Last updated on October 10th, 2022

Like many of you, waiting for my baby’s arrival was a time full of nerves and excitement.

I love sharing my son’s story because not only was it incredibly empowering, but it is also a true testament to how amazing our bodies are and how beautiful childbirth can be.

Navigation

• Before My Son
• We Have Liftoff!
• Education Was Key
• Is It Go Time!
• Yep, It’s Go Time!
• It’s Really Go Time!
• The After-Party
• Debrief
• You Can Do This!

Before My Son

When my husband and I decided to grow our family, pregnancy did not come easy. I ignorantly thought it would be as simple as deciding, “Let’s do this!” I was unprepared for the difficulty that lay ahead.

It would be about two more years before I met my son.

I wish I could say the time in between was filled with hope, patience, and growth. But, it was discouraging, frustrating, and often filled with anger and resentment towards others who didn’t have to think twice about conceiving. I gave my angry feelings repeatedly to God, while in the same breath, I struggled to let Him keep them. All I wanted was to be a mother desperately.

I would hear other women complain about how fast they got pregnant and were not ready, or they would have constant disdain for the drama their kids brought to their lives. Then came the ongoing obtrusive questioning. “When are you going to have kids?” “What are you waiting for?” People couldn’t realize the sharpness of their words when they didn’t know the facts. And the facts were that while some women get pregnant just from having their husband/partner sneeze in their general direction, pregnancy did not come easily for me.

At my final appointment with my former doctor, these deeply hurtful words would lead to a place I didn’t expect. “Lindsey,” she said, “there is nothing else we can do for you. I think it best we refer you to a fertility specialist.” The tears I let go of while driving home were angry and hot. I can still see myself in those moments, so grieved with the hurt I couldn’t understand. I was textbook healthy, yet for some reason, month after month, disappointment came. I didn’t want to try anymore to get pregnant. I went home and told my husband I needed a break.

I spent time praying and giving it over to the Lord and apologizing for all my anger about this joyous process. Meanwhile, we didn’t go out of our way to try. I don’t even remember keeping track of anything that month.

We Have Liftoff!

Then, I missed my period. Amid all the intense cravings for Fritos, I had a fleeting thought, “Am I pregnant?” I had been dealing with irregular cycles for some time, accompanied by monthly spotting and eventually my period, so it didn’t seem a genuine possibility.

The following day, which happened to be a Saturday, I snuck out of bed and told my husband I would go “buy breakfast,” which wasn’t a lie, but I purposely failed to mention my primary intended purchase, a pregnancy test. As I drove to the grocery store, I considered how I would casually take that pregnancy test upon arriving home.

When I returned, I snuck into the bathroom and was as quiet as I could be. I had the forethought to open the packaging in the parking lot after I bought it so as not to make any suspicious crinkling sounds once home, considering the bathroom in our one-bedroom apartment was near, well, every other place in the apartment. I peed and waited, fully anticipating it to be negative. When the second pink line appeared, the long-awaited jumping for joy I expected I would have didn’t happen. I sat in the bathroom of our tiny apartment, staring at this fresh strip dumbfounded. I did not jump for joy; I felt numb. I honestly didn’t believe it. 

The next day I took another test to be sure. There was no mistaking it.

I was pregnant.

My husband’s reaction was about as calm as mine. We both didn’t believe it. A few weeks later, I woke up to light bleeding. My ultrasound to confirm pregnancy was the following day. I frantically called my doctor and swapped my appointment for an earlier one that day. Praise God, everything was fine. My baby was healthy. I heard that strong heartbeat for the first time. My dreams had come true; God had favor on me. I was a mother.

As the weeks and months went by, I took many naps, ate lots of guacamole, and looked at my changing body with joy. Sometimes that seemed so foreign to those around me who already had kids or were expecting. It was hard to wrap my mind around the negativity some other people had during pregnancy. I truly loved it!

We found out in late September that we were expecting a son. We both welled up with tears as we saw him leap on the sonogram and suck his thumb for us.

I had minimal morning sickness, and I was healthy in every way. I had a perfect pregnancy. I was so fortunate for this gift in my son and also for sweet preparation.

Education Was Key

Before I hit the third trimester, I began researching through the google machine, dangerous business I know. I had this thought that maybe I didn’t want to have medication during my labor. My husband wasn’t too sure about this because “how can anyone even do that?” My doctors weren’t over the moon either. I was told repeatedly by different doctors in my practice, “You will most definitely want an epidural.” I was determined to do some soul searching and decide what would be best for me because, after all, I was the one birthing this babe, right?!

We signed up for a natural childbirth course at our hospital. We decided this would show us all we needed to know and teach us about pain management options if I voted against going med-free. Win-win. My husband did great despite all the stages of labor, placenta, and episiotomy talk. We learned about doulas and their role in the birthing process and I knew when we left that last class, I was ready to find us one and do this thing!

We hired our doula, an angel of a woman named Anne, who was passionate about supporting families during pregnancy and labor. After our first chat on the phone, I knew she was the one. She answered all my questions on the spot and provided insight on things that hadn’t come to mind. When we met her in person the first time, she had her 9-month old baby in tow. She asked us questions about how I managed pain and how my pregnancy had been. She commented about things I had researched and was impressed with my questions about specifics on my birth plan. It was fantastic to talk with someone who “got me.”

At my 37-week appointment with my doctor, I mentioned I had stopped gaining weight for the last month, so they did a sonogram to ensure everything was ok. My son was tracking at just over 5 pounds, and they were encouraging that as long as I could keep him cooking for a few more weeks, everything would be just fine. They rolled their eyes at my birth plan and, for the 10th time, reminded me that I would “most definitely want the epidural.”

Is It Go Time?

Three days later, I woke up at about 3:30 am with this odd feeling that I had wet the bed. “It’s too early to be my water,” I thought. I waddled to the bathroom and put on a pad, went back, and laid down. I tried to fall back asleep, but I just couldn’t. I got up again around 6:00 am and realized the pad was soaking wet. I got up and called Anne. No answer. I called my doctor, the voice on the line said, “We will page the doctor; he will call you back.” I sat there on the couch in my living room in the quietness of that early Sunday morning, tired and uncertain of what I should do. My eyes shifted to my half-packed hospital bag, waving its disappointed finger at me.

About 20 mins later, the doctor, it seems strange to call him “my doctor” considering I only had the pleasure of meeting him once, called me back. “Sounds like your water might have broken. You should come in so we can check you.” “Ok,” I replied.

I was discouraged. I wanted to labor at home as long as possible. So instead of rushing out the door, I took a shower and tried to eat a snack. I was having mild cramping, light bleeding, and lots of bowel movements. My 12-year-old dog wouldn’t come within 2 feet of me at all the previous day, and suddenly everything made sense. Then it happened, I lost my mucus plug. At that point, I realized this might be it. We loaded up the car and hid our key under our doormat for our friends to come to get our dog.

We rolled up to the hospital just before 10 am. I was feeling pretty good, honestly. I wasn’t in any rush. I kind of thought they would tell me to go back home, though deep down, I knew that wouldn’t be happening.

Yep, It’s Go Time!

My phone rang as we arrived at the hospital. It was Anne. “So tell me everything that you’ve been experiencing so far?”

“Well, Anne, lots of bathroom trips, a little bit of cramping, and I’m pretty sure my water broke.”

“Lindsey! Are you at the hospital yet? YOU ARE IN LABOR!“

I was in such denial. I wasn’t quite 38 weeks, and it was my first pregnancy. I felt GOOD. How could I be in labor? But sure enough, I was. After we arrived at the labor and delivery floor, it didn’t take long for the doctor to test and confirm my water had broken and that I was already 3cm dilated. “Lindsey, this is exciting! You’re going to meet your baby today!” the doctor said. Somehow, I still felt cheated. Here it was January, and my February baby wouldn’t be a February baby after all.

Part of me was annoyed, the other part disappointed. I wanted to labor at home. The doctor told me I didn’t have to stay but locked eyes with my husband and stated, “If she were my wife, I wouldn’t let her leave.” My bag was still in our car in the parking garage. My doula wasn’t there. But strangely, all the denial left me feeling, well, unafraid.

One of the most significant things I remember telling Anne when she asked me what I was hoping for out of my birth experience was, “When I go into labor, I want to walk into that hospital and not be afraid to have my baby. I want to birth my son without fear.” It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how God was answering this prayer request.

My Labor Truth #1: Denying the reality of labor mellowed me out.

Two hours passed, and it was around noon when Anne arrived. We joked around. She helped me back and forth from the bed to the bathroom and guided my breathing. She helped me stay calm while my sweet man prayed through each contraction with me.

My husband enjoyed watching the monitor. With each contraction, he was right there, eager to remind me I was about to have one, as if he were God and could predict the future. Remember how I wasn’t medicated? Yeah, I didn’t need him to warn me of the next one. But it was kinda comical nonetheless. The lack of drugs really allowed me to be in tune with my body and aware of what it was doing and what I needed to do. 

At one point, I found myself in the bathroom and could barely stand up because a contraction was coming. Anne held onto me, and she and I could both feel my body-baring down and felt my son shift down. It was incredible! My body knew what to do!

Around 2:30 pm or so, I decided I wanted to rest and got comfier in the bed. I was too tired to walk around and was beginning to feel the contractions more frequently. I decided a great idea would be to ask the nurse, “How much worse is this going to get?” She wasn’t shy, “Oh honey, a lot worse,” she said.

Anne thought this was an odd question. Labor was just getting started, right?! I tried not to let fear creep into my mind and asked my husband to pray with me some more. Breathing through each contraction, light conversation, and trying not to focus on the discomfort was the only thing that got me through the next hour. By 3:00 pm, I was having difficulty engaging in conversation, and I didn’t want to move. Anne thought I might be more progressed, so she tracked down the doctor to check me per my request. I WAS FULLY DILATED! It turns out I had gone through the Transition Phase of labor and didn’t even know it. That explains why my question to the nurse seemed outrageous. 

My Labor Truth #2: Insane questions, ridiculous comments, and the intense belief you cannot do it means you are VERY close to meeting your baby.

Every pregnant mama labors differently. Some are more vocal. Some cannot speak, and some feel lots of discomfort. My doula, Anne, didn’t even realize it was the Transition Phase of Labor because I had not been in labor very long. We all assumed I would be in labor much longer. Everything had progressed so incredibly fast and I had been so distant and anti-social because I was actually in the final stage of labor. PRAISE THE LORD! “Oh, I can do this; this is as bad as it is going to get!” Having a positive attitude is vital.

It’s Really Go Time!

The bustle in the room began as everyone began preparing for me to push. After a few pushes, my doctor told me he could see my son’s head and that he had a bunch of hair! I was so excited because, for one, that meant I was so close to meeting my son and two, my husband was born bald, so I was thrilled my little man had hair!

After a few more rounds of pushing, I felt exhausted. Some mamas push for hours, but again, PRAISE GOD, I didn’t have to for very long. Though short, the pushing stage was incredibly intense with few breaks in between, so I tired quickly.

It was at this point that things got, well… interesting…

Literally, without any previous communication other than guiding my pushing, Doctor G randomly asked me if I wanted a mirror.

Ummm…

Now let me pause here and say, never in my wildest dreams would I have agreed to a mirror while in labor before being in the thick of it. But I wanted to see my baby. I knew that would be the motivation I needed to bring him into the world.

My Labor Truth #3: A birth mirror is a good idea.

So a few minutes later, nurse number I don’t know, rolls in with this mirror which could have belonged to someone in the 1500s. It was brown, wobbly, and cloudy because it was ANCIENT. Definitely not the type of sterile stainless steel medical equipment you’d expect to see in a hospital. Every single one of us in the room was laughing hysterically. To this day, it remains one of my favorite memories from my son’s birth. 

A few short minutes and pushes later, my son entered the world, all 5 pounds and 15 ounces of him. From start to finish, I labored for just about 12 hours and pushed for only 20 minutes. They immediately gave him to me. I put him on my chest and a few minutes later, after delaying the cord clamp, my husband shockingly cut the cord without passing out.

My absolute favorite moment after his arrival was several minutes after he was born. He picked his head up fully alert, inched his head over to my breast and began nursing. In the birth world, we refer to this as “the breast crawl.”

A few short minutes after this, I turned to both Anne and my husband and said with intense confidence, “I could do that again.” Remember, I wasn’t under the influence of any pain medications. Though painful, it instantly ceased for the most part right after he was born. I was fully alert, focused on my prize.

I could do that again.

Lindsey (right after giving birth)

That is called EMPOWERMENT.

My Labor Truth #4: I CAN do this.

The After-Party

In those first moments immediately after my son was born, I felt like a freaking warrior! Because I was. I feel completely content when I think back on my son’s birth. I prayed for a quick labor and birth because I wanted so badly to do it naturally without any meds. God answered that prayer. He was there in those moments mentally when I didn’t know if I could do it without relief. But in the moments after he arrived, I felt no pain, my son was alert, and I was happy. The journey we began on his birthday has led to the best memories of pregnancy, labor, and birth. I pray for God’s favor in more children so I can do it again.

Debrief

The only complication I had, solely due to the speed at which my labor progressed, sometimes called “precipitous labor”, was some significant postpartum hemorrhaging. Thankfully staff acted quickly and professionally to slow this down and I did not need a blood transfusion. I’m grateful they handled the situation with grace. I am exceedingly thankful for how well I was monitored afterward and was able to leave the hospital two days later.

You Can Do This!

The wild reality of birth is this: You can do it! God created you to bring your baby into this world. No matter what choices you make for your baby to get here, you can do it! My most significant takeaway experience is that knowledge truly is power. Had I never taken a childbirth education course, my experience would likely have looked significantly different. Thankfully, I took a class, connected with the proper support and made decisions that best suited my preferences.

Remember, YOU get to decide for yourself (in most cases) how you want to birth your baby. There is no “right way,” but the “best way” gets to be decisions made based on your preferences. I want to stress and leave you with this; YOU have the right to do this in the way you want to do this. You have the power to unleash your purpose. Whether it’s your first baby or your fifth, you can do this and you will do it beautifully because the power of birth is in you.

Please Note:
While it may seem that I am pro-unmedicated births, I’m also a firm believer in mothers becoming educated so they can make informed decisions. By all means, get an epidural, provided you have done your due diligence and researched the benefits and risks. You and you alone get to decide what’s best for yourself and your baby.

Universal Labor Truth: You are a partner in your healthcare. You CAN speak up because YOU have the right to be respected and supported in your birthing preferences.

If your birth story is waiting to happen, be encouraged to decide how you want that to look. If your birth story isn’t what you hoped, I hope you can look at your baby, toddler, kid, or adult child and remember they are who made you a mother and you are a warrior no matter how they arrived. For when they did, you were born too.

XO ~Lindsey