Imperfect Catholic Mama

I recall those hours of labour, pushing my baby and his birth, and it brings a smile to my face. I feel happy when recalling that moment and it fills me with such peace and gratefulness for the gift of a peaceful, joy filled, unassisted home birth.

I didn’t plan an unassisted birth. One assignment in my doula course several months back had me reflecting on my feelings about unassisted birth. And I had written that, while a beautiful ideal, since we live in a fallen world where things don’t go as nature intends, it was imprudent to have an unassisted homebirth. Now I don’t know what I think.

Except that my baby boy’s birth was the most beautiful, empowering, and hard thing I’ve ever done. And I wouldn’t change a thing if I could.

Let’s start at the very beginning

Living in the remote state of Wyoming my midwife lived two hours away. It was either her or the hospital again, and I desperately wanted a home birth. So I was content with my midwife being two hours away. She had rarely missed a birth and unless I had one of those incredibly quick second labours, I knew I’d have plenty of time for her to get there. My first labour was by no means quick, so she wasn’t concerned either.

Thinking about that scenario, should it happen though, definitely made me a little nervous. My husband and I talked about what we would do in that case. We ultimately concluded that we would not do anything unless something seemed wrong. The hospital is less than five minutes away and the ambulance 5 blocks from our house, should we need to call 911. We also did not think an unassisted birth was likely to happen, we were just covering all the bases so we wouldn’t be surprised. Well, we were surprised. 

A couple weeks prior to his birth, the midwife delivered the birth kit, complete with an inflatable birth tub. I was so excited to have a water birth. But I was also thought things will go how they go. “Maybe when I’m in labour I’ll rather squat” I’d tell myself. I wanted to have an ideal for birth, but also be content to let my plan go, should I need to.

I’d been afraid to envision what I wanted, feeling that I’d just be setting myself up for failure. But ultimately concluded that I needed to balance what I wanted with the surrender of accepting how things went. It was a hard balancing act.

The week prior I had made lists of things I’d find helpful when in labour, partly for my husband’s sake, partly just to prepare myself mentally, for I knew I wouldn’t be looking at those lists when the time came. I placed them on the fridge where I could see them, and as the baby’s due date drew closer, while I was impatient and anxious for him to be born, I began dreading the hard work of labour. I’d see those lists and remember I was prepared as best as I could be.

Let’s move to the beginning.

In many ways, his birth story began a couple days before he was born. (In reality it really begins with the day I found out I was pregnant, but I won’t bore you with all the minute details of nine months).

After a peaceful, quiet Christmas in our small apartment, we were driving the two hour trip for a prenatal appointment. As usual when I sat in the vehicle, the baby was very active. When we arrived the midwife checked the baby’s position externally and felt that he was lying transverse (sideways), with his head to my upper right.

My biggest fear during all of pregnancy was that I wouldn’t get my homebirth. And especially because I would need to have a c-section. And the cause of that would be finding out the baby was breech (head up, feet down) at the last minute. I was already half convinced that c-sections for breech babies are not necessarily necessitated, but knew that my midwife couldn’t legally deliver breech babies. So my biggest fear seemed to be happening before my very eyes.

My midwife did not seem overly concerned. The baby seemed to have lots of room to move and likely wasn’t stuck in that position. But she recommended an ultrasound to confirm his position and then the chiropractor to see if that encouraged him to move.

Well, I was stressed the rest of that day. We couldn’t get the free ultrasound to confirm his position, since the women’s clinic was closed over Christmas break. I continually reminded myself that he had lots of room to move, that he did this all the time in pregnancy (he liked the transverse position), and that he would probably move once I was out of the vehicle, upright, and walking again.

I’d texted my sister my concerns and she calmly reminded me that he would move when he was ready. She recommended walking, pelvic rocks, and listening to a pregnancy relaxation track all about letting go. 

I booked the chiropractic appointment for the next morning and immediately following the adjustment, I felt, and saw, him make a big movement. I felt like he was head-down again and breathed a sigh of relief.

The rest of Friday was uneventful. Until that evening. 

On the evening of December 29, his due date based on our calculations, I started having some contractions, (I’d been sceptical how accurate the due date was and scared that it could be off by up to ten days. In other words, that I would be pregnant forever). Now, at this point I’d had at least two occasions of strong contractions that lasted for about an hour and turned out to be false labour (one happening on Christmas Day), as well as numerous occasions of Braxton hicks. So I wasn’t very optimistic, and was trying my best not to get too excited that this might actually be it.

I remember the first contraction was at 7 PM when I was reading stories to my daughter. I paused reading to focus on breathing and releasing the tension in my body. While my husband put our daughter to bed, I didn’t feel like sitting around so I puttered about the house, cleaning. When he came out of the bedroom he seemed to know right away that something was up, probably read the excitement and hope on my face or just noticed my pausing and focusing on breathing; regardless, he was excited, and that didn’t help me in my attempt to not get excited.

I continued to tidy the house and then moved to bouncing on the exercise ball while I folded laundry. I figured if this was finally the real deal then I wanted a tidy house. If not, then at least I’d get a clean house.

To take my mind off of potential early labour (contractions were pretty irregular and light), we decided to play a game. I won the Ticket to Ride game, even though I was in early labour and pausing occasionally to breathe through contractions (proud of this to be honest)! During the game they seemed to lessen in frequency and I figured “great, it’s not it. I will be pregnant forever.” *sigh*

We crawled into bed and went to sleep. I think I slept for a little bit, I don’t remember clearly, but at 10:30 PM I got up and walked about some more, eventually passing out on the couch cause I was tired and things didn’t really seem to be going anywhere. 

Over the course of the night contractions were sporadic. Coming at irregular intervals and varying in intensity, with a lot of back labour, (rather than being felt around the front and evenly). It felt like my baby was in a funky position again. I tried my best to relax on the couch, feeling my little boy do what felt like somersaults inside. One second I was sure his feet were to the upper right, the next I’m pretty sure his feet were down low and he was lying breech. He had very active limbs all of pregnancy (still does!) and often his arms felt like legs, so I will never know for absolute certain, but I’m as sure as my intuition can be.

I had been stressed about his position since the appointment on Thursday. I was terrified that I wouldn’t get my home birth and I would have to have an emergency (and in my mind unnecessary) c-section for a breech baby. That Friday night, as I lay on the couch breathing through contractions, I tried to relax and pray. Trusting God, my body’s ability to encourage this baby into a good position, and my baby to know that position and to get there on his own time. I simply relaxed and tried to believe that everything would be okay, but not on my timetable. I knew my baby could get into a good position, he’d been there before, and he was showing me that night that he had plenty of room to move around; that he wasn’t stuck. So I just tried my best to trust my baby. He knew what he was doing, even if I didn’t; He would get into a good position on his own time, and I could not control it.

Once again, my word of the last several weeks of pregnancy came to mind: surrender, let go. I couldn’t control when I went into labour, even if I could do things to encourage it. I couldn’t control my baby’s in utero position, even if I could do helpful things in encouraging a good one. I couldn’t control this little person inside me, no matter how much I thought I could. He was his own person and would do his own thing. I had no control over what position he was in when or his arrival day and time, whether that was immediately or two weeks from then. I had to let go of my illusion of control.

Sleeping periodically and trying not to stress about his position the rest of the time, I somehow made it to 5 AM. Over the night I was trying my best to listen to my body and do what felt comfortable. I rotated from laying on my left side, right side, back or walking. I tried simply to listen to my body and not think about the head knowledge, but do what felt right; to trust my body. 

Suddenly, on December 30 at 5 AM I felt good and had a desire to walk. So I got up and walked and I felt amazing! Baby felt like he was in my pelvis, I felt comfortable for the first time all night. And I knew from the pregnancy in general, that when I was comfortable, my baby tended to be in a good position.

I had three contractions that felt amazing too. All previous contractions had involved pretty intense back labour, but these ones felt round and even and actually pleasant. I thought, “great! He’s in a good position and labour can finally progress”. I walked some and sat on my ball and bounced. Nothing happened. (Later that day I’d read that when the uterus has been working hard to get a baby into a better position and it finally happens that it will take a break and rest for a bit, which is pretty cool).

I was tired, but afraid of laying down to sleep in case he slipped out of this good position. But nothing was happening and I was so tired. I reminded myself that I could not control him. He knew how to get into this position, and if he wanted to leave it I couldn’t stop him. I’d sleep on my left side, with a pillow between my legs, and trust him to stay in a good position if that’s what he needed.

I managed to sleep for a couple hours which was refreshing, but when I woke up I was once again uncomfortable. I was kicking myself for going to sleep, and so mad that we were back to square one. I continued to have sporadic contractions, and though it was Saturday (the day I typically go to a coffee shop and have a morning to myself) I did not feel like playing it cool in a coffee shop through said unpredictable contractions.

I texted my midwife at 9 AM to fill her in on the night’s events and ask if she had any tips for encouraging the baby back into a good position and keeping him there. She sent me to the spinning babies website, which had loads of positions and exercises to try. My husband and I did some of them, then he took our daughter for a walk to give me some alone time. I hung out at home, walking, laying down, and trying not to stress or kick myself for losing him in a good position.

After a while of trying things and not getting anywhere, I decided I needed to do what I did last night. Which was to relax and trust my baby and body. So I decided to go for a walk and take my mind off things. From 9-11 AM I walked almost 2 miles, either walking through the contractions (cause I felt silly stopping in the middle of the street), or pausing slightly when walking through them was too much.

I walked up and down the local nature trail in town, and didn’t feel like stopping. So up second street, down another nature path, and back towards the house. I’d told my husband I would be walking for at least another 30 minutes if he wanted to take our daughter home, and when I walked by the house I still had 15 minutes to go. Our landlady saw me passing by and she invited myself and my daughter over for tea that morning. Trying my best to not appear to be having a contraction while we chatted, I accepted the offer, figuring contractions were easy enough and having something to occupy myself with would be nice. I then walked to the chapel three blocks away. I lit a votive candle for the intention of a peaceful home birth and trust in God, my body and baby, and then headed home. This was the third candle I’d lit for this intention.

When I got home, I was planning to head over for tea, but my daughter had fallen asleep on the walk with her daddy. So I texted our landlady about rescheduling for the afternoon. The afternoon came around and I was still having irregular contractions and did not feel like hiding it while having tea. So I texted her and told her that I might be in labour and we wouldn’t be coming for tea after all.

At this time, about 12:30 PM, I texted my sister, asking her for prayers since I’d been going at this since 7 PM the night before and nothing seemed to be progressing. I was convinced that this was prodromal labour (labour contractions that may come and go for days, different from Braxton hicks in so far as they open the cervix) and might be the state of my existence for the next couple days. It was not an encouraging thought.

My sister recommended walking and pelvic rocks again, and then sent me a document on the Miles Circuit. The Miles Circuit is a 90 minutes relaxation and exercise routine for use during pregnancy and labour to encourage a baby into a good position for birth.

I told Jeremiah I wanted to do this and asked him to keep our daughter preoccupied and me undisturbed for the next 90 minutes. I went to the bedroom, set up a half-dozen pillows and a couch cushion and laid down in an exaggerated downward dog yoga pose at 1:18 PM. I hit play on my labour relaxation playlist of classical favourites and sentimental pieces (mostly songs from my wedding) and relaxed on my mountain of pillows. 

After 30 minutes I shifted to an exaggerated left-side lying position. Putting my left leg as high on the mountain of pillows as was comfortable. I continued to listen to my music and aside from the atrocious back labour contractions, which took effort to breathe through, was quite enjoying this circuit.

30 minutes later I transitioned to the third and final stage of the Miles Circuit: Asymmetrical movement. I walked sideways up and down our stairs, did chair lunges, and circles on the birth ball. It felt good to move, but I still felt like the baby was sitting high and not engaged in my pelvis.

When I had finished the circuit, my husband recommended calling the midwife since contractions were averaging about 5-7 minutes apart (the point she said to call), even if they were inconsistent (unlike they were in labour with my daughter). With the information we gave her, my midwife thought it also sounded like prodromal labour and recommended taking a bath, as this could either stop things and tell us it was prodromal or the contraction would continue and we’d know it was the real deal.

The bath was relaxing, mostly. We have a very small tub and I don’t fit regularly, much less being very pregnant. So my time in the bath consisted of filling it as high as possible without overflowing, hopping in and hearing the water go down the overflow drain, and then filling it back up till it was once again at max capacity and once again going down the overflow drain. I rotated from my left and right sides and my back and tummy, doing what felt comfortable. My husband talked me through the contractions, reminding me to breathe and applying counter pressure to my back.

After some time, the bath was cold and we were out of hot water, so I extracted myself from the haven of water and continued walking. The bath seemed to help, but it hadn’t stopped contractions, maybe just spread them out a bit. So I continued walking, doing abdominal tucks during contractions to encourage him to engage in my pelvis, and pelvic rocks between them to encourage him to shift.

Just before 5 PM I text our landlady and toddler-sitter that things didn’t seem to be progressing and it probably wouldn’t be tonight. Then my midwife texted asking about the bath. Filling her in, she concluded that my uterus was probably trying to get the baby into a better position, and to try pelvic rocks and forward leaning positions to help encourage him to move.

At this time, my husband ran out to get the pizza we had ordered for dinner. I ended up on the kitchen floor alternating between a downward dog and hands and knees position. I was so desperate for this baby to move and for things to get going. I’d tried everything, time and again, and nothing seemed to be working.

The contractions were getting more and more painful, I was discouraged, and so very tired, mentally and physically. While my husband was still out, and I was still on the floor, the next contraction had me collapsing and crying out to God, Mary and St. Jude (the Patron of impossible causes and my baby’s patron saint), begging their intercession to move this baby. I was desperate to be finished, but things seemed like they were never going to end and I was at the end of my line, both physically and mentally. I texted my lady friends, asking them to keep me in prayers cause “things weren’t progressing and it was really hard.” In hindsight, I was definitely in transition, and find it hilarious how oblivious I was and convinced that it would go on forever.

My husband returned with the pizza and toddler and sat down to eat, while I continued on my hands and knees on the kitchen floor. We had debated having my daughter around for the birth, but she got scared as I got louder, and we concluded it was best if she go to the babysitter after her Daddy put her to sleep. So at 5:50 I texted the babysitter that we’d be dropping off our daughter after she was asleep, which tends to be around 8 PM.

I continued to try my best to get through the contractions. Swaying, abdominal tucks, hands and knees. Nothing seemed to be helping and contractions were hard! I moved to the couch and took up a downward dog position, figuring I’d try the Miles Circuit again. I asked my husband for a comb to hold and begged him to apply counter pressure on my back through each contraction. At some point I discarded one of the back couch cushions and slipped into an exaggerated left side-lying position with my belly hanging down the space that was now made between the couch and the wall. Between each of the contractions I talked to my baby, telling him I believed in him and needed him to help his mama and move, that we could do this together.

Suddenly, I felt him shift and had an urge to push. I gave into that urge after a bit and it felt really good. Then, in my daft labouring mind, I wondered if I should refrain from pushing. I thought I’d remembered reading somewhere that with back labour women may feel the need to push, and that they should refrain. I moved into an exaggerated downward dog position and, at 7PM, texted my midwife whether or not I should resist the urge to push, forgetting to include the “in back labour” part.

Receiving a message like this, my midwife immediately called me, asking “what’s this about pushing?!” I calmly and collectively told her that I felt like I needed to push with the last contraction and she asked what they were like. To my surprise, my husband recounts that they were lasting between 30 and 90 seconds long, still varying in frequency however. She asked if I could talk through them, and once again my husband surprised me by saying no, I couldn’t. She said I didn’t sound like I was in labour, but she kept me talking till I had a contraction. At which point it was obvious to her that this baby was on his way! As I worked through that contraction I was also thinking, “yep, I’m very much in real labour and this baby is coming soon, how did I not realize it sooner?” I guess hearing myself through the ears of my midwife was all I needed. She said she’d be leaving immediately and hung up.

I concluded that I now needed my husband’s undivided attention, and that I couldn’t do this on my own while he put our daughter to sleep, so at 7:12, merely three hours after I’d told the babysitter that it wouldn’t be today, I texted her that we’d be dropping off our daughter sooner and not sleeping.

As my husband got things together I was texting with the midwife. She sent me a document on what to do if the midwife doesn’t make it and then texted me the number of the back-up midwife. I daftly asked what that was for, only to realize that having someone on the phone when she didn’t make it would be helpful.

My husband helped me through the next contraction and then left to drop off our daughter. I told him to hurry, scared of having a contraction while he was gone. Thankfully, he was back before anything happened. He called the midwife, and she asked me to do a cervical exam, which he did, because there was no way I was moving an inch, even if it was just my arm; I was staying frozen in my downward dog position. He didn’t get that far, as a couple inches in, he felt a head. Shortly afterwards, the call dropped as the midwife lost service, driving through the Wyoming Wilderness. We called the backup who instructed my husband to put gentle counter pressure on my perineum while I breathed down and through contractions.

Earlier, I had tried redirecting the pressure to push down there to pushing breath out and through horse lips (a helpful technique to slow baby’s arrival, like if you’re driving to the hospital and don’t want to have baby in the car), but quickly decided that there was no way I was going to wait to have this baby till the midwife got there.

I focused on keeping my jaw relaxed and breathing as the pressure built down there. I could feel baby slide down, and then slide back. It was hard, but I also knew it was good as it would help prevent me from tearing. After feeling that crowning pressure a couple times, I finally felt like it was time to push on the next contraction and get this baby out. With the next contraction I pushed and held him there, crowned and ready. With the next one I moved up onto my hands and knees and pushed, trying to breathe and not push too hard, with the next I was done and didn’t care whether or not I tore, I pushed and out he came. 

He came all at once, head coming out and the rest of his slippery little body following without another push. I felt sore, but it felt so good. I reached down between my legs and pants, which for some reason never came completely off and thus there was only a small hole which I tried to bring my baby through. Jeremiah told me to wait as he unwrapped the cord from his neck, then together we managed to get him through that hole and into my arms. I learned back and held my baby. 

Things were sore, but I did it. WE did it. 

About 25 minutes of snuggling later, Thaddeus Jeremiah Buar started nursing. The placenta hadn’t come yet, but while the midwife was a little anxious, we weren’t. We muted the midwife to check we were on the same page and told the midwife we wanted to continue waiting. Shortly after, I felt like I was ready to move and squat in order to expel the placenta. I moved off the couch into a squat and breathed a couple times, just waiting for it, and then felt like pushing and out the placenta came. Simple and easy. No cord traction, no fundal massage, no pressure (since we dismissed the midwife’s earlier instructions), just a simple and quiet, physiological 3rd stage.

My husband prepared the couch with towels and blankets, and I moved back onto it, ready to rest and just hold my baby. For the next hour it was just the three of us. Soaking in what had happened, that we had done it, that I was done labouring, that baby was finally here. 

It was a beautiful, peaceful birth. I didn’t intend an unassisted home birth, I thought they were imprudent. But we had one, and it was perfect, and now I don’t know what I think about them, except that God granted me the peaceful, healing home birth that I so desperately wanted and was so afraid to hope for; Was scared that it would be taken from me. Quite the contrary, it was better than I could have imagined. 

Labour was gruelling, and I hope I never have to go through one like that again between the length, the unpredictability and the back labour. But once he finally moved, on his own time and despite everything I tried, he came quickly. I was able to breath through pushing and feel him move down. I was relaxed. My biggest hope for this birth, to be relaxed when pushing, was fulfilled. No one told me to bear down before I was ready, that I needed something I didn’t, or rushed things along. It was just me, my baby, and my husband. We started this nine months prior, and we finished it. 

While the following weeks were still challenging, filled with little sleep, lots of emotions, and transitioning to this new life, it was significantly easier than the first time. I believe that was in part due to the ease of breastfeeding round two and not undergoing a major life change (we already had one kid, it’s not like all of a sudden we were parents).  Mostly however, I believe the significantly easier time of those first six weeks was due to a peaceful birth that I felt good about. When I recalled my daughter’s birth in those first weeks it made me upset, angry, and struggling to accept how things turned out. But not this time, I was so happy. I loved to recall his birth, all the minute details, and things that happened. It brought a smile to my face, rather than sobs to my body. It also felt redemptive. Like somehow it made my first labour and birth experience better. (I can’t quite explain it yet, maybe I’ll write about that next month). 

I thought I understood labour. Knew how it went. Knew there were variables, yes, but never did I expect what happened to me to happen.

My baby boy was born in the intimacy of my home, on the comfort of my living room couch, by the warm, peaceful light of the family Christmas tree, and caught by the loving hands of his daddy.