I woke up on our “guess date” without any attachment at all to my baby actually arriving on that date or having any signs that they would be close. The night before though, I’d felt incredibly emotional. I was still struggling with a broken ankle from a couple of weeks prior, and the pain, along with the lack of mobility, was wearing me down. I was worried about how it would affect my ability to move during the birth. My partner and I had a bit of an emotional conversation, and afterwards I went outside and had a HUGE cry under the moonlight before bed. It was like my body was purging energetically. I woke up the next day feeling exhausted but lighter.
The day was unusually warm for May in Australia. I had decided to keep Koa home from kindy so we could spend one of our last "Mummy and Koa" days before baby would arrive (I was also trying to keep her away from any colds and flus that might be about as we were likely close to having a new born in the house). I decided to take her and my dog Merlot down to Wooli, a nearby river not too far from home. I threw The Birth Sling in my beach basket hoping to set it up on a tree branch near the water. As we drove, I listened to the birth playlist my friends had made for me. One song in particular resonated deeply with me: “I have been a thousand different women.” And I played it on repeat, reflecting on all the stages of my life that had led me here, pregnant with my second child. It felt like such a sacred chapter of my journey and important to acknowledge the journey to get here.
At the river, I started to feel crampy, like period pains in my low back and pelvis, but I brushed it off. I’d promised myself not to read too much into early signs this time. Koa and I built sandcastles, threw a ball for Merlot, and I did some gentle stretches and movement in the sling while she played around me. The movement felt amazing with the cramping. I almost skipped having a swim because the water was so chilly, but something nudged me to go in, like it might be my last swim for a while. I'm so glad I did because it felt so good and almost spiritual. As I floated, I daydreamed about the baby, wondering if we’d be welcoming a boy or a girl. I was almost certain we were having a boy and we had the name Rio picked out, which means river, if it was a boy.
After a while, I felt a really strong urge to get home. Koa was getting “tired and silly,” and I noticed I was unusually short tempered with her. The drive back lulled her to sleep, while I continued feeling crampy I kept trying to ignore it. When we got home, I decided to assemble the co-sleeper my friend had given us. As I was setting it up beside our bed, I had a clear, undeniable contraction. I glanced at the time: 3:45 p.m. I didn’t want to focus on it too much, but I did note it in my phone. I messaged Ale, who was still at work, mentioning I was feeling crampy with some mild tightenings. He didn’t rush home, assuming, like me, that it might take time, given our first birth experience went for 3 days.
I ended up on a phone call with a childhood friend who is living in Indonesia, and had her 3rd son just a few weeks prior. We both got emotional talking about birth and just life i general. By the time Ale got home, I was ready to get in bed early, aiming to rest as much as possible in case things did pick up. By 5:30 p.m., I was in bed. Mild contractions woke me throughout the night, but nothing pulled me out of bed until 3:30 a.m., when one came on strong enough that I had to jump up and lean against the bed.
I went to the kitchen to make tea, and Ale joined me. I was still in partial denial, thinking this could fizzle out with daylight, as it had in my previous labour. I messaged our birth keeper at 5:15 a.m., saying I’d had irregular surges throughout the night but expected them to fade. She agreed it might be a few nights of this, which felt disheartening but was realistic given my last experience. But by 10:20 a.m., the surges felt intense enough that I asked her to hold off on our scheduled visit; I didn’t want to disrupt the flow by having her in the space and for her to possibly have to come back later that night.
Ale didn’t go to work that day and we were definitely in the throes of early labour. I cycled between resting, moving gently with the birth sling, listening to music in our dark bedroom, all while Koa was moving normally throughout her day at home. She kept playfully jumping on me while I was in the birth sling. I remember eating toast and listening to music in our darkened bedroom and having a massive cry. Around midday, I called my mum to tell her things were “on” and to come, but there was no rush. I just wanted her here to be with Koa when needed and knew she would need time to get organised.
Around 1:47 p.m., I messaged our birth keeper again: “Things are feeling pretty intense and consistent here. I’m trying to deny it, but it’s full on. I still don’t think I need you yet, but maybe tonight.” She replied, saying she was ready whenever, reminding me that with second babies, things could go wild quickly.
By late afternoon, Koa looked tired. She asked for “boobie” before her nap, and as I lay down to nurse her, Ale whispered, “You’ve got about four minutes until the next contraction.” I didn’t realise he had been timing them. Sure enough, I had a contraction so strong that I had to jump up, which upset Koa. I felt touched out, needing space. I wanted to go for a walk around our property alone, but Koa was in the middle of an emotional meltdown, wanting to come. I told Ale, “You’ll have to figure it out,” and went outside alone. I felt torn but knew I had to prioritize myself in that moment.
I only made it to the clothesline which is about 200m from the house, laid a towel on the ground, and dropped down as another surge hit. I briefly thought, What if the baby came while I was out here alone? Things were feeling pretty intense. After a few surges, I returned to the house and messaged Sattie, our birth keeper, to come. When I picked up the phone to text, I just ended up calling and crying, “Things are feeling pretty wild.” I said and like that she was on her way.
Back inside, I set myself up in the birth sling with a big pillow on the floor, moving intuitively but also still struggling with the pain in my ankle… though the intensity of labour was definitely taking over. My mum arrived quietly, and soon after, so did Sattie, just as I had my first “birth vomit” around 5:15 p.m. The relief of the water called to me, so we agreed to fill the pool. Ale had filled it up but the water was super hot. We had a laugh because usually I love my showers burning hot and he thought it was perfect for me. I had to wait for him to add some cold water and just as the sun was setting, I slipped into the birth pool. I remember having this strong gratitude to be birthing on our land. I looked out the window at the trees against the pink sky, feeling grounded and at peace.
As labor intensified, I felt drawn to tell Ale to call my friend Jas for extra emotional support. She arrived, bringing her incredible calming energy. I continued to move in and out of the pool, using the birth sling to support myself and change positions. Things become slightly hazy from here on as the endorphins of labour took me to different realms. But I have strong memory of one point when the birth playlist switched to Rufus Du Sol and how I felt so incredibly high and transcendental. I was in the pool totally feeling the music and just basically high AF. A surge came on and I remember thinking “nooo … I was feeling so good”. Things really picked up in intensity and I was really struggling with back labour …like I had experienced during Koa’s birth… only this time it felt worse. I started begging for sterile water injections as they had helped last time. As I screamed out “I waaaaant sterile water injections” during a massive contraction I felt my waters EXPLODE! If I wasn’t already submerged in water I swear it would have sent my waters shooting across the room as they released. It felt very powerful. I never had that experience last time. I couldn’t tell you if or when my waters broke during Koa’s labour but this was undeniable. It kind of gave me hope that things could possibly be quicker now that my waters had broken.
Being in labour as a birth worker it’s easy to get stuck in your head. Lots of different birth stories were floating around in my mind. I often feel like you can know birth intellectually but when you’re in it, it’s so very different. This birth was so much more intense than what I had prepared for. It took me to my absolute edge and I really found it challenging both physically and mentally. I felt confident with my choice to birth at home with our chosen support but also it felt different as a mother to Koa already. I remember having crisis of confidence and worrying about Koa if something were to happen to me. I remember looking at Jas and saying “one was enough, one baby was enough”.
We set up a mattress beside the pool. My birth keeper helped with rebozo work, and I labored in a side-lying position for as long as I could tolerate to try some different positions. The contractions were relentless, and soon I was on the couch, in a deep squat, leaning back against Ale for support. I’d been feeling really “pushy” for a while now but it seemed like nothing was changing. I had reached inside myself to feel for baby several times, and finally, I could feel the baby had moved lower than what I had felt last time. That little change was the motivation I needed to just really give it my all. I was ready for this to be over.
Someone suggested a few contractions on the toilet. As I was sitting on the toilet, Ale supporting me in front I was fiddling with the red thread from my baby blessing that was wrapped around my wrist, it was annoying me and felt tight after being in the water for so long. Ale asked if I wanted to cut it off. I hesitated, worried it might be “bad luck” to do so before the baby arrived, but then I decided, “fuck it, get it off… release release release I said… , and almost as a chant I proclaimed something like I release this thread and also and I bring forth my baby.” With the very next surge, the baby began to crown.
The intensity around my yoni was overwhelming. I gasped to Sattie, “It’s too much, it’s too much, I’m going to tear,” but she reassured me, “It’s okay if you tear. You’ll heal.” The urge to be in the water took over, and I begged to get back to the pool… I was supported to waddle back to the other side of the house where the birth pool was set up. I just made it before another contraction came on.
I reached for the birth sling we had hooked up over the pool. And with the next powerful surge, I cried, “Why is it so big?” This baby felt different from Koa, with a deep ache instead of that “ring of fire” feeling I remember so vividly. Finally, I felt the head fully emerge. The pause before the next contraction was long… I was so grateful the head was out! I remember saying sorry out loud I had this overwhelming guilt for saying that “one baby was enough” and I was apologising to the baby for saying such a horrible thing :(
As the next surge built it was becoming clear this baby wasn’t going to just shoot out the way Koa had… and with some gentle encouragement from Sattie’, I gently guided the baby’s body out with my hands, lifting my beautiful baby to my chest at 1:05 a.m. on the 29th of May.
Exhausted but exhilarated, I looked at my baby, who had given me the most intense and challenging labor. My first words, half-laughing, half-relieved, were, “You… you’re already the biggest pain in the ass!” I regret so deeply that those were my first words to my beautiful daughter (who has absolutely NOT been a pain in the ass since she landed with us she’s a total dream) I worry how this may affect her birth imprint but it is what it is… I was just so relieved it was over.
Both of my daughter’s births were the most intense and hardest things I’ve ever done, for very different reasons. One was looooong and drawn out and felt like it would never end and the other was just so incredibly intense and powerful. And while I wasn’t one of those women to experience a peaceful, pain free birth that seem to get celebrated so loudly. The births of my two girls have shown me how strong I am and have taught me that I can do hard things. A lesson that will stay with me throughout my motherhood journey forever.