In the weeks and days leading up to T1’s birth I spent a considerable amount of time imagining what the entire experience would be like. I chose home birth because of the control it afforded me. I dictated where I labored, how I labored, and who was present. I read something written by a midwife once detailing an old birth video she watched that showed a laboring mother baking a chocolate cake during labor. This oh-so-composed mommy popped the tins in the oven, hopped on the bed, and pushed the baby out just in time to ice the rounds in order to celebrate. This normalcy during labor is what I wanted for myself, and though I didn’t bake my cake at 8 centimeters dilated, you will later see photos of me blow drying my bangs in place and picking zits on my face a mere hour or so before I started pushing. If that isn’t the epitome of a normal, natural birth, then I don’t know what is.

That is why I chose to birth at home, in my own private space, with the people I love most in the world cheering me on. I experienced the most extraordinary moments of my life and a few hours later settled in bed with a new little person, my incredible husband, and a slice of homemade chocolate cake with avocado buttercream frosting I had made myself when contractions were lighter, washed down with a glass of sparkling cider to celebrate. It was even better than I could have imagined.

On Saturday morning, the day which I had marked as my official estimated due date, I woke up to a toilet full of bloody toilet paper and stained panties. Frantic internet searching commenced and I learned that this could mean everything or it could mean nothing. Baby could come that day or 3 weeks from that day. Very light contractions began happening somewhere between every 20-30 minutes, lasting an average of 40 seconds each.

That Husband and I started going down my birth plan, gathering the items we needed and cleaning up the house as it was very important to me that things be neat while I labored. I do not like clutter and I knew it would be distracting to me if we didn’t tackle the messes early in labor. We moved the dining room table into the middle of the living room and TH blew up the birth tub. I laughed so hard as he decided to get in the freezing cold water to “test it out”. I think we were both a bit giddy realizing that we were going to have a baby in our lives sometime soon.

At 8:00 pm pm Saturday night I ate my last official meal before baby would arrive, egg salad sandwhiches on sourdough bread I had purchased at the farmer’s market the day before, and saw that my average contraction interval had increased to 47 seconds about every 5 minutes. They were becoming a bit harder to talk through, but when I called Sarah she said I sounded too good to be very far along yet, and urged me to go for another walk to kick start things from what she at the time considered to be prodromal labor. I walked around the parking lot of my apartment complex with my mom, hanging from the poles separating one parking spot from another during contractions. We passed a lady walking her dog and I wanted to say to her “I’m in labor, and soon I’m going to have a baby. Could you tell?” I wondered if my neighbors were looking out their windows questioning why I was walking in circles and dancing with poles every few minutes.

At 11:00 pm on Sunday I felt it was time to get in the birth tub. TH warmed the water up by pouring in boiling pots of water that we kept heating on the stove throughout my labor. I changed into the closest thing I had to a bikini (wish I would have bought one), wearing a Bella Band on top and a pair of too-small bottoms that are likely stretched out for good. The tub felt wonderful and I remember doing a bit of twisting and turning (dare I say frolicking) in delight at how buoyant and care free I felt all of a sudden. Of course then a contraction came and it didn’t feel quite as nice, but still rather wonderful. I kept singing and humming during contractions, and between them I sent out a tweet asking for song suggestions to sing during labor and scanned my iPhone for songs I already had to create a labor playlist. It was at this point that my mom took over the task of jotting down notes in my labor notebook, “11:30 pm, Fun in tub, ducky joined me.”

I tried to sleep for about 5 hours, and then I was ready to be laboring in a new position, new place. From Saturday night through the time I delivered on Monday afternoon I spent a total of 15 hours in bed trying to sleep, all but 3 of it while I endured contractions spaced 10 minutes apart or less. I was absolutely exhausted by this point. I knelt on some pillows on the floor with my top half draped over the couch cushions, chux pad underneath my pelvis so I could pee at will. Before labor began I imagined I would really like laboring on the toilet, but I actually hated the position and avoided it whenever I could. I had no shame and laid down chux pads all over the apartment, allowing myself to relax and let things flow whenever I felt the urge as an empty bladder was much more comfortable. I tried to keep singing, but by this point my throat was a bit raw and so I started with the buzzing horse lips. Ina May recommends this laboring technique as she posits that focusing on relaxing one bodily orifice helps to relax all of the others. Whenever the contractions came I buzzed and buzzed and buzzed some more, straight through until I started pushing.

Everything that happened from around 5:30 am on Monday morning to about 10:00 am is a bit of a blur of moaning, horse lips, leaning over the couch, and pacing the apartment. TH stayed with me the entire time, my mom woke up somewhere around 6, and Kelli woke up and started taking pictures just before 8:45 am. I started trying some different positions for laboring, including throwing a towel over a door frame and hanging down from it. It sort of felt okay, but I remember spending most of my time simply leaning over the kitchen counter while TH applied pressure to my lower back. He was sore for days afterward because I kept telling him to push harder. I wasn’t experiencing any back labor, I think the strong pressure from him felt so good because it distracted me from the pain in my belly. All I wanted though, was to get in the tub, something I believe Sarah had discouraged a little bit because she thought things would progress better if I labored standing up. We weren’t tracking how far apart my contractions were or how long they were lasting at this point because there was no longer any need. I don’t think anyone doubted that this was the real deal.

When my midwife arrived at 9:50 am I was already dilated to 8 centimeters. During my third and final vaginal exam at 1:00 pm Sarah recommended that we break my water artificially, the sole intervention I would experience during my labor. I asked her what she felt the pros and cons were, and what she thought might happen if we decided not to do so. She said that the baby’s head wasn’t descending as expected and that breaking my water would likely encourage him/her to move down the birth canal. After talking things over we told her go go ahead and do it, and we all agree now that it was the best thing to do at the time. She later told us that she woke up that morning thinking to herself “I think I’m going to have to rupture Jenna’s membranes today”, which she said was odd because it’s not an intervention that she does very often. She tried to break it with her fingers alone, but said the sac was too tough to do the task without the crochet hook type tool that is commonly used. As the amniotic fluid gushed out it felt warm and I was surprised at how much came out. I didn’t have to worry about leaking all over the apartment because as soon as my membranes were ruptured I climbed right back into the tub again.

At 2:00 pm I started to notice a slight increase in the activity going on around me. Sarah and her assistant were moving their supplies closer, my mom was at my side holding a cool towel to my forehead, and Kelli was zooming around taking pictures at a pretty rapid pace. Could it be? Was it really that time?

I managed to speak up enough to say, “Sarah, I think it feels like I’m ready to start pushing.” “You just do what your body tells you,” she replied. It was time.

Sarah kept telling me to push past the burning feeling. She had me reach down and touch the baby’s head but instead of being delighted and amazed as I had imagine I would be, I acted like it was no big deal and went back to saying how badly it burned. Everyone was repeating over and over, “You’re doing so good. So good.” Kelli can be heard on the video saying “Wow Jenna!”. Those words of encouragement, even as repetitious as they were, were exactly what I needed to hear.

One last round of 3-4 pushes and baby was out! As soon as the body emerged fully Sarah quickly unwound the cord from around his neck and told me to reach forward and grab my baby up out of the water. I grabbed hold of the slippery little body and pulled up, glancing down quickly to see if I had just pushed out a boy or a girl. I announced to the room that it was a boy! I couldn’t believe it. All of these months I had suspected I was carrying a girl, though I never felt certain either way. I think because I am a girl, and a firstborn, part of me thought I would have a girl as well, because that is what seemed right to me. Now that I had a boy though, I couldn’t imagine things being any other way. He sat so quietly on my chest, working hard to fill his lungs with air for the first time. I wasn’t nervous that he wasn’t crying right away, I knew it would come soon enough, and within a few seconds a sweet little “waahhhhh” sound was heard.

But wait, was it really a boy? I got nervous that I had said the wrong gender so I held him back from my chest and took another peek. Yep, I saw the goods hanging down and told everyone that I had been correct in my early pronouncement. I saw back against my husband and breathed a sigh of relief. It was over, the pressure was gone, baby was doing great, and we were now a family of three.

That night my mom, Kelli, TH, and I gathered in our bedroom with T1 in my arms to celebrate his birth day. My mom had iced the cake I made the day before, placed it on the red “You Are Special” plate, and Kelli brought in the flutes and sparkling cider. That Husband sang the birthday song in Polish, and I mumbled along pretending like I knew what I was saying. We laughed and smiled and marveled at how beautiful our new baby was. I looked down at him and thought how exceedingly blessed I was by a loving Father in Heaven. Tired, sore, but intensely happy… I had everything.