First Born Second: Malcolm’s Home Birth Story

The periodic tightening in my belly, also known as Braxton Hicks contractions were familiar at 39 weeks of pregnancy. Charlotte, my first baby, had prepared me for those intense uterine hugs. I was in the mood to cook and I seized the burst of energy. I chopped, seasoned, baked and breathed through a meal of salmon, fettuccine alfredo and steamed broccoli.

Michael was already on his way home, but I called him to let him know what I was feeling. By the time we ate dinner I’d been having consistent contractions for at least an hour. Even though I had to stop and focus through the discomfort, I wasn’t convinced that it was anything to worry about.

Though my first pregnancy came with a lot of these sensations, I couldn’t recognize that it was the slow and natural onset of early labor. I showered while Michael cleared the table. As I let the warm water soothe my still gentle aching, I entertained the thought that “this could be it.”

I changed into the blue sports bra and soft dark gray sweatpants that I’d set out for my birth day, settled into a side-lying position and enjoyed some Netflix & Early Labor while Michael put Charlotte to bed. A labor timing app that he’d downloaded told us that I was contracting every 20 minutes at that point.

It was about 9pm on a Monday night.

Early Labor:

We called our birth team to give them a status update. The first call was to the on-call midwife from Birth Care, who let my attending midwife (Annie) know when things picked up. Then there was Claudia, an amazing midwife who practices in the DC area who attended our birth as a birth assistant. They asked how I was feeling and I told them about the amazing dinner I’d just had.

They didn’t confirm I was in early labor because that was hard to tell. Often women go into early labor, stop for several hours and even days before a pattern reveals itself. Their overall advice was a resounding, “chill.” They said I should relax, maybe even have a couple sips of wine and most importantly, get some sleep.

Finally, we called my best friend who planned to keep Charlotte company during the birth. And as I drifted off, Michael turned off the TV so that I could sleep. I didn’t need much coaxing.

One of my strategies for this birth was sleeping during early labor. I’ll never forget how exhausted I was when laboring with Charlotte. Her birth was induced, which meant I had to sleep in the hospital while my cervix ripened artificially overnight. Picture yourself in an unfamiliar space, in an uncomfortable bed, wondering how your birth will progress. I was scared. Fear didn’t make for the most empowered labor. So, this time, I did things differently.

Active Labor:

I woke up around midnight, no longer able to sleep through the sensations. I went to the kitchen to drink some cold Red Raspberry leaf iced tea that I’d been drinking over the past couple of weeks. I had read about the amazing benefits of this tea, including strengthening your uterine walls, decreased labor time and reduction in the use of birthing interventions. As I sat and sipped my tea, I realized the surges were much closer and stronger than they’d been before I fell asleep. 

I went back upstairs to the bedroom to labor for a while longer. By 1 am, I woke Michael up to let him know it was time.

As we headed downstairs to the family room (where my birth area was set up), we didn’t say much to each other. We didn’t get anxious or scared. We simply moved. Looking back on the experience I’m in awe at how in sync and grounded we were. It’s as if birth and my anxiety couldn’t occupy the same space.

We rented an Aqua Doula and had it set up over 2 weeks before my due date.

We also had our guest room set up, where I spent the first half of my active labor.

Michael began to fill up the birthing tub and I walked around lighting incense, turning on my labor playlist and Himalayan salt lamp, periodically stopping to focus on the contractions that were coming at about 5 minutes apart now.

Eventually I settled into bed in the guest room that was off the side of the family room. I nestled into my strategically placed pillows, humming and moaning through my surges. Michael called our birth team back for an update. I remember him passing me the phone because Annie wanted to talk to me. “How are you feeling?” she asked cheerfully. Before I could get a full sentence out, I had to pause to focus on another contraction. “I’m feeling alright. Things are starting to get stronger but I’m taking it easy,” I remember saying. Before the call was over, I’d stopped another time to focus. She told Michael she was on her way, at which point he called Claudia who also made her way to us.

Claudia greeted Michael & I in a hushed and optimistic tone as she shifted into support mode. She checked the baby’s heart rate as well as mine. She was intent on matching the meditative calm in the room.

Things were moving quickly. As the surges came I felt the urge to move, leaning over the bed instead of laying, getting on my yoga ball instead of standing. I went inward now more than ever, changing my positions as my body called me to. Meanwhile Claudia sat next to me, offering her hand for holding and her assured presence for comfort.

Laboring on my birth ball with my robe draped over me since I was shivering. My temperature was all over the place!

By the time Annie arrived, at about 5am, my labor was well established. She asked if I wanted to begin antibiotics because I tested Gbs (Group B Strep) positive for this pregnancy. Though we had the antibiotics set up in the room, I declined them because my water wasn’t broken. I’d done a lot of research about my options and the risks of exposure to my baby and I felt confident knowing my baby was still safe from a possible Gbs transmission within my intact waters.

“You’re doing great. Now I want you to give me three on the toilet and then you can settle into the water.”

I asked Michael if the tub was ready. Claudia must have sensed that I wasn’t quite as ready as I could be, so she recommended that I get on the toilet. I’d read that laboring on the toilet was one of the best things for a laboring mother. So, Claudia in her wisdom decided that’s exactly what I needed to keep the momentum going.

“3 contractions on the toilet. Ok, ok, I can do that,” I muttered softly. Both her and Michael helped me to the small bathroom. I took off my sweats and panties and waited for the next surge.

Transition:

Soon what would be the most intense and memorable part of my labor came. I was entering transition, the part of a labor when the cervix thins and opens the last couple of centimeters, usually between 7-10 centimeters. The way a woman’s pelvis opens while on the toilet is ideal for labor progress. It gives your baby the widest opportunity to make their descent deep into your birth canal, making transition contractions notoriously intense.

Fear, self-doubt and divine knowing may all be at the conference, but I only need one keynote speaker.

The first two contractions were difficult, but the third one took my breath away. It was the only time I remember calling for Michael. He had slipped out during one of the very short breaks between contractions to check on the tub. As I felt another one mounting, I called out for him.

Even through these challenging surges, I was holding onto my peace like it was air. I groaned, rocked, bellowed and buried my head into Michael’s stomach so that I had a familiar and comforting smell surrounding me. I even bit his penis on the peak of one surge, a detail that Michael clarified on the Homecoming podcast (a beautiful platform dedicated to black home birth stories) where we shared our birth story.

It’s at the 01:17:12 mark…

After each contraction ended, I could hear Claudia peacefully cheering me on outside the bathroom. “Goood. Now 2 more…now 1 more.” I heard Annie say, “you’re working really hard mom!”

There wasn’t one person there who doubted me or didn’t trust the process. My moaning didn’t signal an emergency. It signaled expansion.

After my “3 on the toilet” were complete, Michael helped me into the birthing pool. I noticed a thick, pink and cream-colored blob—my mucus plug—was smeared down my inner thigh as I lifted my leg to get in the water.

I instinctively got into a hands and knees, squat like position and enjoyed the peaceful embrace of the water. It felt like I was being welcomed back into the house after a cold afternoon. I was in a trance, unaware of much else put the comfort of the tub until I felt a strong “POP.” My trance had broken along with my water.

Crowning

Fear = False Evidence Appearing Real

The pressure of my son moving into a crowning position shocked me. I must have looked like a feral cat thrown into a bath. I started backing up in the tub, as if I could go back to the part of birth that was less intense, the part that required less resolve, less focus.

I felt the uncontrollable urge to bare down, something I had heard of but didn’t recall from Charlotte’s birth. I remember squealing, “Can I push? Can I PUSH??!!” Both Claudia and Annie encouraged me to listen to my body and push as I felt I needed to. I tried to breathe my baby down, a technique I’d practiced during pregnancy, but my mind had clearly left the room as my body entered the 2nd stage of labor.

I was still upright on my hands and knees and the intensity of the pressure was too much for me. I tried desperately to get back to my solace as Malcolm crowned but I’d lost grip of my peace. I was scared for the first time during this labor.

Claudia Booker, helping me surrender.

Claudia sensed what was happening and took the reins. She told me to stand up and I reluctantly followed her instruction. She stood behind me and held me.

“Put your hands to the sky. Let go and give your body and your baby permission to come.”

Her words supported me in a way that no hands could. She held me, but her affirmation is what coaxed my mind back into my body. The job of my womb was almost complete. It had nourished this baby for many months and now it was time to let go. Claudia slowly let me sink back down into the water with my arms still raised in a sun salute position.

I can’t remember if it was by instinct or suggestion, but I eventually moved into a seated, upright position. I told Michael that I think I was sitting on the heating probe for the pool, but Claudia gently corrected me: “that’s not the probe, that’s your baby’s head.”

The mood was so much lighter now. My contractions slowed down a bit since I was in the water. I was in the pushing phase now, so my contractions came with plenty of rest in between. Michael was told to “twirl the girls” because nipple stimulation triggers oxytocin, a hormones that’s like a natural MVP for labor progress. I let myself surrender to the water, the music and the process. I embraced the fact that my work would end soon.

The playlist landed on Bob Marley as Michael and Claudia sang along.

“We’ll share the shelter…of my single bed.” 

“Why’d it have to be a single bed?” Claudia chuckled, at ease at what must have been one of hundreds of births she’d attended. “Cuz they were poor!” Michael added with levity, not a hint of worry on his voice. We all laughed. It all felt so familiar, like home.

Laughter. Music. Peace. Surrender. This was right. This was natural. A universe away from what I ever thought possible for a birth.

Claudia and Annie told me to start focusing deeply on my pushing now because our baby’s head was nearly out. I channeled all my energy and breathed down with everything I had. I’ll never forget my last push. I thought to myself, “this is it. This baby is coming out with this push or I swear...” Before I could finish threatening myself, I let out a guttural and knowing scream. I didn’t have to open my eyes to know that the baby was here.

It was 6:42am. Michael had planned to catch our baby, so Annie helped him gently guide our son out of the water and onto my chest.

“I can’t believe I just did this! I can’t believe I just did this! I can’t believe I just did this!” I chanted these words with sweet abandon for the first couple of hours after Malcolm’s birth.

The endorphins released after a birth—particularly a non-medicated birth— are like none other.

Moments after Malcolm was born.

I was so happy. I was so proud of what I’d done. In that moment, I was born for once again as a mother.

The sun had risen. My best friend was on her way. Our daughter was still fast asleep upstairs, unaware that her little brother had just arrived. The music was paused serendipitously on a Bilal song—Soul Sista—from his album, “First Born Second,” fitting for our second born yet first home birth.