I don’t really remember waking up on the morning of June 13th 2009 but I suspect it was Izzy, then four and a half, that roused us from our slumber. As had become the habit during the last few weeks of pregnancy, I was left to try and sleep a little longer.

This time around I had found being pregnant much harder. There were no serious complications or anything, I just felt incredibly tired and uncomfortable. I was very much ready to be done with this part of having a baby.

The last week had been particularly unbearable. Despite being pretty adamant I had my dates correct, the doctor at my 12 week scan had brought my due date forward by 7 days. According to this, that Saturday morning saw me 41 weeks pregnant.

I guess no woman enjoys being overdue, especially not during a heat wave, but my anxieties ran a little deeper. If I was forced to undergo an induction in a few days time I’d lose the homebirth I’d been planning ever since we discovered we were going to have another baby.
Izzy was born in hospital in London. She was in quite a hurry. I had my first contraction at around 11pm on a Sunday and she was born just a few hours later at 5.45 am on Monday morning. I laboured without intervention – no drugs, no internal exams, nothing, I just listened to what my body told me to do, and did it. I delivered Izzy on all fours, not because anyone told me to, but just because that was what felt right. I hadn’t really planned it that way. It was what I had hoped for, as natural birth as possible, but I was open to whatever might happen.
As perfect as Izzy’s birth had been, I hated being in the hospital, especially afterwards when they sent everyone, including Carl, home. I remember lying in bed, feeling totally alone, sobbing as I gazed at my new baby asleep at my breast. It seemed so unnatural to me, to split a new family up like that.

When I realised we were expecting again I knew I wanted to try for a homebirth. Carl was supportive but sceptical. We talked a lot about his concerns, all very valid. What if something goes wrong, what about the mess, and so on. Ultimately though he knew I wouldn’t be comfortable going into hospital to give birth.

My father had died, in a hospital, when Izzy was only ten months old. What had been a simple dislike for such institutions evolved into something much darker. Being in hospital made me feel scared and sad, two emotions you certainly want to avoid when you’re giving birth. Finally, I found an article online written by a father of multiple homebirthed babies. Carl read it and seemed convinced at last.

That week we had tried everything to coax the baby out. I ate pineapple and curry. I spent hours climbing up and down the stairs as energetically as any woman can at 40 weeks pregnant. I bounced on my huge birth ball and sat through a reflexology session. We even tried a bit of sex too. I was so desperate to go into labour naturally.
As I struggled to go back to sleep that Saturday morning, I was feeling so anxious about the prospect of having to go into hospital the following Tuesday that I ignored the dull ache in my lower back. Besides, I’d had plenty of twinges over the past few days and none of them had come to anything.
Finally, I reluctantly dragged myself downstairs and let Carl make me an omelet for breakfast. A sudden wave of emotion washed over me, and I ended up sobbing into Carl’s shoulder as he hugged me and reassured me that everything was going to be OK. We talked about resisting induction for another few days and Carl made me a cup of tea.

But, as I sat in the corner of the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil, the dull ache in my back suddenly turned into the intense pain of a contraction. I told Carl that, after all that, I might actually be going into labour. We phoned my Mum – my other birth partner – as she had an hour drive to get to us.

‘Call me when the contractions are 10 minutes apart’ she said. We phoned back within minutes to tell her they were coming very much closer together than that.

I set about gathering up Izzy’s bits and pieces up. We had always said we would follow her lead in terms of whether or not she wanted to stay at home while I laboured. We’d read lots of books together about home birth and she was definitely curious about the whole thing.

She was fine to begin with as I paced around our bedroom, I even managed to read to her in between contractions, but as the pain increased, and I needed to concentrate on my breathing a little more, I could see she was beginning to feel a little anxious. We asked if she wanted to stay with us or go and play at her friend’s house and she instantly opted for the latter. We phoned my friend Emily and she collected Izzy just minutes before the first midwife arrived.

By now I had climbed into the shower and was leaning over my birthing ball with the water directed towards the bottom of my back. The midwife checked me over and offered to see how far along I was. When she assured me I was 6cm dilated I decided it was time to get in the bath.

We’re lucky to have a very big, deep bath that, when filled to capacity, completely covered me and my ample bump. It felt wonderful to be in the water with the sunlight streaming in through the bathroom window and my music playing.

The contractions were coming very fast, at times they felt like they were one on top of the other and I hardly had time to catch my breath. Carl and my mum massaged my lower back and I concentrated on breathing through the pain and visualising the baby moving down inside me.

I remember a brief time alone with my Mother in the bathroom. I began to feel quite teary. ‘I wish dad was here’ I said, and Mum silently nodded her agreement. Then we laughed. ‘Well, not here exactly’ I chuckled, as I remembered where I was and what I was doing!

There was actually lots of laughter and smiles in the bathroom that morning. Everyone was amused when I expressed my concern about how much water we were using. ‘We’re on a metre you know’, I said. Carl smiled and told me it was no time to be frugal.

The second midwife had arrived by the time I decided I didn’t want to be in the bath anymore. We moved into our bedroom where everything was set up for me to deliver. I can remember finding pushing much harder than I had with Izzy and it felt like it took ages (but, in reality, only took about half an hour).

At one point the midwife suggested I get up and move around again. I tried squatting to push, with my arms around Carl’s neck as he knelt on the edge of the bed. Apparently the two midwives and my Mum were all holding on to him to stop me pulling him over.
Still no baby.
I started to panic a little. I remember saying I was scared and that I couldn’t do it. The midwife reassured me, told me I was very, very safe. She suggested I head back to the bathroom. I think she knew the walk to the toilet would get things going. It’s only a couple of meters from our bedroom, but it felt like the longest walk I’ve ever taken in my life, especially as I stopped for two very strong contractions on the way.
I made it to the bathroom, sat on the toilet for a minute, said I couldn’t do anything, and stood up. Almost as soon as I had made it to my feet I had the strongest urge to push, I could suddenly feel the baby was really close.
I fell to my knees with my eyes closed, clung to the edge of the bath and pushed. In my mind’s eye I saw myself opening up and I felt the baby’s head emerging. It seemed as if it happened in slow motion. A pause and then, whoosh, the shoulders were out.
Jesse Alfie was born at 3 pm, 6 hours after my first contraction.
Carl told me it was a boy as the midwives set about warming him up. I burst into tears. ‘We made a boy, we made a boy!’ I said. I felt so euphoric and high.

Jesse’s colour wasn’t great to begin with but after a few minutes he was fine and feeding well. The midwife was visibly shocked when she weighed him and discovered he was 9lb 1oz. I’m quite tiny so it’s no wonder I was so uncomfortable during pregnancy, and it explains why he was a little harder to push out than my dinky 6lb 15oz daughter!

I was examined by the midwives and, after a quick shower, I climbed into bed with my new son. The midwives made me tea and toast and cleared everything up. You honestly wouldn’t even have known a baby had been born there, the place was spotless.

Carl went to collect Izzy and she came home to meet her baby brother. She was followed closely by both sets of grandparents and my sister. Later we all ate supper together while Jesse dozed in his car seat at the foot of the table.That was the best bit, having all the people we cared most about around us that evening.

I loved sleeping next to Carl that night with the moses basket beside us too. It was just the perfect ending.

I still get butterflies when I look at the spot of the bathroom floor that welcomed Jesse that afternoon.

Happy Birthday baby boy!

Loveaudrey xxx

PS. A slightly different version of this birth story {which includes a few more of the gorier details} has already appeared on The Baby Wife.


PPS. Words cannot describe how much I loathe that cheap, pink Primark nightgown in the photo of me holding my newborn son.

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