Maverick’s Birth Story

Labor started three days before my due date—leap year— on an overcast, gray, cozy Thursday.

Christian really wanted a leap baby and I wanted baby to come any day BUT leap year. I said March 1st would be better because it’s Justin Bieber’s birthday.

After a half serious, half joking conversation that morning we decided TODAY WAS THE DAY— we were going to do everything we could to get labor started.

With our midwives approval, Christian went to the store to go get ingredients for “midwife’s brew” (a castor oil cocktail for naturally inducing labor). While he was at the store, I lost a bit of my mucous plug. I knew my cervix was starting to dilate.

I drank the brew around 2 PM, Christian took work off, and I took a long bath.

I had a few irregular contractions in the tub, but I’d had irregular contractions throughout the last trimester so I didn’t think too much about it. Plus, I’d never had a baby before my due date so I wasn’t convinced anything would come of it.

Christian took over homeschool with the kids and I made an appointment with a mobile IV service for that afternoon “just in case” labor started.

During my last two births I’d thrown up incessantly in labor and didn’t want to end up dehydrated and weak for this labor so receiving a mobile IV prior to labor was an important part of my birth plan and something I was looking forward to.

I finished cleaning our bedroom and prepped everything I’d need for labor. The rainy afternoon felt so peaceful. My body was relaxed, rested, and prepared.

Christian‘s brother picked our kids up and took them to Christian’s parent’s house for the rest of the day.

The mobile IV service arrived and I chatted with the nurse comfortably from my bed while she started the IV drip.

About 15 minutes into the IV, I started feeling mild contractions. I was SO excited to be having a conversation with the nurse while she had no idea I was having contractions!

“I’m a labor pro”, I thought to myself.

By the time she left contractions were timeable. I took another shower— this time to calm myself down. I was beyond excited to be going into labor.

My parents were leaving for in out-of-state funeral early the next morning and they came over to drop off their dog which we had agreed to watch while they were gone.

When I told them I was in early labor they were so disappointed that they would miss the baby’s birth but happy that baby was coming. I lost another large piece of mucus plug while they were over.

My dad gave me a blessing and I swayed through contractions while I visited with them. Each contraction felt warm and friendly— like a familiar hug.

From 7 to 11 PM contractions continued to increase in length and consistently came 1-2 minutes apart. I felt like a rockstar handling them.

Everything felt perfect.

Christian and I had a little labor circuit we did in our bedroom. I took a few contractions on my knees, arms draped over the yoga ball, laid in bed, sat on the toilet, and relaxed in the bath. Unlike my previous two labors, I felt the urge to move and change positions frequently.

The only threat to my peace (and sanity) was my parent’s chihuahua Max who, feeling extreme separation anxiety after my parents left, felt the need to bark every 15-30 seconds no matter where we put him or how we tried to calm him. Despite Christian’s best attempts—  he had been constantly barking for the past four hours and I was getting progressively irritated and bothered by the sound.

Around 11 PM the contractions became incredibly intense and lasted a full minute.

At this point, we switched strategies and I turned on hypnosis. For almost two hours, Christian and I lay on the bed snuggled up together and I took each contraction calmly and peacefully (trying to tune out the barking).

Then around 1 AM, the intensity became extreme.

This is when the low controlled breathing I’d done with each contraction turned into shrieks, yells, and screams.

I had never screamed with either of my previous labors. I was shocked and embarrassed knowing that screaming was about the worst thing I could do in labor— but I couldn’t control it.

At this point, labor changed for me. I told Christian he had to do something about the dog, I couldn’t handle the barking anymore.

He left our bedroom to take the dog outside.

I took a few painful contractions by myself on the yoga ball and then cried actual tears until Christian returned because laboring alone was deepest, darkest pit of suffering I’ve ever experienced.

I couldn’t do this without him.

We could still hear Max barking outside, but there was nothing else we could do but try to ignore it.

He dried my tears and we decided to try the bath again.

Christian got the bath ready and I tried to get comfortable but another contraction came and I felt baby descend lower in my pelvis. Now I was super uncomfortable and I told Christian I could feel baby descending.

We started timing contractions again— and in between my screams— Christian made the decision that it was time to call the midwife.

I asked Christian how long we’d been doing this. “Nine hours,” he said “baby is coming.”

“OK” I thought “I can handle this. Just a few hours left. We are at the end.”

But then I had the immediate sensation that I was overheating. I was mid contraction in the bath and yelled “I have to get out NOW!”

Christian pulled me out of the tub and I went into a state of adrenaline and chaos. I felt awful and threw up. My body started shaking uncontrollably— at this point Christian knew I was in transition.

But I doubted.

For some reason I not only doubted my ability to get through the rest of labor— but I started doubting how far along I actually was in labor.

I kept telling Christian I was probably only in early labor still and I DEFINITELY couldn’t do this anymore. He kept reassuring me that I wasn’t in early labor, but when the midwife arrived at 2am, I greeted her by announcing that I WASN’T having a good time anymore and asked her do a cervical exam.

“You’re an 8!” She confirmed.

Things started moving fast after that. The birth assistant arrived, followed by the birth photographer. The midwife was rapidly getting her medical equipment unpacked in our bedroom.

Watching her in between contractions, I was convinced baby would be born in the next few contractions.

But when nothing changed and my pain intensified and ability to cope declined— I was frustrated.

The midwife suggested that we break my water because my water was still intact and there wasn’t enough pressure on my cervix to fully dilate.

I agreed and climbed up on the bed. Three attempts were made at breaking my water over the next few contractions.

It didn’t break.

Laying on my back on the bed with my legs butterflied open during contractions was the most unbearable pain I’ve ever felt. During one attempt at breaking my water, I leapt from the bed in full fight or flight mode. I ran across the room and shouted, “We’re not doing this anymore! I can’t take it! We’re done with that!”

Each contraction left me feeling like a wild animal. My hands clawed into Christian’s head and neck and I wailed and howled in his ear. I was still shaking uncontrollably from the hormone dump in transition and I felt miserable. I felt like nobody could help me and each contraction sent me further and further into a frenzy of adrenaline and tension.

I remember thinking—

“This is 10 out of 10 painful.”

“I might be team epidural after this.”

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

But what I said out loud was, “Someone help me— I’m in so much pain.”

Christian never left me— calmed me, soothed me, held me, and told me I was doing a good job.

I threw up again in the sink.

The next contraction I got annoyed with my midwife because I cried out that I couldn’t do it and she said, “Well if we get in the car now, you’re gonna have the baby in the car.”

I didn’t have the ability to speak, but I was thinking— “No, I don’t want to go to the hospital, I just don’t want to be in labor anymore.”

In fact, even at my worst, I never asked for pain relief, an epidural, or to go to the hospital. I didn’t want to leave my bedroom. I loved being at home— I felt safe here and I knew baby was coming. It was just my way of saying, “This is really hard.”

When things hadn’t progressed after a few more contractions, my midwife did another exam and realized I had a swollen cervical lip.

She explained what was happening. As soon as each contraction moved baby down, I was sucking baby back up with my tension. My intact bag of water wasn’t helping the situation either by not allowing enough pressure to sit fully on my cervix to dilate it.

The solution was to stop screaming and relax, but I couldn’t do that.

I knew I was making labor harder on myself, but the contractions were completely consuming me. I really felt like I was going to die if this kept up for too much longer.

I was gripping the edge of my bed standing on exhausted, quivering legs. “WHY ISNT BABY COMING OUT?!” I was angry now.

Christian was behind me with one hand on my back and the other on my thigh. “You’re so tense,” he whispered “relax.”

At that moment I was able to calm myself for just a nanosecond— and that was all it took— my water finally broke.

That was the most euphoric, magic moment of my labor. Finally things were moving!

Standing at the edge of the bed, I still didn’t have the urge to push, but I was in so much pain I didn’t care. My instincts told me I was fully dilated and my body was ready. I needed this baby out NOW. When the next contraction came, I bore down and pushed.

I took three more contractions in that position, pushing, screaming, and telling everyone that I didn’t have the energy to stand up upright. The midwife suggested I move to the bed in a side laying position. Christian helped hold my leg up, and I rested my foot on the midwife’s shoulder.

I liked this position. I felt instantly supported— one arm around Christian’s neck, the other squeezing the birth assistant’s hand. I needed all the physical touch I could get.

Each contraction I pushed until the midwife and Christian saw baby’s head emerging and I felt the burning sensation of crowning. I have never felt so weak in my life. I felt like I had no energy. I remember thinking, “If something bad happens and I have to push this baby out fast— I can’t.”

“Look, we are at the eyebrows!” The midwife said trying to encourage me.

“OMG!” I thought, “we’re only at the eyebrows?!”

Throughout my labor both midwife and birth assistant had been using the doppler to check heart tones.

With the baby’s head crowning— suddenly the midwife told me to stop pushing because I was cutting oxygen off to baby and the baby needed air. Leaving his head there caused an extremely uncomfortable burning, fiery sensation.

Without a warning the midwife bellowed instructions. “GET OFF THE BED NOW.”Christian, who had been beside me, jumped off the bed. She flipped me over to an all fours position and immediately her hands carefully and skillfully maneuvered baby as the little body descended. (I would later learn that baby never rotated and came down the birth canal in a really wonky position causing a brief moment of shoulder dystocia).

I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew it was serious and the midwife was in control. I trusted her, and I knew that everything was okay. I was so close to delivering and I knew my part was almost over.

His body didn’t slip gracefully out of mine the same way my other two had. I had to push every inch of him out. It felt like pushing a huge object uphill— and it hurt.

I had loved the pushing phase with both of my other babies, but this was agony.

When he finally left my body, I felt a gush of fluid leave my body. Christian later told me it was blood.

I was so relieved. I just stayed there on all fours with my head down for about a minute after he was born.

I knew baby wasn’t breathing because he wasn’t crying. The midwife was resuscitating him, but I knew that was in the realm of normal, and a lot of births require resuscitation.

I wasn’t worried.

I remember thinking “I’ve done my part. I’ve done all I can do— it’s over— and everything is okay. It’s the midwife’s turn now.”

When I finally recovered enough to turn and look at my baby— the first thing I saw was that he was a HE.

I was shocked!

I was convinced that baby was a girl my whole pregnancy. I had a perfect girl name picked out and really hadn’t prepared myself for the possibility that baby COULD be a boy.

Though we wouldn’t settle on a name for another four days, Maverick Preston Conrad was born at 4:35am on March 1st, two days before his due date.

After the midwife untangled his cord (which was wrapped around him several times) I lay back with him on my chest. I was so tired I didn’t even try to engage with him. I didn’t have the euphoric high I’d experienced after my previous unmedicated delivery. I was just so exhausted. I felt another gush of blood leave my body, and the midwife immediately administered a shot of Pitocin in my thigh.

After this gush— I got freezing cold and couldn’t get warm. A blanket was piled on me and I still shivered. “What’s baby’s name?” The midwife asked, assessing me for shock. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. I still couldn’t process that he was a boy.

When I finally stopped shaking and got warm again, I kept waiting to feel euphoric— but all I felt was exhaustion.

I apologized to everyone in the room for how I’d behaved the last two hours of labor.

I didn’t feel proud of myself because of how I handled labor— the screaming, clawing, and overall crazy person behavior.

For as much as I’d studied and prepped for labor— everything went out the window. I felt like a first time mom, not someone who had done this three times now.

It took me two full days before I felt proud of myself. Then I started factoring in all the unfavorable circumstances of my birth—

the OP position

the intact water

the dog barking

the swollen cervical lip

the shoulder dystocia

pushing without feeling the urge to push

the hemorrhage

the baby gender shock

and the fact that I’d had contractions close— only 1-2 minutes apart— for 8 hours of my labor

and I realized— wow, I had a really difficult birth— AND I DID IT.

And I did it UNMEDICATED— at home!

When the midwife came back for the first in-home postpartum visit a few days after Maverick was born, we talked about my birth.

I told her that I felt a little bewildered because I was sure that this would be a healing birth— and now I felt like I needed healing from this birth.

Her response was wise. “I think we have this idea that “healing” means calm— sort of zen like— when in reality, healing is messy. It’s hard. It requires a lot out of us. Healing isn’t easy.”

I was so grateful for her perspective. I’ve reflected on it a lot.

Healing is messy.

I’ve repeated that to myself a lot over the past three weeks as I’ve struggled with baby blues, navigated the adjustment from 4 to 5 kids, and tried to stay afloat amid the deep pools of grief that have resurfaced.

Truthfully, it’s all felt pretty messy this time around.

But what I’m sure of is that I can do REALLY hard things. I didn’t need a perfect situation to give birth at home.

Final thoughts about my home birth:

I loved being at home. My bedroom is my sanctuary and getting to bring a baby into the world from the place I enjoy being most felt really special. I loved getting to create my labor space exactly the way I wanted. I also loved that I got to stay there throughout the entire process.

I loved that no one told me to anything throughout my labor. No one told me when to start pushing or how to breathe. I labored in the unique way my body needed to— and everyone in the room respected and supported me.

I felt safe the entire time.

I loved that my husband was the main support in my birth story, and that I was treated like a person, not a patient.

I also feel like Christian and I got to “pick”when labor started by being home in our own space and organizing our day so that my body could feel relaxed enough to go into labor. And I finally get to be in the “had baby before my due date” club!

Most of all, I am really grateful for my midwife. I was so careful and selective about the provider I chose. My midwife was exactly who I needed— especially at the end of my birth. Due to her expertise and skilled hands— I birthed an OP baby (with stuck shoulders) and I didn’t tear!

If I had delivered at the hospital, there’s a strong possibility I would have been given an episiotomy or had a vacuum extraction.

There’s also NO WAY I would have done this without an epidural if I had birthed in the hospital. If an epidural had been available, I would have taken it. GLADLY.

Because my labor required me to be so active and change positions frequently, it could have complicated the birth process even further to have been immobilized on my back.

Even though it was painful, I trusted my body and my midwife. I truly believe that birthing at home was the best option and resulted in the best possible outcome for both baby and me.

The day after Maverick was born, knowing how painful my birth was Christian cautiously asked, “So if you were to do this again, would you have a home birth or a hospital birth next time?”

My answer came without hesitation—

“Oh I’d definitely have a home birth again.”