and sound, and left shortly thereafter. All in all, they had only been there for around four hours. Earlier in the day I had been feeling a bit guilty that I was going to have to call them to come over in the middle of their Christmas celebrations (which happen on Christmas Eve here), so I was relieved that the timing worked out this way. More importantly, my son got his own birthday.
Once we were alone as a new family of four, we called our family to share the happy news. We had not told anyone what was happening earlier in the day, so they were all quite surprised. Then, our daughter opened a gift from her new baby brother—a little boat with the Moomin family. My husband put the ham in the oven to bake overnight for our Christmas dinner the next day, and saved my very long-fermented sourdough bread to bake in the morning.
Soon, we all decided to go to bed. My husband helped me move to the big bed upstairs, where I slept with the baby and my daughter snuggled, one on each side. Almost like the night before, but one more soul to hold in the outside world. Outside, the weather was frightful - sleet, snow, and cold. Inside, me and my family were comfortable and warm. We went off to sleep, dreaming of a quiet, cozy Christmas the next day, and me waiting for my alarms to wake me up to take care of the new baby.
My first birth was pretty traumatic in a lot of ways, so this experience of my body doing exactly what it was supposed to felt very healing for me. I felt so much better physically too. With my first, I ended up with an episiotomy which took months to heal properly, even requiring a section to be restitched at my postpartum appointment. This time I had just one small first-degree tear that I got a single optional stitch for, and one “skid mark.” Honestly, I barely noticed either of them. Not during the birth, and not after. I did not feel sore at all. The after-birth cramps were much worse this time, which is very common with subsequent births, and were the only uncomfortable thing about my recovery. They lasted for several days, activating whenever I breastfed my baby. I tried taking an ibuprofen once and it did not help at all, so I just breathed through it and dealt with it.
It’s a bit funny—my husband was super skeptical at first about planning a homebirth, but afterward he was a complete convert. He saw how much better able I was to cope with labor, not to mention the convenience and value of having a trusted midwife you already know taking care of you. In Finland where we live, you do not even know which hospital you will get sent to when in labor, and you get assigned whichever midwife is on shift at the time. He immediately said we would definitely do the same for the next birth, assuming everything was medically normal, of course. It made me happy that he came around to the idea so that he could experience himself what I already knew was possible.
Looking back at my labor, I don’t see how we could have made it to the hospital, in any version of a planned hospital birth, because I just didn’t think I was anywhere close to giving birth, and from the beginning I wanted to stay home until the last minute. I probably would have gotten into the tub and then just gotten stuck in there and had the baby at home without any midwife. So I’m very glad that we planned it this way. My threshold for allowing a midwife I know and trust to come over to my own home and check on me is far lower than that where I feel inclined to head to a hospital. Our closest hospital with a birthing unit was around 40 minutes away, and if that was full, the next closest was over an hour away.
The take-home point from this birth is that I really didn’t realize what was going on until my baby was actively being born. I learned that my body was not, in fact, broken, and that birth goes much smoother when you pretend it isn’t happening.
