*warning: real birth story here including the less picturesque bits*
Before Pregnancy: I have been longing for our last baby in our family since our fourth child was born really. But going from 3 kids to 4 was a learning curve for us alongside my writing work taking off, especially with beginning homeschooling at the same time, and decisions needed to be made there regarding home and life boundaries–so there were a lot of logistics to sort out. We enjoyed our time as a family of six but I was always carried the hope in the back of my mind. After a few years, I did get pregnant at last (after months and months of those emotional hoops of hoping, waiting, and negative tests), but miscarried a few weeks later. It was my third miscarriage over the course of all the years. I decided to meet with an OBGYN to discuss any support or suggestions and stats on getting pregnant, especially as my 40th birthday loomed. She gave me the news that I had a 1-5% chance of realistically getting pregnant at my age at this point and essentially I left deciding I needed to be at peace with the reality of whatever happened. It was bizarre a bit to be told I was past the point of fertility because in so many respects I didn’t feel old, but at the same time, I understood.
I left it up to the Lord.
The following month (or second month, I can’t recall), I was pregnant! I was thrilled while at the same time anxious hoping I didn’t miscarry yet again.
Pregnancy: I went to our first OB appointment at 8 weeks and got an ultrasound and saw baby. This was incredibly joyful after experiencing loss in that same room two previous experiences during ultrasound. I was thrilled. I left the OB office with my husband and together we realized we really weren’t up for going with them for delivery for a few reasons.
To sum up previous deliveries without much details:
- Twin breech delivery vaginally in a hospital with epidural and it was an amazing experience
- Daughter born vaginally in hospital with failed epidural and failed blood patch alongside slew of traumatizing issues that led to our decision to homebirth. 9 pounds 2 ounces and one-two pushes at birth
- Planned homebirth of daughter but got very ill from Covid and developed, likely as a result, cholestasis which led to delivery in hospital, unmedicated, with pitocin and quite ill—despite all a much better experience than the previous one
- This birth
We did our research again on homebirth, felt settled, and I called the certified nurse midwife well-loved in the area for her 45 years of amazing work and thousands of deliveries and asked if she would be available for working towards a homebirth again. She saw me through my last prenatal treatment with my daughter but we had a change of plans due to cholestasis-causing emergent delivery. She was beginning to wind down taking on clients, but as we had worked together for last baby thankfully, she said yes.
Despite being so so grateful to be pregnant, this pregnancy was unusually hard for me, particularly mentally. Maybe it was because I turned 40 years old and my body just wasn’t quite as up to the physical task as previous pregnancies, or because I was already juggling a very full schedule and life with homeschooling four kids and writing. I had typical sickness and exhaustion during the first trimester and was relieved when it left around 13 weeks. It was the third trimester that was particularly rough on me though. I had low iron and began supplements (which helped a little) but I just felt quite a bit of inexplicable anxiety and sadness and fear and a struggle to keep joy this time around.
Frankly, I was incredibly humbled and ashamed by how hard a time I was having (especially with the continuous thoughts of how much I wanted this and how grateful I should be and how much harder other folks may have it). I read several books on happiness and contentment and parenting and deepened my quiet times and while all of that helped just enough to carry on (alongside good communication with my husband and a couple close friends), I was still shockingly overcome with a sense of despair many days. It was overwhelming and I really felt humbled by how frail I was mentally.
(Frankly, that humbling experience is something I’m grateful for in retrospect. I have been a generally happy person throughout my life and had a hard time before this understanding when people can’t just “look on the bright side.” This experience has given me such empathy for people struggling with deep feelings of anxiety and sadness and an awareness that I am certainly no stronger than anyone else.)
I was particularly anxious about wanting to be healthy for delivery this time around (after the cholestasis situation last time and a stomach bug through the house the time previously) and with unusually high rates of flu, stomach bug, and covid going around I ended up being very careful starting in January about being near folks with sickness. Winter sickness and missing several social events due to sickness all around played a toll on me emotionally as well. I thrive in social settings and feeling poorly as well as missing social activities was an additional struggle.
My husband, however, was incredibly supportive during what was such a trying time. His encouragement and support when he came home from work or on the weekends and even a couple times during the work day really helped me get through each day.
Labor & Delivery: Braxton hicks began around 20 weeks or so but this was my first pregnancy with prodromal labor. It started in the middle of the night around 38 weeks of pregnancy and would wake me up with painful contractions every single night—contractions that would be about 6-10 minutes apart, fairly impossible to sleep through, but stop in the morning. This was particularly exhausting and a mental strain on me. A few nights I’d begin timing them on an app and it would declare I was in established labor and it was time to call the midwife. But then, by morning, they’d stop.
Every night I’d go to bed and be fooled by sleepless nights. I was so tired and so down.
Especially towards the end, for the first time in my life, I got to where I couldn’t respond to the daily comments and messages from people, in person or via text. I dreaded the well-meaning messages and words because, unfortunately, I was having such a hard time coping.
My husband began coming home with nightly talks about what we were going to do to celebrate going through another day. TV shows and back rubs and attempts to get out and eat breakfast or buy flowers ensued. Wonderful momentary distractions that led me closer.
My due date came and went.
Finally, at 41 weeks and 1 days of pregnancy, I began to have afternoon daytime contractions in addition to nighttime. But again, they stopped in the morning. In the afternoon of 41 weeks and 2 days, I had show alongside the contractions. I had a hard time trusting if labor were starting or not at this point and decided to go on a walk and pray. I walked around our field where the sheep and pigs and chickens followed along and prayed and listened to Scripture and my Christian hypnobirthing app (as I had so many nights during this pregnancy–which was wonderfully helpful). Contractions continued from about 4pm onward.
A particular verse I clung to over pregnancy:
“You keep him in perfect peace, he whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You.”
-Isaiah 26:3
I was mentally at the end of my rope with the mind games of contractions, but the beginning of contractions during the daytime and show was a slight encouragement. The contractions continued overnight and, like the days before, eventually were so strong I had to get up. I began to think that perhaps this was really it.
I let my husband sleep for several hours (as I did most every night the past few weeks) and contractions came and went. A few times I would feel the weight of exhaustion and try to sleep but they were too painful to rest so eventually I got up and cleaned the kitchen and made coffee cake bread at four in the morning (because sure… ha).
I held off calling for the midwife as the contractions, while getting stronger, were never quite consistently 4-5 minutes apart. Eventually the sun rose and, disheartened, I felt my labor stall yet again. I was tired and laid down, and woke to very strong contractions spaced 20 minutes apart for an hour. That was rejuvenating rest and gave me energy, although at the time I thought it meant my labor was gone and I wasn’t going to be in labor after all (again, devastating).
I got up and contractions picked back up to around every 6-10 minutes for the day. I assumed it wasn’t really labor and more prodromal labor because it was on and off for so long, but they were strong enough to make me pause and control my breath. The weeks of prodromal labor made me think I was never going into labor officially—just the day before I had Googled wondering if I might humanely not be able to ever go in labor (ha).
Eventually, my husband encouraged me to message the midwife and let her know what was going on. He also pushed me to message her the evening before to let her know I was having contractions during the day and had some show—she said it was promising news and to keep me updated when they were 4-5 minutes apart or intense.
I held off because they never were quite 4-5 minutes apart. When I sat down to “dilation station” in the middle of the night they went down to 2-3 minutes apart and strong but when I got up they stalled out again. I felt like I was faking it all and it was for nothing (and again, with delusional thoughts that I’d be pregnant forever).
Finally, I was very tired in the afternoon—enough to lie down for an hour–and felt the nudge to call her while praying. I didn’t want to but did and let know I had been up all night with intense contractions but they had stalled. She had some particular tips on “dilation station” and I did them and immediately the contractions built to regularity alongside more and more show. She also said to alternate movements every 20-30 minutes so I moved from station to walking.
Boy was she right. I was so grateful I called.
I walked around and began to think—hey, this might actually be it. The kids were at home and it was surprising being able to ride the contraction wave and then carry on life in the time off.
The contractions I got included intense, persistent lower back pain as well (which I later learned was back labor and he was turned) and for some of the time Ben pushed on my back (until that felt too painful and it was better just to not be touched).
Around 4pm, 48 hours after my first “real” contractions, I had enough intensity that Ben told me I needed to call the midwife or else he would. I was so hesitant, fearing that she would get to my door and tell me I was 1cm and this was nothing—or it’d go away. I kept telling him I wanted to wait until they were consistently intense just in case it stalled again. But then through one contraction in the living room I gripped his hand and breathed through it and he said, “It’s time. You need to call her.”
I called her around 5pm and told her what was going on (the continuous show, contractions) and she asked if I’d recommend her telling her midwife assistant too who lived about 45 minutes away. I said I was a bit nervous she’d get out here for nothing and so she said, “No problem. We do this all the time and at the very least I can check you and listen to the baby. I’ll come over myself first. We were going to do the non-stress test today anyway so it’s just fine. Go ahead and tell Ben to fill up the pool.”
My prayer throughout this pregnancy and through my walk the night before around the wheat field and barn was begging God that this delivery would be peaceful. Unlike the last two deliveries, just truly peaceful. I knew pain could happen, but I longed so much to not have scary situations arise. This pregnancy I had been in such a constant and previously unknown fight with fear and anxiety and dread; I longed to have a delivery that was filled with peace.
She got to my house and I was nervous because she wanted to check me during a contraction and of course my contractions suddenly stalled out. I paced in the living room and frankly hid for a few minutes, trying to get one to she could feel, and was just apologizing when one came.
At 6pm she checked me on the couch and said chipperly, “Oh look! You’re at seven and very stretchy. I’m going to call the other midwife.” I was in happy shock.
SEVEN.
THE TURNING POINT.
I said, “So you don’t think it’ll be several more days??”
She smiled and said, “Days? You’re going to have a baby today!”
I was THRILLED hearing her call the other midwife and say, “You better get in the car and come over. RIGHT NOW.”
I can’t express how relieved I was. It was like an entire pregnancy of emotional weight and a darkness I can’t explain that wasn’t there with any of my other pregnancies had lifted.
I WAS HAVING A BABY. TODAY.
It was really happening.
I wasn’t at 1cm and she was going to turn around go home.
I wasn’t the first woman in all creation to never be able to go into labor.
This long, hard pregnancy was about to be over AND I WAS GOING TO MEET MY BABY BOY.
I walked around and let the contractions come and she unloaded a ton of emergency equipment and set up a station in the hallway of all her things. What shocked me this time was just how alert I was able to be. Talking in between contractions. Coherent. Felt energy. It was very, very different from last delivery with Pitocin and cholestasis and covid simultaneously where I passed out between contractions and was very, very inward and not really able to communicate with the outside world.
This time, I was healthy and it made a world of difference. In retrospect, my body literally knew when I was exhausted and stalled labor enough twice to let me sleep—once in the afternoon for a full 45 minutes.
My body knew what it was doing. I gained strength in those moments.
I was alert. I was even able to laugh and converse. I wasn’t never at a point of thinking, “I can’t do this.” It was so different.
An hour after my midwife got to the house, I asked when I was able to get in the tub. She said anytime I wanted so I did.
Around 7pm the student midwife arrived, and I was in the birth pool in the toy room by the front door. She introduced herself and in between a contraction I joked, “Hi there! I gotta say, I’ve never met somebody in a pool (half naked) before.”
Amazingly, even now with so many weeks of prodromal labor I found myself sincerely asking, “Do you think I’ll have this baby by tomorrow?”
She said—without checking me but with her years of experience, “You are ten cm dilated. You are having this baby in minutes!”
I could hardly believe it. The relief in her wonderful words.
I began shaking slightly and called for Ben (who was quite the busy piddler during this time helping to move this and that) to hold his hand. I think he was in disbelief about how fast it was happening too. The pain in my back was so intense and the contractions were coming every 2 or so minutes apart now. I could feel the baby lowering down and down.
My eldest two girls came to the bottom of the stairs to watch. I had been just breathing through contractions up to this point, but they were getting extremely intense that my breaths were becoming deeper and lower.
She said, “If you feel the urge, you can push.”
I had felt pressure, but with my last baby, I had the fetal ejection reflex and pushed her out without my own actual pushing. I had assumed this would be the same so when she said this I thought it couldn’t be time. *Although, to be clear, it was hard and I was very much wishing this were over.
She said it again at a second contraction and I told her I didn’t really feel the need to push (but again, very much wished I could).
She gently said something like, “Why don’t you give it a try? Take a big breath during the contraction and see if you can get 3 good pushes in the contraction” and I did, and once I did I could feel the baby moving, moving, moving with each push. She was right. The start of pushing made me feel like pushing more—I felt a pop and she said, “There’s your water.”
A relief! Moving forward! It was happening!! I really was going to have this baby!!
Another second later, I gave a low, pushy breath out and gave it all I had and she said, “You’re crowning.”
I felt the crowning, and she said, “Want to feel his head?”
I did for a quick second feel his head of hair and that the contraction was over and I was very tired but gave another push anyway to give it all I had (four pushes in that one contraction) and then felt another kind of “pop” and she said, “His head it out.”
Oh the relief.
My eyes were shut entirely to focus and I said, “Is the head the hardest part?” (Yes, I asked a lot of unsteady questions—yes, I’d done this several times but I think this was my way of getting support. I love her sweet, steady nature and gladly welcomed her quiet assurances.)
She said, “Yes.”
She said gently, if I wanted, I could rest for a second and push at the next contraction but as the seconds went by, I felt his body moving and cried out, “He’s moving! Is he ok?”
I had a fear with him being underwater but she said, “Yes, he’s just adjusting his shoulders.”
After about 30 seconds I felt him a second and third time and decided not to wait for a contraction because it made me nervous (my husband was starting to get quite nervous seeing his head underwater too he later told me, even though the midwife was so calm), and I pushed hard and thennnnnn suddenly I felt a release and she lifted him up out of the water and put him on my chest!
It was the most incredible feeling. She unwound the cord from a couple spots around his body and there he was!!
The perfect little boy.
She cried out, “Oh, he’s a big boy!” and I said, “It’s over?!” in total disbelief.
7:40pm. The assistant had just gotten there forty minutes prior. She herself only had checked me less than two hours prior. It was perfectly, peaceful timing.
He cried heartily out as soon as he was on my chest.
I held him and the girls came over to look at him and we were all in just incredible amazement.
I was SO HAPPY.
I FINALLY HAD MY GLOW.
Every hard, dark second of the past 10 months slipped into the distance.
My little boy was here.
I did it.
I endured and it was over.
Tobias Whitaker Ferguson arrived beautiful and perfectly.
A few minutes later, I stood up and moved to the couch where with a simple little push the placenta came out. My husband cut the cord after a while with him on my chest.
They weighed him and sure enough he was 9 pounds 14 ounces, although they exclaimed after he pooped 3 times (in the pool, on my hand, and on the table) that I had absolutely delivered a twenty-three inch, 10-pound baby. And I had just a tiny tear with no need for stitches.
Two days later, and he has been on my chest ever since. My beautiful boy.
The road here was not easy, but this was the most perfectly peaceful delivery and I’m forever and ever grateful to God for it and for him and for our beautiful family of seven.
“‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” 2 Corinthians 12:9
“Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes in the morning.”- Psalm 30:5
Tobias Whitaker Ferguson—
✨ Tobias • Origin: Hebrew • Meaning: “God is good” or “The goodness of God”
Whitaker • Origin: Old English • Meaning: “dweller by the wheat field” (where I walked many times before and during labor listening to Scripture and praying in earnest to God)
Ferguson • Origin: Scottish / Gaelic • Meaning: “Son of Fergus” • Fergus = “man of strength” or “virile, strong one”
Tobias Whitaker Ferguson
“The goodness of God, rooted in provision and strength”
Leave a Reply