A Shower, A Spontaneous Homebirth and a Whiskey Glass - Lily's Birth Story

Like we so often do, I knew that today was The Day before I actually knew that it was.  My inituition nudged me a little bit and I hesitated as I sent Derek to work but, ultimately, the sensations that I’d been feeling the last hour were so mild that I wasn’t even convinced, myself, that they were the real deal.  Carter, who was not even two yet, and I had walked Derek to the door to say bye – something not typically part of our routine.  It was unspoken but the prolonged good-bye was like we all knew that today was our last day as a unit of three.  We closed the door behind him and I looked down at Carter and thought: “well, whatever this day brings us, we’re going to do it together.”  And so, my little partner and I, we got busy with different activities and distractions to encourage whatever was happening inside to continue.

We pulled out our “birth balls.”  Mine, a large blue exercise ball and Carter’s an oversized ball from the dollar store that was actually just the right size for him to sit on.  With surprising amount of balance and coordination, for a two year old, we sat there him and I, on our birth balls.   Him doing an equal amount of bouncing up and down and toppling off and me rolling my hips from side-to-side and forward and back as Paw Patrol played in the background.

Once the birth balls had run their course (I was working with a two year old so, yeah, we move quick) we decided on a walk outside.  For some reason, I’ve always been really hell bent on going for a walk outside during labour.  I wasn’t able to make it through during my first birth but I thought I was still early enough this time that it was a plan that made great sense.  We made it exactly one driveway over before it became really clear that, while this was a great idea in theory, the execution was more than I could handle.  And you know what?  That’s okay.  I wouldn’t have known unless I tried!  Sensations were closer together now and I had to pause and focus during them.  If I had to focus, it was probably best to stay in the house as opposed to on a sidewalk, next to a busy street, with a two year old who could dart away from me at any moment.

Next we tried the bath.  It became exciting for Carter when I said we could go in Mama + Dada’s “big bath.”  Again, sharing a bathtub with a two year old during labour (and while removing Kinesiology tape) was really one of those things that truly sounded much better in theory than in actual execution. Hint: it was not at all the peaceful, relaxing experience I’d envisioned.  As Carter belly-flopped from one side of the bath to the other and I riiiiiiipped the Kinesiology tape from my belly, cursing whoever’s idea it was to apply it, I started to lose patience.  Not necessarily with the process but with the external factors at play (*ahem* yeah - the toddler).  It was time to bring in the reinforcements.

Once Derek was home and on Carter-duty, I went upstairs and ended up in our shower.  It was pure instinct that got in me in there but, ended up being a wise move, as this is where I would stay for the next four hours.  In between sensations, I was vaguely aware that our doula had arrived and also our midwife.  Although, I’m not sure how exactly a midwife ended up in our bathroom – homebirth wasn’t in the plan so we should have been meeting her at the hospital.  Whatever the reason, I’m thankful for it because, inevitably, her showing up there changed the course of the birth altogether!

After her initial check, she sat back on her heels and said: “If we’re going to the hospital, we need to go right now.”  I nodded my head to show I understood while simultaneously climbing back into the shower.  Even though hospital birth had been our plan – a decision made as a result of months of blood platelet issues – I couldn’t wrap my head around leaving.  Around getting out of the warm shower into the cold air, around having to lean over to dry myself off.  Around having to put clothes on.  Around having to sit in the car for the 25 minute drive. No. Hard no. All of it.

Derek stopped, in his tracks and slowly turned to look at me, nothing short of pure horror written all over his face, when I said: “I’m not going.”  Our doula and midwife met the same statement with little squeals of excitement at the promise of a coveted homebirth.  Derek knelt down beside me and the pleading to go to the hospital, like we’d planned, began (what can I say, the guy loves his plans).  Seeing he wasn’t making much headway with me, he switched tactics and tried to appeal to our doula.  I repeated what I’d told Derek: “this is working.  I’m staying here.”  She nodded in agreement because, this really was working. It didn’t make sense to shake things up and potentially derail the good thing I had going on.  She left the bathroom and I could hear her say to Derek, who was in full-blown crisis mode: “Derek, she says she’s staying.  Now pull yourself together, man, it’s your wife who’s in labour, not you!”  Just kidding, she didn’t really say that last part – although, pretty sure she was thinking it.

A short time passed where it was only my doula and I in the bathroom.  Me, still in the shower, towels on the floor to provide a bit of cushion for my hands and knees and my doula crouched beside the shower door.  I had a moment where I became panicky that I would have to get out at some point but my midwife just laughed and said I could stay wherever I wanted but she wouldn’t be joining me in the shower.  Hearing that allowed me to further relax and accept what was to come – and come it did.  Almost instantly after receiving permission to stay where I was, I began to feel pushy sensations.  Our doula left to go collect Derek who, in what I can only assume was a bid to ward off his nervous energy, had been kept busy by the midwife and doula – they had him finding old sheets and towels and then making up the spare bed (which was really quite comical because I was in the master bathroom with no intention of ever moving to the spare room down the hall and around the corner - they just knew that what he needed was to be kept occupied).

Once the two midwifes, doula and Derek had gathered in the bathroom, I started pushing.  Doula, right beside me.  First attending midwife behind her.  Second midwife perched on the countertop recording notes and Derek – my dear husband – sitting inside the bathtub, face completely ashen, rocking back and forth with head in hands.  I’m not even joking. It was… dramatic. I remember glancing up at him one time – one time – and thinking: “NOPE.  Weak link!”  And I went back to focusing my gaze on the bathroom tile floor – focusing on the mesmerizing hexagon print and wondering how I hadn’t noticed before (probably because I’d never spent that long staring at it… because why would you?!) how it looked just like a beehive (the ‘a ha’ moment, ya’ll!).

One push.  Two push.  I’m not sure if it looked like I needed someone or if her experience told her to just get in there with me but she said: “Well, if no one else is going in, I am.”  And the shower door opened and in came my doula, fully clothed.  She sat on the shower bench, somewhat out of the direct water stream but still, getting wet was unavoidable.  I was still on hands and knees.  But when she came in, I raised my upper body so that I could hold her hands.  As I raised my upper body, I took one knee off the ground and planted that foot on the ground, almost in a half-squat.  One easy push in that position and the midwife was right behind me, hands out.  She caught the baby, for just a millisecond, before placing it on the shower tile in between my legs, immediately backing off. For, maybe a full minute, it was just me and the baby.  My body was blocking it so no one else could get a look.  Baby’s eyes were open, staring back at me as I started at it.  We hadn’t found out what this baby was – boy or girl – although we all assumed it would be a boy. And full disclosure, we were just a *little* (read: a lot) desperate for a girl.

As I stared at the baby’s lower half, I began to feel perplexed.  I looked up, quizzically, at Derek, who was now trying to peer into the shower to get a glimpse.  I looked back down at the baby.  Looked back up at Derek.  Looked back down at the baby.  Glanced over my shoulder at the midwife, thinking that this baby’s testicles were either really small or that was just swollen lady parts.  But, it couldn’t be. Could it? The midwife didn’t seem concerned - like you’d expect a midwife to be if, say, it was a boy baby with missing or super small testicles.  So, I looked back down at the baby.  Until finally Derek said: “What is it?!”  Locking eyes with him I said, almost in a questioning tone due to my complete disbelief: “We have a…. girl?  WE HAVE A GIRL!”  Cheers erupted in the bathroom from all of us - midwives, doula, Derek. It was a moment. A really good one. Number one on my life’s highlight reel.

After the placenta was delivered, I stood up on shaky legs and showered everything off.  The baby was passed over to Derek for skin-to-skin.  I came out of the shower and slowly padded to Derek and the baby in the bed, noticing on my way out, an empty whiskey tumbler on the windowsill (later learning that there had been a lot going on behind the scenes upon my decision to stay home. The whiskey tumbler was the result of a pep-talk gone awry between Derek and his sister – exasperated at how her reassurances that everything would be okay were falling on deaf ears she lamented that maybe he should “just go have a drink and chill the ‘F’ out!”  I’m not sure she expected him to actually take her up on that idea but before coming back into the bathroom when I started pushing, that’s exactly what he did in a, fruitless, last-ditch effort to compose himself).  Would you even believe that the first thing Derek said to me when I got into the bed was “That was AMAZING!  It’s SO much better being at home!”  While we all laughed at the irony of that statement and how easily he’d been converted. Coming from the husband who needed more doula’ing, coaching and reassuring than most birthing people our midwives have ever supported (yes, you’re reading that right - ever supported), it certainly says a lot about the magic of homebirth!

Looking back at this birth, there are some takeaways that are worth pointing out, especially for those of you who are reading this as part of your own birth preperation:

• Don’t be afraid to try different activities during your birth. Be proactive and come up with a list of things to try, before you’re in labour. If something doesn’t work, at least you tried and you never know until you try what will work

• Good support is key. It truly can make all the difference. Choose your support wisely.

• Be flexible. Sure, we had “planned” to go to the hospital - but, sometimes (a lot of time!) birth changes our plans.

• When you find something that works, stay with it! We had no idea I would spend 4+ hours in our shower or that our hot water supply would last that long but thank gosh it did - because once I figured out that the shower was what was working for me, I was not getting out!

This birth resulted in our little girl being born.  But the trickle-down effect was about so much more.  It’s hard to put it into words but to have someone, essentially a stranger, trust you and your body’s ability more than maybe even you did prior to that moment, is an incredibly powerful thing and an amazing gift to give.  That’s what this midwife did for me.  In every sense, she just sat back and let me do my thing. She was a bystander which, in theory, is exactly how it should be.  Her confidence and trust in me facilitated – gave me the opportunity – to have this lifechanging experience, one that I hope more and more women are provided.

Last thoughts: Derek wanted me to “go easy” on him with this story. When we look back at this birth, we laugh a lot - the nerves, being kept busy with those really random jobs, the rocking in the corner, the shot of whiskey outside the bathroom door. It added an amazing element of comedic relief which, if you know me, you know I love. It worked in this situation because I didn’t need anything from him. I was conquering this birth thang all by myself! His reaction to my game day decision to homebirth is understandable. He’d had his mind set on things unfolding one way and, at that time, he felt safer in the hospital. He’s since become a seasoned homebirth partner, since we welcomed our third via homebirth a year after Lily’s birth - with, to the great surprise of that same team of midwives, Derek acting solely as my “doula.” And, you know what? He did great and I use his experience with homebirth often when discussing options with my birth clients.

The Homebirth of Lucky No. 3

“FUCK.”  It was Good Friday and we were having an early Easter dinner at our house with family. I was 37 weeks and 7 days pregnant with our third baby and had just gotten one of those tell-tale signs that birth was starting. Unlike many (most?) other pregnant women who are at the end of their pregnancies, I was in no hurry to have this baby out.  In fact, I’d been strategizing for months, with my Naturopath, how to stay pregnant passed my due date.  Carter was just over three. Lily almost 18 months. And I wanted all the extra time I could get to have the “big two” grow up just a smidgen more before the new baby came.  “Nana Angel” (Derek’s mom’s) birthday was just 5 short days past my due date.  I would have loved for this baby to share her birthday or, at the very least, her birthday month. With that being said, being Easter weekend, I had a feeling this baby was coming. I’d said as much to the midwife at, what ended up being, our last prenatal appointment. Carter was born on Halloween, Lily was due on Thanksgiving and, despite my best efforts, it seemed fitting that this baby would come on another notable day

37 weeks 7 days with baby #3. He was born 15 hours later (right in that shower behind me!).

I made my way to the bathroom with my sister-in-law close behind me.  She brought me clean clothes, which I changed into. Then, I went into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of wine and, as all three of the other adults in the room stared at me inquisitively, drank it.   I was daring the labour to start but hoping the wine would relax me enough to stop whatever was happening (I know it sounds crazy but this was advice given to me by a midwife when I was pregnant with Lily.  She said if you’re wondering whether it’s the real deal, try to “stop it” by taking a Tylenol, having a bath and drinking a small glass of wine - if you’re still feeling sensations once you get out, it’s happening.  Maybe run this strategy by your own midwife before trying it yourself).

While I had been feeling little crampy sensations all through dinner, they all but disappeared as we put Carter and Lily to bed and got into bed ourselves.  I was feeling more and more optimistic that this was just primordial labour. Primordial labour is like false labour. It starts and stops over a period of days or weeks, usually happening at night, and is quite common with subsequent babies (and something no sane pregnant person actually hopes for!).  We turned off the light.  I tried to go to sleep.

…Aaaaaand was woken up about an hour later.  I was still in denial. Still clinging onto the hope that by morning the sensations would ease up. I woke Derek up and told him I was going downstairs and made my way to the birth ball. It didn’t take me long to figure out there was no denying it. This baby was picking their own date for their own birthday.

A couple hours later, my mom had arrived to sleep in the spare room and be on big kid duty.  The midwife I’d hoped would be on call was and she was on route after I, hesitantly, told her I thought she should start heading over.  I was hesitant because I really wasn’t sure.  I was managing through contractions quite well, yet something told me I still wanted her there (side note: this is ALWAYS the right time to ask your support team to join you).  She slipped inside from the darkness of the night and joined us in our dimly light room, watching as midwives do, to try and get a feel of where I was.  After a few contractions, she asked if I wanted to be checked to have an idea about where things were at.  We were all shocked when she pegged me at around 8 centimeters (“You can hardly tell you’re in labour!” was her response).  Using my crockpot trick (that you can read about on my blog), I was aware that I was managing the sensations quite well but even I was surprised to hear things were that far along. I thought this last little stretch would be just that – little – and that I was nearly done.  Now that I know where I was, dilation-wise, I felt comfortable moving into the shower.  The shower was my was my last-resort coping tool. And once I got in, I wasn’t getting out, so it was really important to time that transfer well.

Of course, sometimes it happens that you have one plan and Birth has another.  That was the case here.  It took me awhile – way longer than I expected – to finish dilating.  The sun was up and I remember wondering why on earth this was taking so long – it was my THIRD baby and I’d, easily, been labouring longer than I had with Lily.  At this point, this thing should just fall out!

A little bit of background here: I did not use a doula with this birth as I had with Carter and Lily.  Why?  Because Derek had a false understanding about the intensity of birth. I attributed this to a doula doing most of the support with my first two births (which, at the time, I’d wanted).  This time, I wanted him to get a really good idea about all the work that birth entailed – so I made him my doula.  You should also know that this decision was a questionable one because Derek doesn’t handle birth well. In fact, if you birth with a certain group of midwives, there’s a chance you’ve heard about the husband who rocked, head-in-hands, in the corner of the bathroom during his wife’s first homebirth. So, now you understand why one midwife openly laughed during our prenatal visit when I shared my plan to have Derek be my doula… before asking if I really thought it was a good idea!

Anyways, in this moment – as the sun is coming up and I’m wondering why this is taking so long and losing steam – is when I really missed having my doula.  I needed someone to remind me that time was not the enemy here. Time was my friend.  Without my doula there to remind me that birth has no timeline, I was in a hurry to have this end. I was ready to move on to the next stage and I wasn’t ready to wait for my body to catch up. So, I fibbed and said the magic words that no one can resist getting excited over: “I feel like I need to push.”  The midwife checked me and said there was still a little bit of lip (cervical) there but I could start pushing if I felt like that was what I needed to do.  So, I did.  And an hour later – longer than both my first and second births – I was still pushing.

The reality is it had not been time for me to start pushing – I jumped the gun because I was tired.  And I was not relaxed in this moment.  Derek’s exhaustion and desire to wrap this little up was written all over his face.  I felt the same.  I knew Carter and Lily were awake downstairs and was worried about what they might be hearing.  By now, I’d been in the shower longer than I had while in labour with Lily and I was TERRIFIED that the hot water would run out.  This decision to start pushing, when I probably would have been better served to hold off until my body was pushing on its own, was a lesson that I pass along to anyone who will listen!  By starting to push early and while tense I (in my opinion) prolonged the pushing stage which exhausted me… which then made the pushing less effective… and so on.

The moment that makes it all worth it

He did join us, that baby of ours.  Just Derek and I in the shower as he came into the world.  We finally got to hear what we’d been dying to know for the last ten months – that he was a he!  The moment I’d been waiting for (besides baby being born, of course) was when I got to hand off the baby so I could stand up, shower everything off and climb into bed.  Anyone who’s birthed at home will tell you this is THE best part – and it really is!

If they’re being honest, I think each time a parent welcomes a second or third or fourth baby, there is a little bit of apprehension about whether they will love the new baby as much as the love the older ones.  And this was true for me, as well.  But when I was settled in bed and able to hold him and just look at him – it was instantaneous.  I was just completely enamored with him.  I remember Derek commenting: “Wow, you REALLY like him, don’t you?!”  And I did.  I felt the bond with him – third baby and all – immediately.  And not at a cost of my affection of the first two, which is really the true beauty of it, isn’t it?  There was absolutely a sense of completeness that hadn’t been there following my first two births. It was like the room was filled with wholeness and unity.

This had been my third birth.   My second homebirth.   And the first birth where I hadn’t used a doula. Where I’d pushed the longest. Where I didn’t feel like I’d conquered the world.  In all honesty, in the days that followed, I felt a little defeated.  When I told my former doula about this, she suggested I talk to the attending midwife and get her perspective. When I did this, her feelings about the birth, namely the pushing stage, was the same as mine: “You were tired, and you weren’t into it.  You weren’t as relaxed.”  Bang on.  I hadn’t been into it from the moment it had started - remember, I’d tried to “stop it.”  We’d been up for over 24 hours and were, rightfully, tired.  My mind was in other places (Derek’s needs, the big kids’ needs, the hot water supply) and it made me tense.  It just goes to show how important the environment and mental component of birth is.

Ultimately, the experience from this birth has significantly shaped how I approach birth as a doula – maybe more so than my first two.  With respect for the process and with a better understanding that birth is an entity distinct to that individual experience.  With the recognition that all births are unique, they don’t necessarily follow a pattern. And with, guess what, I know nothing about the specifics of this particular birth besides the fact that the baby will eventually come out!. 

This birth humbled me and, sometimes, the greatest lessons are ones learned from humility.  In hindsight, this birth was exactly what I needed it to be and, by recognizing this, there are no more feelings of defeat - only appreciation and peace. Now, what life would be like with three kids three and under? Well, that’s a whole different story!