The birth of my son, Emmett

Pt. I, Preparation

The weekend prior to being in labor, I sent a long note to my midwife and her assistant detailing my birth wishes. I felt so grouchy about the whole thing. I was in self-protection, wavering between fear and grief of losing my last baby and knowing I needed to request my exact needs for this labor explicitly, purely for my mental sanity. I already knew I had chosen the absolute best in my midwife. But I needed to cross the task off my mental list of things that were bringing me closer to labor. The incredible woman I’d entrusted into my birth space was of course beyond receptive. I had a deep, knowing peace choosing to have her present was meant to be.

 I decided at the start of this pregnancy that I was truly going to own this experience, following what I felt prompted to do and not a thing more. I wasn’t going to do a single routine offering of prenatal or homebirth care without intentionally choosing it, even down to hiring birth assistance. I needed this birth and baby to come completely on our terms, no one else’s. I’d felt led by God to hire Jessica after meeting her, but I struggled with why until the final month of being pregnant. The closer I got to labor, more grief came up surrounding the loss of Noah. I realized how deeply healing and important it was and would be to have emotional support and witness for whatever this birth may bring. I didn’t feel that I needed any medical support, but I knew that God had connected us, and she could provide motherly support in the depths of my grief, particularly that which I knew may surface during labor. Birth, to me, is an act of worship for the entire family. It’s the gift of God calling our babies into our arms. It works best when outsiders do not cross its functioning or interfere with the physiology of the mother and baby unless necessary. It’s a sacred life event worthy of respect, honor, and aligned feminine support, which I found in my beautiful midwife who “got” it all and got me. This was truly a gift from the Lord.

I was 39 weeks and 5 days pregnant and had officially reached the point of feeling “ready”. I was prepared to be pregnant for another two weeks but hoping that wouldn’t be the case. I was prepared that labor could be any length of time, but praying it would be less than 12 hours. I knew that since my first birth active labor was less than 7 hours, it was likely this could be very quick. But I wanted to assume nothing. My grouchiness was reaching the point where I had to decide each day to get up, get dressed, and soak in my time with my eldest, or just be miserable. Between pubic symphysis pain, deep pressure and heaviness in my pelvis, and becoming increasingly emotional, I knew we had to be close.

I took my son to the park midday and soaked in the sunshine one last time. Being in the sunlight grounded me, and I’d spent every sunny Texas day basking in it this week. Once we got home, I laid on the couch, put a show on for him, and we snuggled for a nap together. At 4:00 pm, I opened my eyes and felt a pop center in my pubic bone. I knew if I stood up there may be a gush, so I rolled off the couch and went to the restroom. A small amount of amniotic fluid drizzled into the toilet, and I smelled the familiar salty scent. Calling Drew, I let him know nothing was happening, but my waters were beginning to release. Immediately, I got to work picking up our house. Switching the laundry, picking up the playroom, putting away clothes on the floor…just in case. During this time my normal pattern of Braxton hicks began, like most afternoons, but felt a bit more like a stitch in the front of my pelvis than just a general tightening.

At the same time, Jessica texted me noting the full moon and asking me to let her know sooner, rather than later, if I had any signs of labor that evening. A month prior, I had read in the Farmer’s Almanac that the full moon and total lunar eclipse were occurring just around my guess date, and it lingered in the back of my mind as my stomach grew more prominent and tightenings more frequent in the past weeks. Last April, during the total solar eclipse, I miscarried our son Noah at 13 weeks. Something in my heart felt a God-wink at the notion that this third baby may also come during an astronomical event. I let her know I felt like my body could fall into active labor at any minute, as I had for several days.

I ignored the growing stitches in my pelvis and kept tidying up. Drew was home, finishing a run, when I decided we needed to get dinner started. I texted my best friend an “I think it could happen tonight” text but assured her I thought it was just poop cramps. (I live in denial in labor, I think it helps me manage expectations, haha). I got things out for dinner but kept pausing from subtle, aching surges deep in my pelvis. They caused me to stop, lean over, and breathe, but let up and allowed me to move about as needed in between. Before Drew, who I asked to take over making dinner, could finish, I’d decided to warm up the leftovers from lunch because an urgency came over me to fuel myself. While I sat at the table and ate, all sensations stopped. But as soon as I stood, a strong contraction came over me. I doubled over and thought “Okay, shit…this may be it.” I kept finding myself in the restroom to pee, which relieved the pressure, and seeing a few more bits of my mucus plug and slightly pink bloody show each time.

Putting away the last of my laundry, I paused against the wall of my bedroom closet, putting my hands on my belly. “Okay baby,” I assured him or her. “I’m ready for you if you’re ready to come. Mama is here and it’s safe to come.” I cried, remembering the last time I labored I was miscarrying Noah. I felt fear swell up in my throat. I lit the beeswax candles I had prepared for labor in my bedroom and asked Drew to bring out the music speaker and charger. I was taking the steps to acknowledge this was beginning.

Pt. II, Fire

Dinner was ready, and we all sat together and ate beef and rice one last time as a family of three. I could feel the sensations intensifying as I ate, and my own body was excited for what was to come. I decided to get in the shower to let the hot water run on my back which felt incredible. I’d spent the last few weeks envisioning laboring against the shower bench, letting the steam and water relax my body. Ezra asked to join me, and we bathed together like we frequently do, until I asked Drew to take him out. Once Ezra got out, I felt a shift from “this could be labor” to “I can’t talk well between these” and found myself on all fours on our bed, beginning to let out that familiar birth cry. We called Jessica and let her know it may be time to come. My birth playlist played worship over us. I laid in the bed and began weeping as Ezra snuggled into me. “Mama okay? Mama have baby?” Ezra asked as he ran his hand lovingly on my arm. I was letting go of this version of our family, letting go of my anxieties and fears from this pregnancy after loss, and letting the reality wash over me that our baby was actually coming to be in our arms today.

For the next hour, I labored between our bed and beside it, kneeling on the floor. Ezra was in and out of our room and watching TV across the house. When he would come check on me he’d touch my arm or hand and sit with Drew.

At 8:00 pm, Jessica quietly arrived and stood on the threshold of our bedroom. I remember feeling her presence enter our house but not really “seeing” her. My primal instincts were so high, I was deep in labor land. As the worship sang over me in our bedroom, I alternated between complete peace, wet, sticky grief, and at the peak of the surges, rage. I felt like I was in a daze or trance that required every part of my body, mind, and spirit. I focused on the lyrics to each song and when I could, my breathing. The contractions required complete mental stamina and self-control. Unlike my first birth, I found it so difficult to surrender or relax. I had to completely let the music, my breath, and a total physical surrender carry me or I was a panicking mess. I felt myself trying to escape the intensity, but I knew there was only one way through. A few times, I looked at Jessica and said “Tell me I’m safe. Tell me this is normal.” And she did. I didn’t need her to save me, I knew she couldn’t do this work for me, but I was thankful for a motherly presence to see and understand me. This was the deep travail that was forging me into the new mother I needed to become, and it hurt like hell. I was beginning to fall apart and surrender control. “This is a divine time,” Jessica reminded me. “Jesus and Noah are here with you. You do not have to be afraid.”

By 9:00 pm, I was pissed. I felt like I was being ripped in half, and not just physically. My surges were close together but lasting around 45 seconds, and it the peaks felt unbearable. I wasn’t suffering, but I was being refined to my depths. I knew God was holding us and I was so thankful to be in this space yet the fire in my body was moving me. I knew we were as close as ever to holding our baby and I was panicking, in disbelief, that we actually could be very close at all. During surges, I was roaring and between them I was silent, staring off. “I’m scared,” I told Drew and Jessica. “I can’t do it.” They assured me that I could, I had before, and I would again. I alternated laboring on hands and knees and kneeling on the floor both hours of active labor. Drew was constantly giving me counter pressure and supporting me as I needed him. I’m so thankful for his trust in my body’s ability to birth.

 My first labor I was irritated, but this one I was raging. The pace was so much quicker. It felt like there was no break at all between each surge. At the peak of contractions, I was naked, loudly screaming “fuuuuuuuck” and feeling the pressure of the baby’s head pressing my waters out in spurts. I know this anger truly was my grief, as C.S. Lewis so correctly explains it: “I sat with my anger long enough until she told me her name was grief.” The pain of the last year was releasing in one unique way it hadn’t yet: physically from my body.

Around this time Ezra began to look under me and ask “Baby come out vagina now?” My roars had shifted into grunts and growls and I knew my body was beginning to bear down. I reached inside myself and felt the baby’s gooey head, and as I rubbed my fingers across it, felt his body wriggle in response. I still wasn’t convinced he was close. I asked Jessica to warm the shower for me again. I think I had a subconscious knowing that I was about to push my baby out, and for some reason chose the shower to move into.

By 9:20 I finished a contraction kneeling next to my bed, stood up, and made it to the shower. Drew and Jessica stood outside the door. Ezra began crying for Drew, who I sent to go be with. Within a few contractions, my bearing down was becoming immense, uncontrollable pressure. I could feel the baby’s head descend into the lowest part of my birth canal, just about to crown. Jessica quietly asked if I wanted her to be any closer, and I had her come into the shower next to me. With the next contraction, I could feel myself stretching open and the heat of the water pounding my back felt like the only thing making the intensity any better. I held my hand underneath myself, feeling the outline of the baby’s head press against my skin. As the surge washed away, I whispered out loud “I think it's a boy” and in the next contraction began to crown. Drew scooped Ezra up and ran into the bathroom to see a full head of black hair hanging out of me. I slowed my breath down the best I could to allow my body to stretch fully and panted before the next surge began, pushing baby’s body out. Catching him, I untangled the cord from around his shoulder and neck and brought him to my chest. I looked up at Drew and Ezra in disbelief and Drew cried out, “It’s a boy! Our son, Emmett Heath Lawrence Koch was born at 9:35 pm, in our shower, caught by me. Jessica turned the water off and draped a towel over my shoulders. He was completely perfect, let out a small cry, and then peacefully laid in my arms. My baby was finally here. We did it. I held him tight.

Pt. III, the afterglow

When I was ready, they helped me to the bed where we sat as a family of four and took Emmett in. I wept, in disbelief it happened so fast, and in shock at how immense the pressure of his head coming out of me felt. Almost immediately I felt the pressing of my placenta releasing downward and was pissed once again, lmao. I was desperate to take this baby in and for the sensations to subside. This was the last step. I stood, holding Emmett still and attempting to push it out and pulled on my cord gently, but eventually went to pee on the toilet and pushed it out into a bowl. This was the best relief ever.

After getting settled in bed, I asked Jessica’s assistant to warm me some turmeric bone broth which tasted like heaven, and ate a few apples and peanut butter. We got ready to cut the cord an hour later. “I cut cord!” Ezra insisted, so he and Drew did it together. Drew got our very sleepy Ezra to sleep and joined us back in the bedroom. We spent the next several hours taking our baby in while Jessica and her assistant cleaned up our space and helped us get comfortable. We weighed Emmett, who was 8lbs 5oz of perfection. By midnight, they had left and we all lay together, in total shock at what had occurred, how quickly it happened, and in awe of our precious son.