Birth taught me the strength I didn't know I had...

A first time Mom's story of strength found through navigating the whirlwind and excitement of birthing at home.

💜 HS

3/12/20242 min read

At 1 a.m., under the cover of night's silence, my adventure into motherhood kicked off with a splash—literally.

I was halfway to the bathroom when it happened: a sudden whoosh of water. For a split second, I thought, "Great, another sneeze-pee incident," because, let’s face it, pregnancy had turned my bladder into a bit of a joke. But nope, this was the real deal: my water broke!

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I nudged my husband awake with a somewhat excited, somewhat nervous, "Babe, it's go-time." Together, we confirmed that yes, indeed, labor was starting, in all its unexpected and slightly comedic glory.

We tried to catch some shut-eye after that, following our midwife's advice, but who were we kidding? Sleep was a ship that had sailed, thanks to the mix of jitters and excitement for what was coming.

When daylight broke, so did the regular rhythm of my contractions, fast and furious. Our midwife, a beacon of calm in our sea of anticipation, arrived to find me seeking solace in the bathtub, already drained from a sleepless night and the marathon that my body was unwittingly running.

I was buzzing with hope for a quick labor, but reality threw me a curveball: only 3-4 cm dilated. My spirits took a hit.

Attempting to find some rest in bed was a battle against intensifying contractions and an almost instinctual urge to push through an ordeal that felt more like a scene from a survival show than a birthing story.

My husband, bless him, became my rock, my cheerleader, and my personal snack dispenser, all rolled into one.

As the day stretched on, turning my envisioned calm birth into something resembling a dramatic episode of a medical drama, my midwife's worry started to mirror our own. The "hospital" word was thrown into the mix, much to my dismay. Yet, fuelled with a mix of desperation and determination, I managed to negotiate for more time.

So, I soldiered on, through screams, tears, and an inner monologue debating the merits of pain relief versus my birth plan.

Miraculously, the tide turned, and had I reached 9 cm. By then, I was running on fumes, but it was finally time to push.

Any thoughts of following my birth plan to the letter flew out the window as I found myself grasping for any position that offered even the slightest relief.

Eventually, our son made his grand entrance, and the moment he was placed on my chest, every ounce of pain, every moment of doubt, faded into insignificance. Whispering promises of love and a lifetime of adventures to him, I felt an anchor of deep, unwavering love settle within me.

Looking back, that day was a whirlwind of emotions, physical challenges, and profound joy. It taught me the strength I didn't know I had, the depth of love I could feel, and the incredible partnership I share with my husband.

While the journey was far from the serene, picture-perfect birth I had naively envisioned, it was uniquely ours—a perfectly imperfect start to our greatest adventure yet. And honestly? I wouldn't have it any other way.

Ready to do it all over again? Absolutely! ...But maybe after a good night's sleep this time.