Welcome to the spinning world.

An unfiltered tell-all of the labor and birth of my sweet baby boy, Harry.

There was a fair amount of chatter in those early days of November before Harry was born. Texts were rolling in, asking if anything had happened. Had they missed an update? Was he on his way? I didn’t answer their call - did that mean I was in the hospital? I made it to my due date - congratulations! I passed my due date - he’s late!

The final days of pregnancy had me locked in one of the strangest head spaces I’ve experienced. Birth was imminent, and every cell in my body knew that I was on the precipice of a massive shift. Despite the external noise, it felt quiet in my body. Silent, still, and waiting. He would come when he was ready. But also…. When would that be exactly?? Just curious, no rush!! No worries!!! I’m just asking for a friend.

The transition from maiden to matron had been an interest of mine as a birth doula & functional nutrition practitioner for years now. I had spent hours listening to other women’s stories on this topic, and I was now smack dab in the thick of it - possibly just a handful of hours away from holding my son on my chest and whispering, “Mama’s here”.

On Wednesday, November 8th, I had my 40-week appointment with my midwives. While my biggest priority was a spontaneous, vaginal birth, I was far enough along (40 weeks & 4 days at that point) that I felt comfortable accepting a cervical check to see if there were any signs of my body approaching the big day. To my surprise, I was 3cm dilated and 60% effaced. In other words, my body was doing its thing and labor could start at any moment… but it could also be another 7+ days of waiting and trusting my baby. The doula in me was quick to remind my mom on the phone after the appointment “Yes, but remember that just means it’s where my cervix is right now, it doesn’t predict the future! It could easily be another week before I go into labor”.

The next day (Thursday, November 9th) involved more of the same - waiting, eating scrambled eggs, wondering, waiting, texting friends “not yet!”, chugging water, falling asleep, waiting, panic cleaning the house, refusing to pack my hospital bag, and randomly deciding to rake leaves.

That night, my husband and I decided to sleep separately so that I could get the best sleep possible since I felt a little “off” and predicted that I would be tossing and turning for a while.

I settled in bed, turned on my favorite hypnobirthing tracks from Bridget Teyler and began drifting into sleep as I repeated her words to myself: “My baby is safe and will come when it’s ready. My body is strong and ready to open to bring my baby Earth-side.”

When 11:11pm came around, I was awoken by a strong, deep, and startling contraction. With my hypnobirthing track still playing through my headphones, I did a quick mental scramble to try to stay on top of the sensation. My thoughts went something like this:

“I inhale calm, 2, 3, 4…. Shit shit shit this is intense….. exhale 7, 8, 9, 10….. holy shit woah how am I going to do this…. Inhale 5, 6, 7…. Noni be cool, you’re calm, you’re safe… exhale…. Phew. I can do this. Let it go. Let it pass. Wow.”

It took me a minute or two to gather myself. Is this what early labor is going to feel like? If so, I absolutely cannot get through this without a lot of support. I’m already struggling. Shit.

My doula brain knew that the average length of labor for a first-time mom was about 19 hours and I was most likely at the beginning of early labor, meaning this could just be the start of mild, unorganized, period-like cramping for the next several hours (or days!). In hindsight, it’s remarkable how quick I was to gaslight myself for the pain I felt from those early contractions. Instead of seeing them for what they obviously were (strong contractions of active labor that required 100% of my attention), my brain quickly fed me stories about how I should be embarrassed by how challenging my first contractions of “early” labor were for me.

The contractions continued with the same surprising intensity, every 15-20 minutes for a couple hours. During each contraction, my mind scrambled for a several seconds before settling into the ritual of simply following my breath. Though I was prepared to use various positions and movements to help me cope with each wave, all I could do when the time came was lay on my side in bed and kick my legs back and forth. And the moaning - Jesus Christ, the moaning. In preparing for my own labor, I was always comfortable with the idea of vocalizing, since I had encouraged many of my own doula clients to do the same to help feel in control and embodied during childbirth. It wasn’t until I was actually experiencing it did I realize that there was absolutely no conscious “choice” to moan and make noise. It was simply what my body had to do to get through the surges. Much like an involuntary gasp when something catches you by surprise, the loud moans and yells coming out of me were completely beyond my control.

Side note: This is a fabulous example of the body’s innate wisdom in the completely biologically normal experience of childbirth! While moaning, groaning, and guttural noises usually signify suffering, they shouldn’t necessarily be seen as such when a woman is in childbirth. The moaning is what got me to the other side, where the calm was waiting. Without it, I would’ve been clenching, fearful, and quiet.

As I labored through the night, John went back and forth between pretending to sleep and packing our hospital bags. I was of such sound mind and body between the contractions that I was giving him shit for being in a rush to pack our bags. I was convinced that if I was actually in active labor, I would be too out of it to be carrying conversation, walking around, and picking out outfits for the hospital. Ha! Sweet, sweet denial.

Around 2am, I took a hot shower to help me cope with the pain. In case you’re wondering, the pain of contractions is impossible to describe. In the hundreds of birth stories I’ve listened to, I often felt frustrated by how little time moms spent describing the sensations of labor. I get it now. It is the deepest twisting, pulling, tightening pressure I have ever experienced. It required so much focus to stay on top of my thoughts and breathing during each wave. And now, six months later, when it comes time to try to express to you what exactly it felt like… I’ve got nothing.

At 3:30am, John and I spoke with our incredible doula, Becca, on the phone. I let her know contractions had been anywhere from 8-15 minutes apart for the past few hours and that they were strong and requiring all of my attention. At the end of the call, I told her that I must not be that far along since I still felt so lucid and normal between the contractions. Ha…

She advised us to calm down our environment, take a warm bath, and settle into our little ritual here at home while relaxing as much as possible. She was just a phone call away whenever we felt ready for in-person support. Hearing Becca’s advice help assure me that things were progressing well and that I could get comfortable (as much as I could) here at home for the next several hours. As John drew me a bath, I stood in the hallway outside of the bathroom and leaned against the wall. I continued to be surprised by the strength of the contractions and had to work hard not to mentally slip into overwhelming thoughts of doubt about my plans for an unmedicated delivery. My thoughts oscillated between something like:

Is this just the beginning? What if I’m only 2cm dilated? What if the baby is in a suboptimal position and my progress starts to slow? What if I don’t have the baby until tomorrow?!

And:

One step at a time, Noni. Go back to your breath. Your body is built to do this and you are so strong. Just get through this one contraction.

Things got intense in the bath. Actually, things really started getting intense on the 3 foot journey from the hallway to the bathtub, where I crawled on my hands and knees towards the toilet and made it just in time to throw up, cry, rinse my mouth, and gather myself before the next contraction began.

Once in the bath, I started ohm’ing (how do I spell that?) during the contractions because it was all I could do not to scream or pull the handle off of the shower door. Once again, I was surprised by how little choice I had in the matter. It was happening, even if there were no yoga beads, lotus flowers, or palo santo in sight. In those moments, I was an animal. The 21st century human elements of my life faded into the background. All my physical body cared about was bringing my baby Earth-side.

My memories get pretty fuzzy between 4am and 5:30am. At this point, contractions were about 5-7 minutes apart and I had an incredibly hard time forming words to communicate to John as he nervously packed up the remaining items on the list. Where were my shoes?? How the hell do you expect me to be able to come up with the words to answer that question? Should you call the doula? What is a phone, again? Also, remind me your name? Alas, the fog of transition (the stage of labor in which a woman dilates from 8-10cm) was upon me, but I wouldn’t know that for another hour or so when I debriefed my labor with John in our hospital room.

A mere hour before giving birth to Harry, I was trying desperately to reassure John with the little English I remembered that I was just fine and this could still be early labor!

Ha!

At around 5:15am, I felt a massive contraction coming at the same time that I was about to have an upset stomach. I made it to the toilet, where I had the unique 2-minute experience of a contraction, an upset stomach, involuntarily starting to push, and requesting that my dear husband grace his presence with a pot in his hands so that I could promptly vomit into it. Every cell in my body knew that birth was imminent, but my conscious brain was too far away in labor land to be able to put the pieces together for myself. Thankfully, it was clear to John that he needed to ditch the plan of Becca supporting us at home before heading to the hospital. The time was nigh. Nigh? Is that how you spell it?

At 6am, by some miracle, I managed to pull a dress over my head and slide my feet into crocs before inching my way to the car. In a moment of clarity, I looked at John squarely and declared, “If I’m less than 4 centimeters dilated, I’m immediately requesting an epidural”. In the 30-second drive around the block to the hospital, I involuntarily began pushing with the next contraction. Knowing that I needed to pump the brakes a little as I navigated the hospital and checking in, my body slowed down and gave me a few minutes of clarity before having another massive contraction the moment I got into triage with the midwives.

Turns out I was complete, 10 centimeters, and ready to push. I was set up in the birthing room with my favorite midwife, incredible nurses, a comfortable side-lying position, and my incredible husband holding my hands and reminding me how strong I was. At 6:25am, I began pushing. It was wild in every sense of the word. My mind was razor sharp and also complete mush. I felt a deep sense of peace and calm, though I was screaming and cussing through each and every surge. It probably looked terrible from a 3rd person perspective but the only way I know to explain it is that it felt so right deep in my bones. The team around me was showering me with validation and praise. My midwife knew my birth plan backwards and forwards and fully supported us. My body felt safe. My muscles were stronger than ever. My husband was squeezing my hand and stroking my cheek. My heart rate was normal and most importantly, so was baby Harry’s.

I pushed for 25 minutes. At 6:50am, he was born on a wave as my waters broke. He was placed directly on my chest and I immediately sobbed. He’s here! My baby is here. I did it.

“On the day you were born the Earth turned, the moon pulled, the sun flared, and then, with a push, you slipped out of the dark quiet where suddenly you could hear a circle of people singing with voices familiar and clear.

‘Welcome to the spinning world,’ the people sang, as they washed your new, tiny hands.

‘Welcome to the green Earth,’ the people sang, as they wrapped your wet, slippery body.

And as they held you close, they whispered into your open, curving ear,

‘We are so glad you’ve come!’”

Debra Frasier, On The Day You Were Born

More to come soon.