Ember lily’s birth story

Ember made her entrance into the world on a Wednesday morning (July 1st) at 7:39am at 41 weeks and 4 days. We opted for another home birth (more on our home birth decision here). It’s hard to know where to start with such a simple experience. Her birth was so sacred and also mundane. Magical and uneventful. And I mean that in the best way.

Pregnancy, birth, mothering. On the one hand feels like the deepest initiation of a lifetime and on the other feels something like “oh, of course, that’s just what we do.”

As always, I aim to share my experience from my own point of view, which is of course just one perspective. I understand that pregnancy, birth, and postpartum take many twists and turns, sometimes resulting in difficulties beyond our wildest dreams. I hope the reflections below inspire something in you, regardless of your circumstances.

Birth has a funny way of revealing what’s been in our subconscious mind. The deeper I’ve gotten into spiritual practices, the more I’ve come to believe my interpretation of the outside world is a direct reflection of the internal.

Admittedly, I was starting on shakier ground than I would have preferred. With a move to Colorado looming and an expectation that this baby would come before her guess date, when June 20th came and passed I felt … meh. Of course, most babies do not come on their guess date (and I know this), but I had established a loose expectation that because our first daughter came at 39 weeks, this would be similar. On top of that, I was not feeling 100% about the provider team I had chosen, in large part due to staffing changes happening at the end of my pregnancy. I had reflected on this throughout my second and third trimesters and ultimately decided to stick with my original plan. I would be lying if I said free birthing didn’t cross my mind, but that didn’t sit right in my body. I was resolute in staying out of the hospital unless a true emergency occurred. Ultimately, I decided to let it go, lean into what was working, and have faith that the rest would fall into place — and it did.

My deepest intention for this birth was for it to be as “undisturbed” as possible. While birth isn’t something we can control (in the most refreshing way), I do believe in setting intentions, visualizing, and getting into alignment with the experience I am calling in. When I imagined this birth, it was dark, cave-like, started in the night and in my vision I had anticipated our baby would be with us by the morning. I imagined music without lyrics. Being in my zone, laboring in our basement, and feeling utterly connected to nature and the mystery of it all. And guess what? That’s exactly what it was. I love when that happens.

Because I was getting close to 42 weeks, the pressure about “natural” induction started to increase significantly. I was not really on board with this idea — particularly because I was aware of the risks of going past 42 weeks (very few in my circumstances…thanks evidence-based birth!) and I had also had an ultrasound that showed everything was healthy. However, the midwife practice I was working with had a firm policy — if I wasn’t in labor by Friday at midnight (42 weeks gestation) they would transfer care to a hospital (which frankly was not on my list of viable options). So, I was in limbo for a day or two, working with my doula to explore all possible other options in case an induction didn’t work, all while still feeling uneasy and unhappy about an induction in the first place. Some options they put on the table to get things going included a membrane sweep, midwives brew (which I used with my first birth after my water broke as the first sign of labor), the Foley balloon, and pumping while using herbs. While none of these on the surface felt too invasive, they still represented an “intervention” even if most were considered more natural.

So after weighing all of the options, I got clear that I would be willing to try a membrane sweep on Wednesday morning. Either way, I did not like the Friday night deadline looming. I am not sure why we need to put a deadline on a natural process, especially in lieu of any present medical issues, but I digress.

Okay, let’s get to the birth.

It’s Tuesday evening and we put our daughter to bed. I am doing everything I can to keep myself relaxed and in an open and trusting state, surrendering to whatever was going to unfold over the coming days.

Lo and behold, evidently both me and the baby decided we aren’t doing the membrane sweep. I went to bed on Tuesday evening with some light on and off cramping, but this wasn’t anything new so I didn’t read into it. Around midnight, I wake up with stronger cramping that is coming and going. I go to the bathroom, get some water, and decide to try to go back to sleep. Of course, my mind starts to wonder if labor is starting. I am roughly paying attention to the pattern and noticing that these are actually contractions (aka waves) and they are coming every 7-10 minutes. I think to myself … AHHHHHHHHH IT’S HAPPENING!!! AND IT’S HAPPENING ON ITS OWN IN ITS OWN PERFECT TIMING. I’m basically giddy.

I wake up my husband around 12:45am and let him know that we are having a baby (!!!!!!!!!). Excitement ensues followed by action. We head downstairs into the basement to get the final elements of the space set up quickly. The waves start to feel a bit stronger and closer together. I start to call our birth team (midwife, birth assistant, and doula) to let them know there’s a baby on the way.

Of course, knowing how soon a baby might arrive is an art form that is difficult to predict. The midwife says to lay back down and rest for a bit until I’m not able to any longer. She heads to our house and arrives around 2:15am in the morning.

She comes in to check things out (taking my blood pressure, listening to baby’s heartbeat, etc.). I decline a cervical check. Why? While on the one hand it was tempting to know how “far along” things were, I knew that would introduce another mental element that may or may not be helpful. I wanted to stay in the experience and not have my brain trying to do all of the math and analyze all of the things (for example - well if my labor started at X time and I’m X centimeters dilated then … and so on and so on. Even though I know these would not be accurate assumptions, I wanted to let things be).

And fun fact? I had no cervical checks the entire time. The midwife offered a few times and I simply declined or said something along the lines of “ask me again in a little bit.”

Okay — back to the birth journey. Jesse goes back to sleep and I rest for a little while. I have no idea for how long and wasn’t checking the time ever. After a bit, it’s getting more challenging to lay on my side for the waves, so I move to the floor. I lean over the exercise ball, sway my hips side to side, and start to hum and vocalize when things feel intense. It was just me and the baby in those moments and this was my favorite part of the birth. Quiet, in the dark, attuning to this intensely beautiful thing my body is doing. Doesn’t get more sacred than that.

After some time has passed, maybe an hour? (I really have no idea.) The midwife comes back downstairs and says I hear you making sounds and it seems like things are progressing. I agree. She starts to time the waves and again, without giving me any numeric info, says “we need to get the rest of the birth team here.”

I think this was around 4:30am or 4:45am. Jesse gets up and tells our doula it’s time to head over. We also had a birth assistant (via the midwife practice) and she heads over as well. Things are picking up. Jesse is giving me hip squeezes, holding my hand, and then gets the TENS machine that our doula lent us. The purpose of the TENS machine is to introduce another stimulus during the waves. I try this out and it feels like it is upping the intensity so I give it a break until my other tools (breath, vocalization, movement) stop working as well.

Everyone has arrived and admittedly I am slightly distracted by everyone coming in, chatting, etc. I get back in my zone, as things continue to progress. There was a part of me that started saying — wow, this is hard and I know the intensity is going to pick up. My doula offers some words of encouragement and I carry on.

I had originally planned to give birth in the birth pool again. It was half full and I remember asking when it would be ready for me to get in. I knew I was getting close. I have no idea what is happening on the outside other than some combination of Jesse and the birth team are working on filling the tub and getting it to the right temperature.

I get in the tub and it feels amazing. A few more waves come and then I start to feel the natural expulsive reflex (NER). Whew. It was strong. It’s the near involuntary urge to push. I am doing my best to work with each wave, breathing (sometimes panting), attempting to soften, and vocalizing. It felt primal and wild and like there was so much power flowing through my body.

I feel the familiar sensation of my pelvis opening. It is wild to think how much our bodies stretch open and close back up. My doula says something along the lines of “let it be there” and that one really sunk in. Can I be with the intensity of the experience? Can I lean into the growth? Can I allow and surrender to what is rather than fighting it? Hm. What a metaphor for life.

I continue to feel the NER with each wave, but I can tell something is off. A couple waves feel like huge progress but I can tell that others aren’t getting me anywhere. The midwife is watching with a mirror and I ask “am I close?” … to which everyone around me says something encouraging but no one says “yes” — HA! Okay, so I’m not quite there yet. This is hard. I know I can do it. I remind myself again, the only way out is through.

The midwife suggests I change positions so I move from my knees to leaning back. That isn’t doing it. I try rotating to my side and lifting my leg up. Nope. Still nothing. While this felt like quite a lot of time had passed, I was only in the tub for about an hour. I ask for the music to be turned off and I feel myself become more alert. Time to lock in and focus. I could tell my thoughts were starting to be counterproductive and I needed to reset.

The midwife suggests I get out and move to the bed. In my mind I am literally just thinking to myself “there is no way on planet earth I am getting in the bed right now.” The thought of laying down sounded horrible, but I don’t communicate any of this because I am deep in the experience. I stand up and my team helps me to step out of the tub. I put my hands on the side of the pool, still standing, tell them to hold on because a wave is starting, let out a roar, and boom! Baby’s head is out. (Heh, I knew I wasn’t getting into that bed.) The midwife tells me to get on one knee in a lunge-like position, we wait for the next wave to start and the rest of the body comes out. Our baby is wrapped in the cord a few times but the midwife quickly unwraps and passes her to me through my legs. It is 7:39am.

There truly is no other feeling in the entire world than that moment for me. I felt the same when our first daughter was born. Pure accomplishment, bliss, joy, relief. It’s incredible and indescribable.

My husband is right behind me sharing in the experience. I look at him and ask if we should look if it’s a boy or girl. I move the umbilical cord and …. GIRL! I am overcome with emotion.

The rest is a bit of a blur. I move into the bed where we hang for a few hours. Our daughter latches and I birth the placenta. Another huge relief. The midwife and birth assistant are making sure all is well health-wise, while I relax and enjoy the first few hours with our baby. I would be remiss if I didn’t also share that we had Jesse & Ben’s fries in bed after (Rosemary Garlic if you must know).

Every birth is different. When I had our first daughter, it felt so profound. The transition from maiden to mother is no joke and I released a lot through that process. It was deep and cathartic. This time around, for whatever reason, felt just…normal? Casual, but in the least casual way. Maybe because my identity as a mother was far more integrated this time around than before. Maybe because my trust in my body and nature is even deeper now than it was before. I don’t quite know, but it was beautiful.

I also know that the coming days and weeks will feel tender and raw in many ways and that this really is just the beginning. I lean into that knowing this time around. While occasionally uncomfortable, birth and postpartum are one of those rare times in life where you can let yourself be reborn. Re-shaped. You can go to the depths and discover parts of yourself you never knew were there. It truly is such a gift and opportunity for growth.

As I write this I’m about two weeks postpartum. And while things are still settling, integrating, and healing, I truly am so grateful for the way in which Ember came into the world.