I have to say that in comparison to my first birth, where I was in "transition" (7 cm) for eight hours, I can see why the midwives called this one a butter birth.

But we’ll get to that part later.

It all started on a peaceful Sunday evening.

I had been telling Blake all week to go golfing, so once I got back from a lovely book club brunch that morning, he told me he was finally going to go.

I remember saying,
“It’s okay, I’m not having a baby today.”

After Blake left, Jet and I played around the living room while I did some intuitive movement with the yoga ball. Then I shifted into full nesting mode, making strawberry lactation muffins and oatmeal chocolate cookies.

Not thirty minutes later, Jet and I were eating leftover rotisserie chicken wrap dinner together. He was listening to his Yoto, and I had maybe taken three bites while reading my book when I felt a little bit of pressure and then a full-on gush.

I stood up, startled, and my four-year-old looked at me wide-eyed and asked,
“Do you need to go potty?”

I said giggling, “Yeah… I think I do.”

I walked to the bathroom, heart racing, and tried to call Blake but of course, no answer. I was shaking, excited, and a little in disbelief.

I called my mom next, since she was the plan for our son’s overnight care.

She picked up calm as ever and said, “Okay. I’m on my way... congratulations.”

Right then, Blake called me back.
“My water broke,” I told him.

Sarcastically, he said, “I’m on the last hole. Should I just play through?”

I laughed, “Get your butt home.”
(Which might be our son’s favorite part of the whole story.)

When Blake got home, we jumped into prep mode. He was buzzing with excitement, so I told him to get the laundry started and finish the dishes while I flipped the bed.

At that time I felt great, sending cute emojis to my midwives. Leaky, sure, but no consistent contractions but also very aware that it was all about to change.

“Gree gree” (my mom) came to get our eldest son around 8:30 p.m., just about an hour after my water broke. He was in the car by 8:45, still light outside, no late-night driving for my mom.

It was the smoothest send-off we could’ve hoped for.

Aaushi, one of the midwives on the team who had responded to my water breaking, said she’d check in later that night. I tried to lay down to rest but somewhere around 12:30 or 12:45, I started feeling some bigger sensations that still weren’t consistent. Aaushi texted shortly after, and when we talked on the phone, she asked how I felt.

“I don’t know,” I told her. “It’s still a little early. I’m clearly holding a conversation with you, so nothing serious yet.” She laughed and agreed so I told her I’d reach back out in an hour.

Around 1:30 a.m., I texted her that I've decided to try and get some rest. I had a few contractions here and there, but nothing that kept me from sleeping in between. I actually rested pretty well until about 4:00 a.m., which, funny enough, is the time I had been waking up naturally for most of my pregnancy.

I got up, had a little food, and things started to shift. I let Blake know that things were intensifying, even though they still weren’t super consistent yet. He got back into prep mode, and I rocked and breathed through it as best I could.

By 5:30 a.m., I texted the midwife again, this time to let her know I had just gotten sick during a contraction, and that Blake would be communicating with her from here on out.

After that contraction, I headed into the shower.

The water felt grounding and warm, giving me what I needed. I queued up Lizzo’s - Tempo, Nicki Minaj’s - Feeling Myself, along with other fun, upbeat songs. I swayed and danced through each wave of sensation, letting my body move the way it wanted.

Blake was with me the entire time, though in between contractions, he slipped outside to water our plants which honestly brought me great joy. During this time he brought in his grandpa’s old mechanic’s mat to put under my knees so I’d have some support on the tile. It was such a small, gentle gesture, but it made a big difference.

I was told my midwife, Savannah, who had been with me throughout the entire pregnancy, was on her way shortly. So I stayed in the shower, breathing through contraction after contraction. Eventually, she and Mikah, a midwifery student and BIG part of this story, arrived.

At the same time, my dear friend Ilze came, camera in hand, ready to take photos.

The midwife checked the baby’s heart rate, and everything sounded perfect. She even complimented how I was positioned, one knee down, the other out to the side, swaying back and forth.

She had just gotten off a plane and come straight to us, and it felt like such a sweet moment of support.

Blake reminded me that I hadn’t planned to stay in the shower too long… but honestly, I could have stayed there forever. The water, my breath, the rhythm..it was my little labor cocoon. 

Then I had a moment that should have told me just how far along I was: I pooped a little in the shower. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but in hindsight, it was a big clue that things were moving along quickly.

With this in mind, I finally made my way downstairs.

(To be continued…)