If you missed Part One of my birth story, here’s a quick recap:
My water broke unexpectedly on a quiet Sunday evening at 39 weeks while I was eating a rotisserie chicken wrap with my four-year-old. Blake rushed home from golfing, my mom came to get Jet, and I spent the night doing intuitive movement and resting. By sunrise, I spent the next few hours dancing in the shower to Lizzo and swaying through contractions while staying in close contact with my midwives. Things were picking up, and the energy felt different—calmer, and stronger. From the shower where I was dancing, I headed downstairs.
This is where Part Two begins.
Settling In Downstairs
Once I made it downstairs, everything shifted into a new gear. I found myself on all fours on our bed, instinctively returning to a position that felt powerful. During my first birth, ending up on my side had slowed everything down but this time, deep in my consciousness, I remembered the mantra:
“Vagina to the floor brings the baby to the door.”
So I stayed there as contractions tightened their rhythm.
At this point, Blake realized he hadn’t eaten and ran upstairs to make a protein shake. It usually takes less than a minute except I didn’t have a minute between contractions. The second he left, another wave hit.
My dear friend and photographer, Ilze, immediately stepped in, placing her hand gently on my back. Her presence grounded me in a way I’ll never forget. It felt like her own motherhood seeped through her palm and steadied me. I felt safe. I felt held. I felt ready.
Transition Makes Itself Known
By the time Blake returned, everything had intensified. Within a few contractions Mikah, the student midwife, looked at me and said the words:
“You’re officially in transition.”
Hearing it out loud snapped something into place internally. My body already knew, but permission from the outside made the path forward unmistakably clear.
A contraction later, my midwife Savannah had gotten up when she had heard the low, guttural sounds coming from me..The ones that signaled we were close.
At this point I had been downstairs for about an hour when I began whispering the affirmations my book friends had sent to me. The two that stuck were:
“My friends are with me and I am not afraid.”
“Through love, anything is possible.”
And then my personal favorite:
“I’M A GROOOT.”
Closing in on 10 a.m. on a 75 degrees and bluebird skies Monday I traveled beyond the veil and brought our baby boy earthside.
I stayed on all fours, arms draped around Blake’s shoulders. As he always is, he became my anchor—steady, solid, unshakeable. I leaned on him; I screamed into his shoulder; I used his strength to bear down for the final moments of labor.
With one deep, guttural cry “THIS FUCKING HURTS!” I pushed his head out. Along with it came one tiny hand. I’m told each of his fingers slowly popped out… and yes, I felt every single one.
I knew then that the next contraction would be the one.
In many births, babies make their entrance one shoulder at a time. Not this boy. On that next contraction, I decided all of him was coming and he did.
At 10:08 AM, caught gently by the student midwife, Mikah, Augustus Blake entered the world.
We didn’t know his name yet. It took a full day to settle on it, but it couldn’t fit him better.
I didn’t need oxygen, an IV, or any intervention. My chart had four lines written on it and most of them were vitals.
The three of us were able to stay together, undisturbed, in our own bed for two golden hours before the cord was cut and assessments began. The birth was smooth, joyful, and so supported.
I had no tearing, minimal bleeding, and as quoted by the midwives
“A Rolls Royce down there.” 😂
By 1 p.m., the birth team quietly packed up, leaving us to soak in the softness of the moment.
The next day, our eldest son joined us. I tell you what, watching my two boys side by side was unreal. It still is. That moment is stitched into my memory as one of the most breathtaking of my life.
I can also honestly say I had the most beautiful postpartum experience imaginable. Friends checked in, meals appeared at our door, and I felt supported in a way I never got to experience back in 2021. I’m still so grateful.
Birth looks a thousand different ways, and each one is worthy of honor. What matters most is feeling supported, respected, and safe—wherever and however it unfolds.
Pregnancy is demanding on my body, but labor—when I’m given the space to trust myself fully is where I feel most alive. This home birth was not about control or perfection; it was about surrender, presence, and power working together.
I hold immense gratitude for the midwives who walked beside me with such quiet confidence, for the hands that grounded me, and for my husband, my constant anchor, who remains a true unicorn in his care, devotion, and tenderness.
This experience reminded me what my body is capable of when it is trusted. I will carry it with me forever.
