As the over-preparer and passionate body worker that I am, I spent my entire pregnancy diligently preparing for labor, birth, and postpartum.

Between educational classes at my birth center, podcasts, blogs, articles, mom forums, and a childbirth course, and then some, I felt as prepared as could be.

But, as it turns out, I was not actually prepared for what happened. There were major aspects of my labor that didn’t line up with what I had learned, and the unexpected took me by storm.

I hope that, in me sharing my birth story, it helps a fellow mama prepare her heart a little better for the unexpected nature of childbirth, a beautiful mystery that cannot possibly be summed up with textbook guidelines and definitions.

This is my birth story.

I was 41 weeks when my water finally broke, but it had been many weeks of labor signs.

Braxton hicks, a.k.a. “practice contractions”, had started early on in pregnancy for me, at about 20 weeks. By the start of my third trimester, I had counted as many as 9 at-least-one-minute-long BH within an hour.

My uterus had been wildly toned, probably irritable, and it was exhausting me. Avoiding dates (the food) seemed to help.

During my 35th week of pregnancy, I was getting woken up in the middle of the night with prodromal labor contractions, which were really long contractions lasting about 5 to 10 minutes.

But in true prodromal fashion, they were irregular and would eventually subside. I’d have a glass of milk and drift back to sleep.

FTR, prodromal is not “false” labor as previously thought. Rather, it is a form of early labor, a sign that mama and baby are getting ready. It could also be a sign that baby is in a less-than-ideal position and is working to get into a better place.

When I told my midwife team about it, they suggested bed rest until I reached 37 weeks, getting me within term dates and keeping me in their care.

So, I rested and made it to 37 weeks.

And to 38.

And then, 39.

Alas, my due date came at 40 weeks, and I officially joined the FTM (first time mom) statistics that tell a story of most first-timers everywhere twiddling their thumbs and anxiously watching the calendar as they go well over their due date.

On the day I turned 40 weeks, at about 2 in the morning, I had more prodromal labor. This time, it was my first official labor contraction that was actually painful, and I woke up thinking, this must be the day.

I got in the shower and labored through a 30 minute-long prodromal contraction, wondering when it would let up. Yes, 30 minutes.

Last I knew, baby was in the ideal birthing position (LOA). Still, I did some spinning babies positions, hoping to help things along.

But, the contractions spaced out and subsided. And once again, with my trusty glass of milk, I fell back asleep.

At 40w+1d, I lost my mucus plug in the toilet. But of course, things remained as they were for a good while longer.

It wasn’t until the day I turned 41 weeks that things took a turn.

As I got out of bed to get ready for my 41-week prenatal appointment, I felt that gussshhhhhh we all have either experienced or at least come to know about from the movies.

It was happening.

The time was 9am. I cup my hands under me to save the floor and shout to Paul who is in our only bathroom, “Love, my water broke!”

Once on the toilet, I use the special test swab from my birth kit to confirm that - yes, indeed, my water had broken.

I then call my midwife team to let them know. They tell us to head on in to my appointment as planned. So, that’s what we did.

From the moment my water breaks, I am not feeling well. I feel sick to my core with cramps. But when my midwife team sees that I am still able to talk through the discomfort, they are unfazed.

Being able to talk through it means it is still not time.

At around 11am, I have my first ever cervical exam (uhm, ouch!). It shows that I am 60% effaced and only one centimeter dilated. Just one?

With all the early labor signs and how uncomfortable I was feeling, I guess I was just hoping for better news.

The head midwife, Tiffany, proceeds to give me instructions for the day: “Go for a hike, get active, so that we can encourage labor to start. If by 9pm, there is no active labor pattern, I suggest castor oil to get things going.”

Hike? With these cramps? “Okay”. I couldn’t see how that would be possible, but I didn’t have the will to challenge it either, so I agree.

But, none of that would ever matter because about 20 minutes later, on our drive home, I have my first contraction I can’t talk through.

We get home at around 12:30PM, and I feel the contractions piling on top of one another. And I mean, piling. They are taking my breath away.

Labor was finally beginning for me, and it was coming at me hard and fast.

I am having the hardest time catching my breath. The contractions feel constant, unstoppable. None of what I read or listened to warned me about this. This is not textbook early labor.

I start tracking the surges with my contraction timer app. They are lasting anywhere between one and four minutes, while my “rests” are anywhere between 30 seconds and one minute. Rest? Ha! Good joke.

Why is this happening like this, God?

Paul turns on the shower for me in hopes that it will help me cope with how fast and furious things are. But, the water runs while I labor on the bathroom floor. I just can’t bring myself to get in.

I tell Paul to call the midwife on call; her name is Marivette. After listening to me labor, she tells us to head back to the birth center and advises Paul to grab a couple towels for the road, “just in case.”

Paul is moving fast to load the car and get us on the road, while I labor alone. I hated that. I wanted him there with me, but with what I was experiencing, I knew we needed to go!

When we get back to the birth center we only just left, it takes us a bit to walk up as I labor through contractions on the way from the parking lot to the suite.

The head midwife, Tiffany, greets us and leads us to an exam bed. She instructs me to get on it so we can check things out, and goodness gracious, I am met with unbelievable pain as I attempt to move myself up onto the table bed.

I am surprised by the level of pain I feel with that simple movement, but I force myself past it and up onto the exam bed where, as I lay, my legs shake violently and uncontrollably, adrenaline surging through my body.

The lack of control I realize I have over my shaking causes me to feel even more shock in my body and mind. I learned about the shakes, but learning about it and experiencing it are not the same thing.

It’s about 3PM now, 4 hours since I was here last, and I am showing that I am 6cm dilated. When Midwife Tiffany removes her hand from within me, a massive gush of amniotic fluid, tinged with meconium, pours out of me.

The surprise of the release intensifies my shaking and my shock. Trembling all throughout my body, I apologize for dirtying their table bed.

A couple midwives and a midwife assistant help me over to the birthing suite where I will be laboring. Their team gathers my vitals, starts to fill up the tub, and tries to help me cope.

But the reality is, I am not coping well.

After a couple hours of not coping well in the exact same position, sitting at the edge of the bed, I finally come to and recognize my need for deeper breaths. I fight for them, giving all I’ve got just to breathe, hoping it’ll calm my shakes.

And with that, I say out loud, “I surrender”. There’s a palpable shift in the atmosphere. I continue to shake, but not like I was.

I want the tub hot because of my shakes. When it’s finally ready for me, I painfully climb in and am pleased to find slight relief. My contractions slow down slightly and their intensity dulls slightly. Thank God. Even if it’s slight, I’ll take it.

Paul sits right outside the tub, holding my hands, weathering my grip with each contraction wave. He feeds me honey sticks and water, almost to a fault.

Although I am thankful for the sustenance, I have to turn down honey and water more times than I can count. Bless his heart, he’s only trying to help and is unsure how.

My midwife fixes my rat’s nest of a lopsided bun.

There are no mirrors. I am disheveled, fully disconnected with how I look and thankful we never hired anyone to photograph or film any of this.

At the recommendation of Marivette and her assistant Crystal, I rotate from the tub, to the toilet, to the bed. They help me. If it were up to me, I would stay frozen in place. My body doesn’t want to move. I don’t want to move. Everything hurts.

I wasn’t expecting that. As a lover of movement, I always imagined myself swaying through labor. But my reality was looking very different.

When I get to the bed, I side lie with my husband, hungry for rest. “Please, I just want a short rest, please God,” I pray.

I close my eyes firmly holding Paul’s hands, not letting him leave my side even for a moment. His warmth helps me find a sliver of rest.

It’s now been 4 hours since we got back to the birth center, about 7pm. I am in the bed, and Marivette performs another cervical exam. I am still at 6 centimeters.

My progress has stalled. We suspect the tub is to blame, but it’s also my only source of relief. We keep rotating.

Despite having gestational hypertension in my final weeks of pregnancy in conjunction with the intensity of my laboring, my blood pressure readings are within range, keeping me at the birth center. The Lord is taking care of the vitals.

3 hours later, I am in the tub, and I feel my first urge to push. I have a couple of minutes to rest in between. Okay, this is textbook, I think. I was expecting this.

Marivette can’t totally check my progress when I am in the tub, so we don’t know where I am in my dilation. She has me reach down to see if I can feel baby’s head. I do, and I can. Baby girl is about an inch and a half from my opening.

With each push, I let out a primal yell. Marivette gives me tips on how to push without exhausting too much of my energy. I listen.

We continue to rotate (tub, toilet, bed), and when I end up back on the bed again, she performs another exam, which confirms that I am now fully dilated.

At this point, my reflexive urge to push becomes constant. Resting doesn’t feel good or right. I can’t stop pushing.

In fact, resting seems to make the pain locked up in my hip flexors feel louder. I am realizing there is no rest for me anymore. Not until this is done.

I am on my side, pushing for what feels like forever. Our little girl keeps turtling, but the midwife is pleased with my pushing efforts and progress and allows my body to continue doing its thing.

I shift more onto my back, with only one leg up. Marivette has been checking the baby’s heart rate inbetween each of my pushes, and for one particular reading, it reads way too low.

Baby’s heart rate is taking a scary nosedive and Marivette goes into emergency mode.

She says firmly, “Now, I don’t want to hear a thing about pain. Baby’s heart rate is not doing well, and if we can’t get it to do better, we will need to transfer you. We need you on hands and knees now!”

She and Crystal flip me over onto hands and knees. Crystal puts an oxygen mask on me. They instruct me to focus on breathing as deeply as I can, for baby. I do.

That was the only low read throughout all of labor.

The Lord took care of Eloise’s heart.

After a while of getting good heart rate readings, they remove the oxygen mask. I go back onto my side to continue pushing. She continues turtling.

It’s now been about five hours of pushing, an hour past what they normally allow at the center and 3 hours past textbook average for an unmedicated birth.

Marivette would later explain that she only allowed it because my pushes were showing so much promise. But now, she tells me we need this baby to be born. I can sense that this is becoming a problem.

With the insane pressure I feel in my pelvis, the idea of transferring from one location to another sounds like a total nightmare. I am ready to push harder at just the thought of it.

Marivette and Crystal begin to move me into different positions. They need to help me because I feel so locked up in my body, it’s hard to move.

I try hands-and-knees again.

I try standing bedside.

Marivette then puts me on my back with both legs up, and everything in me hates it. I cry, beg, and plead for them to move me out of this position. I want anything else.

She is trying to encourage me by holding up a mirror that allows me to see my baby’s head as I push, but it doesn’t help me.

She promises me we can change positions after just one more push. So, I eagerly push, and they help me get off my back. Thank God!

I am now in half hands-and-knees, half squat with my left leg out. I push. It’s a good push, but not enough to get her out. I switch to the right leg and push. Again, good, but not enough.

I go back to my left leg in a half squat. Marivette tells me, “Your pushes looked the best when you were on your back. Now, we need this baby born, so if this position doesn’t work, we need to go back to your back.”

And that was all I needed to push with everything I had. I feel myself tear as I push. I let out one final yell. And pop, out comes her head.

I did it!

Little Eloise draws in a big breath and breathes in meconium. Marivette firmly, yet calmly yells “push again!”. I push, it wasn’t enough. She yells again. Third push for the win; Eloise escapes out of me and is softly guided by Marivette onto the bed.

I turn over to look at my baby for the first time. Wow, she is beautiful, I think, even as a newborn.

Marivette says “If you guys pray, now would be the time to do it.” She begins to resuscitate Eloise.

That is when, for the first time during all of labor, I speak out the beautiful, powerful name of “Jesus”. I say His name, and a mere 45 seconds later, Eloise is breathing, alert, and ready to be close to her mommy. The Lord took care of Eloise.

Eloise Ruth was born at 41 weeks and 1 day, on Tuesday, January 9th, at 3:20am, after 18 hours of labor, with 5 and a half hours of pushing.

We go straight into skin-to-skin. I am enjoying my contact with my baby. My body is still in shock, but with the release of Eloise from my body, it is now time to start my descent, calming down from this tightly-wound state.

My blood pressure is still okay, but my heart rate is quite high. At resting, it’s 138 beats per minute.

I am pale, cold and clammy to the touch, and relieved that it is finished.

As I hold her, they poke me with a dose of Pitocin, after having gotten my consent during labor.

Because of how long I pushed for, I need the extra help to expel my uterus, which needs to happen before the clock strikes the one hour mark post-birth.

Eloise takes about 20 minutes to find her way to my breast and begin her suckling journey and our nursing relationship. She has a strong, energetic little suckle. I am enjoying my time.

But, the clock is ticking for my placenta to come out. I am not feeling any contractions in my uterus, so Marivette offers me something herbal, but it’s not enough. They give me a second dose of Pitocin.

I am so tired, it’s hard to connect with any pushing sensations now that my belly is deflated. Marivette helps me. With her guidance and a little tug, my placenta easily slides out of me.

She remarks that it’s a very large placenta and confirms that all of it has come out of me before placing it in a bowl next to me.

Not long after, the cord stops pulsing and goes white. Eloise has received all she needs from the placenta. Paul does the honors and clips the cord.

After Eloise’s first feeding, Marivette performs the newborn exam. Eloise is a beautiful, healthy baby girl, weighing in at 7 pounds 14 ounces, and a whopping 22 inches in length!

She then places Eloise on Paul’s bare chest so that I can go get sutured in the other room.

Marivette is gentle and nurturing with me, which I am desperately thankful for. Let’s just say getting stitched up in a sensitive area on my body that is stunned with the lingering shock of childbirth is not my idea of a good time!

I am gone for about an hour. When I return to the room, Eloise is asleep on daddy’s chest, who is also asleep. He would later tell me that she stared directly into his eyes for about ten whole minutes before they both fell asleep.

It’s only been about 5 hours since she popped out of me and into the world outside of utero, but we are ready to go home.

Marivette wheels me out to the car in a wheelchair while Paul pushes the stroller. On the way home, we stop to pick up breakfast burritos for take out. We get home and officially begin our journey as a party of three.

Absolutely no regrets.

Final Thoughts

Many have asked if I felt the contrast of pain and joy at the moment Eloise arrived, and to be frank, I did not. In those moments surrounding birth, I was not well connected to my body. I was somewhere else entirely. It was how I coped.

I do think that most, if not all, childbirth is traumatic on some level, but speaking for myself, pregnancy was a real challenge and labor was traumatic.

This was, hands down, the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life, and yet, undoubtedly worth it. When it was done, I needed to tenderly let myself heal.

It would be days and weeks into life with Eloise before the shock would dissipate and allow me to feel more and more joy and connection.

As I healed, Eloise would heal with me, and in the days and weeks of postpartum, she and I would connect in ways I’d never before known. And, the fourth trimester would become my favorite trimester of them all.

Childbearing is an otherworldly experience. The imprint of pregnancy, labor, and birth, its gravity in life as a rite of passage, will remain with me forever, as it does for every mother.

Ultimately, I have only to be thankful. When so many things could have gone wrong, they didn’t. God granted me what I set out for: a natural, vaginal, unmedicated, healthy birth. It’s a gift, not a guarantee.

The Lord took care of us. Blessed be His name. 🤎

A First Time Mama’s Unmedicated Birth Story

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