Everything my family needed.
It started like any other, waiting on two pink lines. Not to my surprise, as we had been trying for baby number two for quite some while. After two more miscarriages, we were welcoming gods second gift to us.
Thank you Jesus.
In those early days, I rested and reflected, ensuring the timing was indeed aligned with God’s plan for me this season. As a family, we offered countless prayers for this precious baby to thrive. The Lord was listening, and He graciously answered our heartfelt pleas.
When the moment felt right, I scheduled our first midwife appointment. We met with two midwives I believed would assist in my birthing journey, but to my dismay, they would not come to my home, and insisting on a lengthy 30-60 minute ultrasound at 20 weeks. Home was the sacred space where I envisioned bringing my baby into the world. I was resolute in protecting my little one from unnecessary interventions, especially a lengthy and unnecessary ultrasound, that was being pushed onto me only because “that’s their rules”. I hold no disdain for ultrasounds; rather, I oppose their excessive use during healthy pregnancies, as the risks far outweigh any perceived benefits.
We found ourselves at a crossroads. Should we remain with these midwives, despite my strong convictions? Seek someone else? Or perhaps consider a free birth? My husband and I turned to the Lord for guidance, seeking clarity in our next steps.
My husband, accustomed to the hospital setting and unfamiliar with the principles of natural birth, held reservations about a free birth. I recognized his concerns; placing complete trust in both myself and God for such a significant event is no easy task. This is especially true considering that most of the population in the United States, including ourselves, have been conditioned to fear the very nature of pregnancy and childbirth. Yet, I felt an exciting pull toward the possibility of a free birth. I had immersed myself in the study of natural birth for over two years, confident in my understanding and my belief I knew that the Lord would be my ultimate guiding midwife no matter the circumstance.
In my quest for a home birth, I thought I had explored every avenue. After a few weeks of waiting for the lord to reveal the solution, a friend of mine, gave me the contact information to a midwife whom was newly serving our area. Living about 2 hours away from one another, I anticipated she might not come to my home either. To my astonishment, she agreed not only to attend the birth at home, but she also would hold every appointment there without requiring a single ultrasound. It was music to my ears!
My amazing midwife and I at our final appointment with my beautiful blessing!
This midwife was a divine answer to our prayers, fulfilling both my husband’s wish for experienced support and my desire for minimal intervention. In my area, finding midwives who truly embrace a natural approach and who aren’t overly medicalized is rare. Discovering one who aligned with our values was a blessing. She was genuinely a blessing to my family. I know the term is often overused, but I mean it with every fiber of my being. Her presence in our lives was undoubtedly orchestrated by God. She listened to my vision of the perfect birth and respected my decisions about declining all the testing I felt led to decline. While she informed me of certain protocols she needed to follow due to her training and licensure, we established a mutual trust and agreement, rooted in faith.
The first trimester of my pregnancy unfolded much like it does for many women. I experienced mild morning sickness, nothing particularly unusual. However, I developed a strong aversion to meat, which was quite challenging for me. If you know my family, you understand that our meals heavily revolve around meat, accompanied by potatoes and a small portion of vegetables. As a result, I had to prepare a completely different dinner for myself each night. I relied on dairy and beans for protein, along with fresh fruits and veggies to quell my hunger without upsetting my stomach. I found myself craving pizza and hamburgers, but only if someone else prepared them or if I bought them. My fatigue was quite overwhelming, especially while chasing after my energetic two-year-old, compounded by my reduced appetite. Yet, I persevered, taking it one day at a time. My son, despite being so young, was very intuitive. He sensed the days I struggled to get out of bed without me saying a word, and would spend the day with me watching movies. The first trimester always humbles me and tests my limits. I began to show by the end of this trimester and was noticeably larger during this second pregnancy, which led me to dread how much bigger I might get by the end. The only memory I have from my first pregnancy is feeling large and uncomfortable as it progressed. So, the early signs of showing and feeling bigger this time around made me question whether my mental resilience would hold up.
As the second trimester dawned, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. My symptoms eased, and I embraced the growth of my belly. Yet, moments of worry crept in, wondering if I would have the mental fortitude as I continue to grow larger. Despite these fleeting anxieties, I cherished the time spent with my son, basking in the bliss of pregnancy. Feeling my baby jump, move and grow daily inside my womb, all while watching my toddler blossom into a fiercely independent and feral little boy. All I could think about at times while watching him run around and play and feeling this little baby in my womb wiggle around, was him and me at that stage in our lives, 3 years ago. When he was just a tiny little being that god was forming inside my body. It made me realize how great and beautiful gods work is, how he had created this wild, independent, and strong young boy from a tiny little speck of life. How amazing is gods work…. We have created life twice, and still at times, I just can’t wrap my head around it all. It blows me away at how delicate life is, but how strong and great our god is.
During the second trimester, our family listened to the baby’s heartbeat through a fetoscope on several occasions. The joy that lit up my son’s face when he heard those little beats was truly unforgettable. While I’m not sure if he fully understood what he was hearing, I can’t shake the feeling that he knew exactly what it was and who he was listening to. I believe that all siblings, before arriving on Earth, exist above us mothers in the spirit realm, patiently awaiting their turn to come down. I feel they already know each other from that time before our earthly lives, sharing a connection and bond long before we were aware of their existence.
Around this time, we truly began to bond with this baby, feeling as if another soul had joined our family, expanding us from three to four. The uncertainty of the baby's gender added an air of mystery, prompting me to connect on a deeper level with this little one. From the very start, I had convinced myself that this baby was a girl. I rarely envisioned how this child would weave into our daily lives, partly because I wanted to avoid creating false narratives without knowing the gender. I didn't want this baby to feel any sense of rejection or think I was fantasizing about another child. My hope was for this baby to know they are cherished, regardless of who they are, and that we are prepared to welcome them. Despite my strong intuition that this baby was a girl, I had two dreams revealing that I had misidentified the baby’s gender throughout my pregnancy—that it was actually a boy, and I felt guilty for that. For some reason, I was fixated on the idea of having a little girl. Ironically, my dreams turned out to be accurate, while my "feelings" were not.
As the second trimester flowed into the third, I started to feel increasingly uncomfortable with my size. Sleep became a challenge, and my substantial six-pillow stack wasn’t cutting it. Fatigue set in during this period; walking felt like a task, and standing for any length of time became a struggle. Consequently, household chores turned into daunting endeavors—starting them was hard enough, let alone finishing. The time had come for an exceptionally messy home, and it appeared that this state wouldn’t change anytime soon.
In my first pregnancy, I was quite hard on myself during this phase. I tried to adhere to the societal expectation that a home should be spotless at all times. This mindset took a toll on me mentally as I navigated pregnancy and motherhood with my first child. However, with my second baby, I made the choice to accept the messiness and embrace the “laziness” of the third and fourth trimester (the following three months after baby arrives). I chose to dismiss the external and internal voices that labeled me a bad wife or mother because of my chaotic home.
Now, I found myself enjoying this season more than I had expected, all because of that shift in perspective. Nevertheless, my size and limited mobility remained a mental challenge. I encourage every pregnant woman to embrace a little laziness in those final days and truly savor it. For me, letting go of my self-imposed expectations and just being myself—being pregnant and doing what I could, when I could—was incredibly beneficial.
I felt a strong sense of confidence in myself and trust in the Lord's timing during these end days of pregnancy. However, the devil will often try to creep in, casting shadows of doubt. As I reached 40 weeks and a few days, I recalled a phrase from my previous pregnancy, told to me by the obstetrician I used, "Women just don't have babies without doctors anymore." How absurd! I recognized the ridiculousness of that statement, yet a small part of me thought maybe it could be true. After being induced with my first child exactly at 40 weeks, I began to question the natural wisdom of my body. Would it truly go into labor on its own? I knew all of this was an irrational concern, as every baby comes at their own time. I just needed to be patient, but the waiting was torturous, allowing my mind to spiral into more wild and nonsensical thoughts.
After a week and a day of dwelling in this strange, challenging, mysterious, yet, in hindsight, beautiful waiting game, I was preparing dinner on the evening of August 28th when I suddenly felt a sharp, shooting pain in my lower back. In that instant, I realized it was time. Throughout the day, I had experienced contractions on and off, making it just another day in this peculiar waiting game of prodromal labor. However, something shifted at that moment; I instinctively knew the baby was on the way. My contractions persisted during dinner, consistently occurring about every 10 minutes. While they weren't any more intense or painful, I remained doubtful that I was truly entering the early stages of labor. I continued my evening routine of settling my toddler down and preparing for bed myself. After spending a few hours in bed, around 10 PM, I decided to get up, gather all the birthing supplies I needed, and set everything up. By this point, I felt fairly certain that I would soon welcome my baby, yet a part of me still struggled with denial, recalling a similar night a few weeks earlier.
I have come to understand the genuine meaning of nesting; it isn't just the obsessive cleaning frenzy often portrayed in our culture. Instead, it involves tidying up—simply picking up toys, clothes, and preparing the birthing environment. I created a cozy nest in my living room, layering blankets and chux pads to form a soft, comfortable spot on the floor. Around me were baby blankets, towels, a fetoscope, the herbal tinctures I planned to use during and after the birth, and my jug of electrolyte drink. We no longer give birth in the same ways as our ancestors did, which has led us to drift away from the true essence of the words we use and the actions we take.
I found myself in a blissful and emotional state as I nestled in my cozy spot by the couch for a while. Watching a slideshow of family photos that played on the television as a screensaver, I shed a few tears, realizing that my days of having just one child were drawing to a close. My little boy was about to become a big brother, which filled me with joy, but my heart ached at the thought of letting go of my smallest baby. After about 20 to 30 minutes in that serene spot, fatigue set in, and I knew I needed some rest. I transitioned to the couch, where I struggled to find a comfortable position, resting for about an hour without truly sleeping.
At this point, contractions were averaging seven minutes apart, sometimes closer, sometimes farther, yet they weren’t intensifying. I was still able to move and function through them, leading me to remain in denial about being in labor. Around midnight, I felt the urge to use the restroom, so I got up and spent about 20 minutes on the toilet, trying to poop but only managing to pee repeatedly. After some fruitless attempts, I returned to the couch and continued this cycle for about three hours. At one point, I decided to take a shower, thinking it would feel refreshing. I sat in the bathtub, letting the warm water wash over me, which felt incredibly soothing.
By around 1:30, I finally began to realize I was indeed in labor. Although the contractions weren’t intensifying, they were now occurring every 2 to 4 minutes, most of them under 3 minutes apart. I also noticed I had lost the first part of my mucus plug, a process that would continue until the baby was born. After another hour of alternating between sitting on the toilet for 20 minutes and resting on the couch for 5, I felt another shower would be beneficial. I filled the bathtub while letting the shower run over me and enjoyed the warm water for about 30 minutes, which caused my contractions to space out.
Once I started feeling sleepy, around 3:00 in the morning, I got out and changed into my most comfortable dress. I then moved to the recliner, where I drifted into a strange half-awake, half-asleep state. I was awakened around 6:45 to 7:00 in the morning by my husband and son sleepily coming to greet me. I let my husband rest through the night, knowing he would need energy to care for all of us. Surprisingly, I felt rested and very hungry after this odd period of rest. From that moment onward, time seemed to fly by at an astonishing pace; what felt like five minutes was actually more like 15 to 20. It was the strangest experience I had ever encountered.
This exact moment at 3:00am.
As I sat on the couch, my husband and son joined me, discussing how the day should unfold. I suggested that my husband take our son to work and stop by the convenience store down the road to grab some breakfast for me. While they got up and dressed, I experienced contractions every 5-7 minutes, which were now slightly more intense. I needed to pause and breathe through each one before I could continue with anything else. They left the house around 7:45-8:00. Meanwhile, my husband went through his morning routine at work, taking care of the livestock on the ranch. I spent some time walking outside, interacting with my animals and taking breaks for each contraction.
My donkey was my labor companion while my husband and son managed the ranch. She would accompany me as I walked, allowing me to rest my weight on her during contractions. As a miniature donkey, she was the PERFECT height for me to lean on. The bond I shared with my sweet Annabel during those moments was incredibly special; she holds a cherished place in our family’s hearts. Annabel was previously owned by our very first customer when my husband began trimming horse hooves about four years ago. From our very first appointment, we fell in love with her. Every six weeks, we would trim her “feet,” and our affection for her only grew. About a year and a half ago, her owner, who was getting older, could no longer care for her. She reached out to us, asking if we would like to take Annabel in. We often joked that we would adopt her if the need ever arose, but we never truly expected that day to come. Annabel has been the sweetest and gentlest animal we have ever had. I didn’t realize the depth of our relationship until the moment she instinctively knew I needed a shoulder to lean on without me uttering a single word.
At approximately 8:20, I sent a text to my midwife informing her that I was likely going to have a baby today. I mentioned that there was no rush for her to come, as my contractions weren't very intense or close together and had slowed down a bit with the sunrise. However, I did note that I had started to lose my mucus plug.
Around 9:15 or 9:30, my husband and son returned home with some delicious sausage biscuits! Anyone who knows me well understands my love for a good sausage biscuit, and we hit the jackpot. The only convenience store within a 30-mile radius, just down the street, makes the best sausage biscuits ever! I quickly devoured mine and wished for more, but my husband had only bought enough for each of us to have one. This turned out to be a wise decision, as I didn't want to feel overly full at that moment. After finishing our meal, we all headed out to take care of our quail barn. We cleaned out the poop trays, fed the quail, and ensured they had enough water to last the next few days. Knowing I was going to have a baby today, we wanted to be as prepared and caught up with chores as possible. At around 9:45, my midwife asked if I could time my contractions. I managed to time two or three but got sidetracked while helping my husband with chores. The contractions were still 5-7 minutes apart and becoming slightly more intense, needing to stop and wait. For each one to pass, but nothing overwhelming.
The concept of time and space felt almost nonexistent in the hours that followed. Memories began to blur together. At the moment, everything seemed crystal clear and utterly beautiful; however, reflecting back after receiving the 9:45 text from my midwife, the sequence of events feels jumbled. I'm uncertain about the timing and order of occurrences, with the only solid reference being the texts exchanged with my midwife, which correlate with various events. I remember that my husband, son, and I had just completed our chores, and afterward, we drifted in and out of the house for different reasons. Perhaps we let our son play outside, his favorite spot and the least overwhelming environment for us. He is a lively little one who doesn’t quite grasp the difference between indoor and outdoor play. At some point, we were all outside, allowing me to focus while my son played. I sat down and discussed future plans with my husband. Then, a contraction would hit, prompting me to walk around and find something to lean on with my arms raised above my head. For some reason, this position brought me comfort. The contractions were becoming slightly more intense, but I chose not to inform my midwife just yet, feeling it wasn’t the right moment. I preferred her presence during the pushing stage and right after the baby arrived, so I held off on calling her.
Around 10:00, she called, asking for a few contractions to be timed. I recorded a few, noting to myself they were about 4-5 minutes apart but told her they were more like 5-7 minutes apart. Unbeknownst to me, she was already heading my way, which turned out to be fortunate, as otherwise, she might have missed the birth. Later, she shared that she prayed for God to ensure she arrived at the right time, seeking His will rather than her own. This was incredibly uplifting to hear; not many people fully dedicate their work to the Lord, but she did, and I couldn't have wished for anything more. A midwife who believes that God's plan surpasses ours is truly priceless.
Around noon, I texted my midwife, sharing that the contractions had intensified. My husband and son had been watching a movie in the bedroom for about 30 minutes before I reached out to her. I informed them she was on her way, and she let me know it would take about 40-50 minutes for her to arrive, which I felt was fine, as I didn’t sense we were that close yet. My husband then joined me in the living room, and during a contraction, I walked over to him and began to dry heave as the contractions intensified. Once it passed, he suggested going outside. I agreed, feeling more at ease out there and better able to cope with the strong sensations. These contractions weren't painful; they were powerful and effective. My husband watched me as I moved around, pausing for each wave. After some time, I asked him to fetch my wind chimes and hang them up, as they would add a lovely ambiance to the atmosphere. While he searched for something to hang them with, I began to enter labor land. The contractions were growing more intense, and I sensed we were nearing the pushing stage, yet I still denied being that far along. My husband witnessed me throwing up during a contraction, an involuntary response triggered by my body. Though mentally I wasn’t ready to push yet, my body was compelling me to do so. It’s astonishing how wise our bodies are, even when our minds resist; they instinctively know what to do, especially during labor. It was only after this moment of vomiting that I realized I was further along than I had acknowledged or wanted to accept. Checking the time, I saw my midwife would arrive in about 5-10 minutes, so I didn’t text her again.
When she arrived at around 1:00pm on August 29th, we gathered in the living room, where she asked how I was feeling. I replied with a simple “good,” and just two minutes later, I dropped to my hands and knees, needing to vocalize during another contraction. She noted that I sounded pushy, to which I nodded in agreement. As she prepared her equipment, I experienced another strong contraction, and this time, my water broke. My midwife informed me that things would escalate in intensity now that my water had released. Feeling physically exhausted, I sat down because the hands-and-knees position was draining. As soon as I sat, another contraction hit, and I was unable to get to my hands and knees fast enough for that one contraction. The intensity surged now that my water had broken and I was not in an optimal position. I could feel the baby descending into my pelvis—an indescribable sensation, feeling the shifts and movements as the baby made its way out. I looked at my midwife and said, “You weren’t joking when you said it was about to get more intense.” Somehow, I managed to get to my knees before the next contraction, unsure if my husband assisted me or if I simply hurried to that position because the contractions were now rapid and intense. Leaning with my chest on the couch, I found myself involuntarily pushing with each contraction; some women describe their pushing noise as a roar, while mine was a deep, low growl. My husband remarked that I sounded like a cow, which I found quite humorous. He often compares the entire process to watching a cow give birth, and I can’t help but find it amusing how seriously he shares this with others. The strength within our bodies is truly remarkable. The effort it takes to push a baby into the world is unlike anything I have ever experienced. Having lifted weights and been a college athlete, I thought I had reached my physical limits, yet I was genuinely astonished at the power I discovered within myself during childbirth.
Just moments after he was born.
Our precious boy made his grand entrance into the world at 1:20 PM, only 20 minutes and a hand-full of contractions after our midwife arrived. Which was exactly what we all prayed to happen. As he began to emerge, with only his head and neck visible, he attempted to take his first breath—a truly unusual sensation. He was tangled in his cord, which was draped over both shoulders and wrapped around his torso when he finally made his way out. My midwife had to twist and turn him in various directions to untangle him before placing him on my chest. He was incredibly alert and calm, taking in his surroundings. He was so different from my first son, who was born under heavy medication in a hospital setting, and was quite sleepy and lethargic for the first few days. My first son struggled with latching and barely took a bottle, but this little one was a superstar at breastfeeding and was ready to embrace the world from his very first breath.
Welcoming this little boy has transformed my life. It has taught me that no matter how much I prepare by reading birth stories and gathering knowledge, nothing can fully prepare you for the moment of truth. There are countless possibilities that can unfold during labor and delivery, making it impossible to be ready for every single scenario. While you may not know how things will unfold in advance, having unwavering faith in the one who created us is truly the best preparation for what lies ahead.
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