The Home Birth of Alexander John Stones

When I was in the bath at 9pm on Thursday, I had a sore Braxton-Hicks contraction, so decided to get out of the bath. We were in bed by 9:30pm when I had another, which was so uncomfortable I got out of bed. After that I was antsy and unable to get comfy to go to sleep, rather like I’d been the previous night. I kept getting up to go to the toilet. Already I was wondering whether I might be in labour, but told Jonathan that I was having Braxton-Hicks contractions as they were only as strong as some I’d had in the past, and they hadn’t been labour. There was a camping mattress lying next to my bed, set up earlier in the day as my “dry land labour” place next to the birth pool, which I’d started assembling. I’d left it folded in half so that I wouldn’t walk dirty feet over the cloth cover, but decided to open it up properly so that I could sleep on it, so that my constant toilet trips wouldn’t be so disturbing to Jonathan. Actually doing that disturbed him even more, so he offered to go sleep in another room and went. I suspected I was in labour but didn’t want to say so in case I was wrong and I looked silly for thinking mere Braxton-Hicks contractions were labour.

Pretty much from then (around 10:15pm) I gave up on the pretence of sleep. In between contractions I half-heartedly read a book and a magazine. I didn’t have time to get out my labour food of rice and soup, and quite frankly I have no idea how I would’ve been able to eat it. Sharon’s other idea of baking a cake in labour also seems ludicrous – maybe other people’s labours have long gaps between the contractions at the beginning, but mine were 30 mins for the first two, and 20 mins apart after that.

I tried a bath at 11pm, but found that it wasn’t deep enough for my tummy to be in the water when I was in my most comfortable position, which was on hands and knees. I knew by then I was in labour but was determined to let Jonathan sleep for 3 hours before calling him, as I knew how annoyed I was that this was starting after a day of being awake, and not when we were rested. But by then I’d managed to make a noise in rooms on either side of the room where Jonathan was trying to sleep, so around 11:30pm he came back into the bedroom asking how I was. He claims that he had been awake the whole time, and listening to my progress, and only came through because I was suddenly quiet!

By the time Jonathan came into the room, I’d settled into one position for contractions, which I stayed in for the rest of my labour. I was kneeling on the camping mattress next to the bed, with my arms on the bed. I had my head and arms on a pillow so I was fairly upright. Each contraction I would grab Jonathan’s hand and he would comfort me through the contraction, reminding me to breathe in and out deeply. If he wasn’t there (at first he still thought that there was time to finish constructing the birth pool, though I knew there wasn’t), I was inclined to panic and not breathe regularly and deeply. He also helped me to realise that there was time between contractions where I could think and talk rationally. At that stage, the gap was about 10 minutes. He told me that my contractions were around 30-40 seconds long, which really helped, as if they were really sore, I could count down from 20, knowing it was nearly over. I went on believing that they were 30 seconds long, until I heard him tell Sharon on the phone that they were a minute long! It also helped when I worked out what it felt like just before a contraction so I didn’t feel ambushed by them. (I would get unable to make decisions when a contraction was on me, and say “I don’t know!!” to the simplest question like “would you like something to drink?”)

Jonathan wanted to do an internal to see how dilated I was (he learnt this on the home birth ante-natal course we did), but I was scared it would be very sore, so I refused for quite some time. When I eventually let him at 1:30am, the contractions were about 5 minutes apart and I was 5cm dilated. He said Sharon said we should only phone when I was 6-8cm dilated, which seemed rather advanced, as I knew that some people go from 7cm to fully dilated in a couple of minutes. I was also worried that she’d not take us seriously like she did with the lady who called to say she was in labour while we were at an ante-natal class. Sharon took about an hour to finish up the class and leave! So I made him phone at 1:45am, and again at 2:15am to check how far she was by then. She was just around the corner, so I needn’t have worried. When I mentioned that the next day, she said she was surprised to hear we were only calling for the first time after 4-and-a-half hours of labour.

Sharon arrived at about 2:30am. She gave me an internal, on the bed and to my surprise, lying on my back. I can’t remember how dilated she said I was. I remember her saying “9cm” at some stage but I think that was later when I was back in my labour position kneeling next to the bed. When she said “9cm”, she said that only the membranes were holding the baby in. I had got Jonathan to position my alarm clock so I could see the time, and I remember working out at 3am that I’d been in labour for 6 hours. I was amazed because it felt like a fraction of the time, and like I was only just starting labour.

Because the first stage had felt so short, I expected the second stage to be short, like half an hour, but it actually took about an hour, with both Jonathan and Sharon telling me that the baby’s head was appearing and then disappearing back again. Jonathan and Sharon wanted me to feel it, but most of the time I felt it would be too distracting to try to reach down there in the short gap between contractions, and when I eventually did, it felt wet and icky and I didn’t want to feel it, even though I knew it was the long dark hair of my baby that they’d described to me. In contrast to the first stage where I couldn’t imagine sleeping in labour, in the second stage I went into a dozy trance for the minute or two that I got between contractions. There was no panic in that stage, and I even think that I made some witty (albeit one gasped word) answers to suggestions that Sharon or Jonathan made that I thought daft. Throughout the second stage I felt I had to have Sharon’s lovely warm hand on my tailbone. I got encouraging hints as to my progress from what Sharon asked Jonathan to fetch.

At some stage there was a bigger push feeling with a contraction, and whoosh, my waters went all over the towels they’d put down on the camping mattress. I was rather surprised when Sharon said I should push, and I didn’t really try that hard at first, remembering all the scare stories about tearing if you push at the wrong time. Then she explained that the urge to push would feel like needing to poo. I was glad she had explained that, as I might have tried to resist it, but instead I pushed like going to the loo, and then I felt my body push on beyond that feeling. I’ve seen pictures of primitive tribes who stretch their lower lips to hold a tobacco pouch. When I stretched for those big contractions, I visualised my bottom gaining a horizontal tobacco pouch out the back! As I continued with the tobacco pouch stretches I worked out I could pile two or three on top of each other during one contraction, and that got me further. Eventually I got to a stage that the head wasn’t slipping right back in after the contraction, and was staying there in between. The last few contractions I’d tell myself that I’d make the big effort and this would then be the last one I had to do, but then during the contraction I’d decide that I couldn’t do it this contraction, and I could tolerate just one more. At the very end the gaps between the contractions got quite long, and I was able to get my breath, drink some water (doctored with rescue remedy drops, I was told later) or lemon barley ice cubes, instead of grabbing them like a runner at a water-stop.

At 4:13am on Friday 11 April 2003, on a contraction that I only sort-of believed could be the last, the head popped out. I could see it between my knees, with dark, bluish skin and dark hair. The shoulders didn’t come out the very next contraction, but soon after that. Before it happened, I felt a strange sensation as if Sharon was pulling the baby into the right position, but I realise she can’t have been, so it must have been my uterine contractions doing it, which is awesome. The whole second stage I was amazed at what my body was doing all of its own accord. Sharon caught him, and passed him up to me. As soon as the body came out, he started crying and went pink.

I held him for a minute or so, eventually remembering to check that he was a boy as the obstetrician had said at the scan. Then Jonathan clamped and cut the cord under Sharon’s direction as it had stopped pulsing. Jonathan took the baby and I sat on Sharon’s camp toilet and birthed the placenta, which was surprisingly quick, only a few minutes. The baby was still crying as didn’t like the new experience of gravity after weightlessness in the womb, so Sharon suggested that I get in the bath with him and put his ears and torso under the warm water to comfort him, which I did. Jonathan sat at the edge of the bath and we discussed his name, coming up with a to-be-confirmed name, which we confirmed a couple of days later: Alexander John Stones.

Once Sharon had dressed him and shown me how to give him his first feed, she examined me, and weighed and measured him. My perineum was intact, and I had just a slight tear on the labia, which stung when I pee’d for the first 2 days. He weighed 3.2kg and was 53cm long, head circumference 36cm.

The Home Birth of Sophia Rebecca Stones

I first noticed contractions when putting Alexander to bed before 8pm, but wasn’t sure if it were labour. It was painful reading to him while lying on my back, but I put it down to the position more than anything else. When I went through to have my supper, I continued to have contractions, which were sufficient to stop me eating for the duration, but they were still fairly mild, and very short, although about 5 minutes apart. From then on we acted as if I could be in labour, me getting my lemon barley from the ice cube trays into a bag, and Jonathan starting on the path to the pool, but I didn’t feel convinced enough to actually phone the midwife, Sharon. Jonathan brought me the phone but I just just ignored it, not wanting to phone and sound silly if I weren’t in labour. We were both half hoping it wasn’t true, because not only was my mom not arriving till the next day, but Alexander’s nanny had gone to town and we weren’t sure if she was coming home for the night or staying with her daughter overnight. She had said I should phone if I went into labour, but we worried that there would be no taxis running in the late evening to get her back here. Eventually I did phone Sharon around 9pm, and did feel somewhat silly when she suggested I take a bath to confirm if I was in labour. She had been asleep, so I felt bad I’d woken her to get advice I should have remembered myself, but she was very nice about it.

The bath firstly seemed to slow and stop labour, with no contractions for over 10 minutes, so I was feeling at once relieved and kind of foolish, when I got a contraction that not only was more substantial than the previous ones, but my waters broke with it. I reported to Sharon, who gave me the next set of instructions, to check for signs of a prolapsed cord, and to have some honey and “make contact” with my daughter. I started getting a little worried when I made no contact for ages, but I was also distracted by contractions every 5 minutes, and feeling stuck in the bath whenever Jonathan went off somewhere before he’d constructed the path from the bathroom to the bedroom. Because of my waters breaking in early labour, this labour felt very different from the previous one. The previous time I’d gone into very active labour almost instantly; this time the contractions were sore, but very short. Last time I didn’t care at all about mess; this time I was messy because of my waters having broken, but trying to be considerate of Jonathan’s experience of this birth, so I didn’t want to mess all over the place.

At 10pm, Jonathan came in with twin pleasing items of news: both Alexander’s nanny and Sharon were there! Sharon had come over when I hadn’t phoned back, but had hung around outside our gate waiting for me to call her. Jackie was outside waiting for her daughter to come home from youth group and Sharon’s parked car made her suspicious, so she asked who she was, and then let her in the gate, without Sharon having to ring the doorbell, which was nice. Sharon didn’t seem to think I was very far along, as she did all kinds of setting up types of things, before asking if I wanted my dilation measured. Previously she had just come in and measured it, but then I was 9cm then. This time I was “2-3cm but a nice full 4cm when I stirred”, which sounded encouraging though not that far. I was not expecting a long labour so I wasn’t disappointed. However, I was a little surprised when she suggested I bake a cake, something she likes to get her ladies to do, to take their minds off things and keep them upright. I thought that was more for people with a long way to go, not with contractions every 5 mins. But since I know my cake recipe very well and I’d promised Xander a birthday cake for Sophie, I decided to rise to the challenge. While I baked, my contractions got a lot harder to handle, but the atmosphere in the kitchen was still almost festive, with Jonathan and Sharon heating urns and things, and me baking in between contractions. Unlike last time where I really needed Jonathan there to survive a contraction, I wanted Sharon for these ones, and even managed quite a lot with nobody.

At 11:10pm, I put the cake in the oven, and Sharon said we should probably get to the bedroom “or this baby will be born on the kitchen floor”. In retrospect, she meant just that, but we thought it was more a silly turn of phrase at the time, and wandered through. I asked if I would be allowed to get into the birth pool, hoping I’d be 6cm dilated by then, and expecting Sharon to look at my dilation before allowing me, but she just said casually “I guess that’s up to Jonathan: he knows if the pool is full enough and the right temperature”. It wasn’t quite full enough, but he wasn’t sure how full to fill it without me in, so I got in. I found it a little disorienting having a contraction in the somewhat shallow water, but I realise now I was probably close to transition at the time.

Shortly afterwards, we heard Alexander cry “Mummy, Mummy” and Jonathan went to him. He wasn’t pleased with getting fobbed with Daddy, so Jonathan brought him through to the bedroom to show why Mummy couldn’t come. He looked rather surprised, and was still disgruntled, but this was more because he wanted his skateboard/rollerskates. We thought he meant ones he’d made from lego, but he then said they were black, so it’s possible he dreamed it. I felt quite sorry for Jonathan as he rushed around fixing water temperature, tried to help me through contractions, all holding a little moaning boy. I had a contraction that I tried to escape from by pushing myself nearly out of the pool, to the horror of Sharon and Jonathan. I got a huge urge to push. Sharon told me to stop pushing, and feel Sophie’s head to see why: it was very nearly out! Even that wasn’t really enough to stop me. I panted a bit, but then started pushing again, because I of the sight of my wide-eyed little son, and his poor Daddy balancing him on one knee while squatting by the birth pool to hold my hand and look into my eyes. I felt I couldn’t actually make them survive one more contraction with me scared and scary. Jonathan said afterwards there was no need; Alexander was not worried about me, only his skateboard, but I was so determined to push, and so careless of tearing that I felt myself still pushing after there was nothing to push against, and everyone was cheering and saying “you have a little sister, Xander!” and I realised that she was already out. It was only 11:56pm, so she had made it that day and not waited to the next one. As it turned out, I didn’t tear at all.

Sharon said she was worried about a couple of things, so got me out of the pool quickly to birth the placenta. I put Sophie to my breast, and it was out in a few minutes, and Jonathan cut the cord, which Sharon said was a lovely one.

Sophie really is tiny: 2.4kg and 48cm, with a head circumference of 34cm, the smallest baby that Sharon has ever delivered at home, but perfect and full term, despite coming out at 38 weeks 2 days. My placenta had a tiny bit of calcification and she had some vernix on her. Two days later my milk is already in and she is breastfeeding beautifully. Her big brother adores her: the jealousy is all for Sophie’s attention rather than for the attention Sophie gets from others! He demands to hold her (lying on his back on the bed) often, holds her hand and brings her toys to play with “when she is bigger”.

The Home Birth of Finnian James Stones

After false labour the previous Saturday night, I was no longer convinced the baby would be earlier than his brother (born at 39 weeks), and was even trying to persuade myself he would stay in till 40 weeks. Jonathan was joking that I should consider a morning birth and I replied that I’d told the baby he could wake Mummy at 4am, and it would be nice to get the labour over by 8am.

On Thursday 5 March (39 weeks), I had a midwife appointment in the morning, where Sharon confirmed what I could feel, that the baby was engaged properly at last (in the false labour he had moved down, but come back up again the next day). That night I woke with definite contractions, which I knew would achieve something, the baby being engaged. After a couple I woke enough to get out of bed and check the time, which was 3:44am on Friday 6 March. While I ran the bath to do the official check whether the contractions would increase or lessen, my waters broke, a small puddle on the bathroom tiles. I managed to light candles and set up the mattress and path to the bathroom before getting in the bath.

My contractions continued in the bath, and Jonathan sat next to me, holding my hand through them and timing them. It didn’t feel long before we decided to phone Sharon, although according to my cellphone that call was put through at 4:41am, so actually an hour into my labour. At that point, Jonathan reported that my contractions were 7 minutes apart. Although I had thought they were about 5 minutes apart, I didn’t feel put out, because they were quite intense, more like my first labour where contractions had initially been 20 minutes apart, than the mild 5-minute-apart contractions of my second labour.

Jonathan went on various forays to the other end of the house for labour food, and to open up the house so Sharon could let herself in if necessary. He was careful to come back between each chore (e.g while heating the food in the microwave), to minimise the number of contractions I would spend alone, which I appreciated, even though it was still difficult to be alone for one or two contractions. I was quite willing to try the bum-in-the-air position Jonathan requested, to keep the baby in while he went up the corridor, as I realised the baby was going to come really quite soon. I knew I was at transition because while he was gone, I would feel like there was no good position to be in. In the end I settled on holding onto the bath grab-rail. Of course, by the time he got the labour food I knew that there was no chance I could actually eat anything.

Even with him back, I started to get quite scared as I knew how close to birth I was, and Sharon hadn’t arrived. Then I felt the baby’s head on my perineum. I asked very plaintively when she was arriving, and how long it was since he’d called her, but luckily it was literally a couple of seconds before we heard her car outside. Jonathan disappeared to help her bring things in, and before he was half way down the corridor I was calling for him to come back.

I heard her let herself in, and roll her oxygen tank down the passage. It was 5:09am. I had one rather panicky-sounding contraction before I was informed that Alexander had joined the party, having woken, he said, by a sore neck. Nothing to do with the doorbell, his mother shouting or wheels past his bedroom door. His presence gave me a reason to pull myself together a bit, although I did wail “I’m scaaared” once as my perineum stretched to let the head out in one movement. Both Sharon and Jonathan kept saying “stop pushing! Stop pushing!” but I truly was holding back as hard as I could, my body was doing the pushing all by itself. The next contraction the body came out, and Finnian was born.

Almost immediately Xander asked if he could wake Sophie to see the baby. I encouraged him and they came back in time for her to see the baby cradled in my arms, still attached by the umbilical cord. I stayed in the bath even to birth the placenta, though Sharon had wanted me to get out for it, saying the blood might scare the children (it didn’t). Jonathan cut the cord, and Sharon led the children in singing “Happy Birthday” to the baby.

Then we all moved into the big bed to admire Finnian, with his blond hair and long hands and feet. After he had had a meal, he was weighed and measured: 3.25kg and 52cm, almost exactly the same size as his brother had been, though his head circumference was the more manageable 34cm of his sister.