Full Circle Midwifery

The Birth Story of Our Baby Girl

It all began in the quiet hours of early morning. I was lying in bed, listening to Matt get ready for work, when I felt something shift. I told him, “This baby is coming,” which isn’t something I’d normally say, but I just knew. Matt kissed me goodbye and left, but only ten minutes later, my water broke. I texted him immediately, and he turned the car around to come back home without hesitation.

The contractions started soon after. Since I’d had an epidural with Hazel, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was feeling. At first, I thought I just really needed to poop (classic labor sign), but in my head, I was convinced it wasn’t labor yet. Spoiler alert: it was.

Margaret, my incredible mother-in-law, arrived with her usual calm and supportive presence. She had been such a rock throughout my pregnancy, easing my concerns and sharing her knowledge. The moment she walked in, she grabbed a pen and paper and began tracking my contractions. She wasn’t counting out loud but kept asking me when each contraction started and finished. At first, I appreciated her precision, but as the contractions grew stronger, her constant questioning began to irritate me. I snapped at her, and she assured me we didn’t have to keep tracking—but she kept quietly monitoring them anyway. Thank goodness she did, because when I told the midwife there was no rush, Margaret overruled me and told her to get here as soon as possible. She just knew.

Hazel was nearby, wide-eyed and curious, while Emily, my best friend, joined in unexpectedly but at just the right time. Her presence brought so much love and support, and I couldn’t have been more grateful. Meanwhile, Margaret, Matt, and Emily were frantically setting up the birthing pool, only to run out of hot water halfway through. They started boiling pots of water on the stove and sprinting up the stairs like a well-oiled relay team.

To create a calming and spiritual environment, I had the song Spirit Lead Me by Oceans playing on the Bluetooth speaker. It was exactly what I needed in that moment—beautiful and grounding. But as the birth progressed and the playlist moved on to other songs, my patience ran out. By the second or third song, in the middle of a particularly intense contraction, I snapped at Matt: “Turn this damn music off and go back to my song. This shit sucks!” (In hindsight, I can laugh about it. Labor makes you brutally honest.)

By the time the pool was ready, it was too late. I was on one knee, leaning over the edge, fully immersed in pushing. At one point, Matt and I were forehead to forehead, and he helped me through one of the strongest contractions. I gripped his hand, letting out what I thought must have been miserable yelling. Afterward, Margaret reassured me they weren’t screams at all—just “birthing noises.”

Apparently, during one contraction, I grabbed Matt’s hand and bit down on his fingers. He gently pulled away, probably fearing he’d lose a finger, so I resorted to biting my own fingers instead. (I have no memory of this, but Matt filled me in later.) At some point, he even handed me a folded-up rag to bite, which left me confused in the moment, but later it all made sense.

As the intensity built, Patrice, our midwife, quietly informed Melinda that the baby was breech. Melinda then relayed the news to Matt and reassured us that everything would be okay. I don’t remember much of that conversation, but Matt later told me she mentioned we could call an ambulance if we wanted. All I heard in my pain-filled haze was “call an ambulance,” and I immediately agreed, shaking my head and saying, “Yes, please.” Melinda leaned close and gently explained that the ambulance wouldn’t matter—we were already too far along. It was happening, whether I liked it or not.

And just like that, our baby girl, Olive, arrived, surprising us three weeks early. She was born out of the water while I was half in the birthing pool, on one knee, leaning over the edge. My body knew exactly what to do, and everything happened so naturally, even though it was far from the original plan. Olive was a tiny 5 pounds, 3 ounces of perfection. Thankfully, I experienced little to no tearing, and my recovery began smoothly.

Afterward, while I was delivering the placenta in the tub, I looked toward the doorway and saw Margaret and Emily standing there, soaking in the moment. I locked eyes with Emily, and tears streamed down her face. That brief glance reminded me why she’s my best friend—her joy for me was written all over her face.

Though much of the day was a blur, certain moments shine brightly: Hazel’s sweet curiosity, Margaret’s quiet strength, Matt’s unwavering support, and Emily’s emotional encouragement. This birth was messy, magical, and full of love—and I wouldn’t change a single thing.