[Bethlula]

Before bed that night, my partner Kiki told me, "Please don't have this baby early; I still have a lot of filing to do!" I was 38 weeks along, but something told me that yes, I would have this baby early. But I told Kiki I'd do my best.

Suffice to say that I awoke to pee at 4am, and after climbing back into bed I felt an unmistakable warm gush: my water breaking. I panicked a bit, as the two friends of mine whose labor started this way described fast, painful, way-too-intense births of the sort I had hoped to avoid. I woke Kiki and we held each other, feeling excited and scared, wondering if we should call our midwife yet. We decided to let her sleep a bit more, to wait and see if anything else happened, and in the meantime we got up and began making lists: What we needed to buy when the stores opened and who we needed to call about work when it was late enough. I leaked gushes of amniotic fluid each time I walked across the room, which made me giggle, and I ate a bowl of cereal in the cool darkness of our quiet kitchen, trying to fortify myself in both body and spirit.

At 6am we called our wonderful midwife, Miriam, who advised us to go back to sleep since my contractions hadn't started. I lay there until sunrise with my mind racing, Kiki napped a bit, and then we got up and began preparingm, both mentally and practically. My contractions began at about 11am -- dull, achy, crampy pains -- and I began emailing different editors that I work with as a freelancer. "I'm in early labor," I wrote, explaining that some deadlines just wouldn't be met. Kiki ran to and from the store, buying pads and witch hazel (so I could make some frozen pads for post-labor), oatmeal (so I could eat it during labor as per Deb's doula suggestion) and various other labor foods -- watermelon, ice pops, coconut water. At 4pm, as my contractions were getting stronger but not unbearable, we went for a walk in Riverside Park, just a block away. It was a golden, balmy October afternoon, and I needed air and movement. We walked slowly, and when a contraction hit we would stop, I would breathe, and Kiki would write down the times. We didn't make it far, and stopped to sit on a bench at the playground, watching the kids and not quite believing that this would soon be our life.

My contractions got much more intense, but they were still about 6 minutes apart. We headed home to call the midwife, who told us to call back when I "turned another corner." How will we know?? We asked. "Beth will know," Miriam told Kiki. Within an hour I did know, and we called Miriam, who said she was on her way -- as was our good friend George, who had attended childbirth classes with us and was prepared to act as our "doula" and later, loving "uncle" to our baby. Both were driving from Brooklyn, at rush hour, so Kiki began on her own to set up the birthing pool -- a big purple inflatable thing, rented from a lovely woman in Crown Heights. I got into the shower because the contractions were getting massive, and the hot water soothed the pressure on my back. I moaned loudly with each contraction as Kiki struggled with the pool -- she'd had a practice run with George, but some part of the inflation was giving her trouble and she began to panic and curse. "Leave it till they get here!" I told her. She did, and came into the bathroom to comfort me, and before we knew it Miriam appeared like an angel in our dark bathroom. When I continued to moan and groan in between contractions, Miriam advised me to let the contraction go when it stops and to enjoy the in-between. "Those moments are as good as it's going to get now," she said. I followed her advice and tried to relax each time a contraction stopped. I was so grateful for that advice.

Soon George arrived too, and the pool was set up and getting filled with water. I had to make due with positions on the bed and floor and chair in the meantime, groaning and writhing like a beast, with my cat, Elijah, always hunkered down next to me, a look of concern in his eyes. Once the pool had more than a few inches in it I climbed in, and there I stayed for the last two hours of my 18-hour-total labor -- moving around, kneeling with my chest against the soft side of the pool, squatting, lying on one side and making more noise than I ever thought myself capable of. I groaned deeply, even growled, and became steeled inside of myself with reserves I didn't know I had. The pain of contractions was beyond belief -- coursing through my body from head to toe, making me nauseous, wringing me out with the strength of massive fists. I entered a dreamlike state during each one, wondering how I'd ever get through, crying and looking deeply into Kiki's eyes for support. But in between contractions it was like a surreal and intimate party: me sitting there among people I loved and trusted, Miriam jumping in to help with gentle advice and steady hands, all of us laughing and talking about things from politics and baby names to fine art and tripping on acid (and how much labor was reminding me of the latter). I leaned into Kiki's loving arms for much of the time, and everyone took turns caring for me -- doling out sips of water or massaging touches or bites of oatmeal or watermelon. I loved all the love in that room.

Finally I had an overwhelming urge to push. "Can I push?" I asked Miriam. She said YES! and there began my transition. The pain of the pushing was insane and the most intense I'd ever felt in my life, but it wasn't terrifying. I knew I was safe. Sounding and screaming got me through it -- as did all of the support in the room, and advice from Kiki to think of "lightening my head" and "closing my mouth" through the pushing, and from Miriam about how I should not just think about getting it over with, but really experiencing this precious moment: the feeling of my baby moving down the birth canal. I tried to savor the pain, as strange as it sounds. But it got me through.

I pushed for 40 minutes and the baby came out all at once after the crowning. Kiki pulled the warm, slithery body up from the water and onto my chest and I was astounded. "Who is that?" I wondered aloud. "Where did it come from?" We all sat there in wondrous silence, soaking in the moment, for about 10 minutes, when finally I asked, "Is it a boy or a girl?" Kiki peeked and it was a girl. I was thrilled. Her vernix-covered skin was waxy and warm and so incredibly solid. A real human who had come out of ME. We sang to her and then Kiki cut her cord and then held her -- Lula Alex -- and Miriam helped me out of the pool and into the shower. Then we all lay on the bed -- including George, who had been taking wonderful photos of the entire process -- and we watched as Miriam examined, weighed and measured Lula. Then I put her to my breast and she latched on. I was bone tired, sore and bloody. But I had done it -- birthed my baby just the way I had so badly wanted to. We all fell into a delirious sleep -- Lula swaddled and tucked between Kiki and me -- and entered our new life together.

[hannahthompson]

Great experience of home birth. Thank you for sharing this experience. It will be very helpful in my pregnancy time.