In the movies, labour starts dramatically with a gush of broken water. All the fluid rushes from the woman’s body at once like an upended bucket, and then labour is on! In most cases, labour actually doesn’t start like that. Only a quarter of women have their waters break before contractions start, so I was mighty surprised when at 5:15am on the 21st of November I was woken with a bang. Well, more like a *pop* really. You can actually hear it, a split second before you make a terrible mess all over the place.
You know how as a kid occasionally you’d wake up from wetting the bed? It’s not at all like that. But it’s warm. And there’s a lot of it.
Dustin launched himself out of bed at my alarmed cries and got me a towel, and when I thought I was done I climbed out of bed to head for the bathroom – but I was not done, not by half. So there I was trying to wrap my legs tight around each other like a rope of liquorice, calling “Towel! Towel!” in a panic, while the light of dawn peeked through the window.

When I got in the shower, I lost more water –never underestimate how much water your uterus can hold! – and this is when I realised there was a problem. My waters were green, not clear or with a hint of pink, and there were small chunks of something that looked a bit like fish food or tiny seaweed flakes. No. No no no.I knew what that meant. I called my midwife, and asked her about it. “How green does it need to be, to be dangerous?” I asked. I didn’t even say hello, or good morning, or sorry to wake you. I guess my manners were still sleeping. She advised me to put on a pad, because that would give us a clearer indication of how bad this really was but let me know I shouldn’t panic. It wasn’t a dark green, and there was no mucous or black meconium.
Mildly comforted, I showered and went back to bed to wait for contractions to start. It was promising to be a long day, better to rest while I could. My midwife popped around about a couple of hours later, and asked to check my pad. That’s pretty embarrassing. I felt like… how do I present this soggy thing? Silver platter? Folded discretely in a box to hide the shame? But anyway, she had a look and then discussed options with me.

Meconium is a baby’s first poo. Its presence in the waters means an increased risk of infection for the baby, who could possibly have some trapped in its lungs. It can also be a sign that the baby is distressed. Owlet’s heartbeat was fine though, and so was my blood pressure and temperature – so we decided the Mec was probably due to the fact she was running a little late, informed the supervising midwife (Jackie), and then continued with the plan to home birth. I felt quite a bit of pressure to get her out of there fast none the less though.

Sonja went off to run errands and visit her mum, seeming it was still early days and she wasn’t needed, and told us to call her when contractions were three minutes apart and lasting a minute each. Dustin and I went out for lunch, walked around, went to the store where my workmates were asking when I thought the baby would come, bought flowers. I insisted I wanted fresh flowers for my birthing altar – my focus point.
My sister texted by the time we got home, letting me know that she knew I was in labour (because she was in pain – we share pain quite often so I wasn’t really expecting her to get through my labour peacefully, but it blew Dustin’s mind. He’s never really believed me before when I’ve said “I’m getting Bec’s earache” or “I should call Bec and let her know I’m ok in case she felt that.” But this time he knew there was no other way for her to know. He’d been with me every second, and I hadn’t touched my phone.) She wished me luck and reassured me that she wouldn’t start panicking and calling if the labour turned out to be a long one.
I can’t remember if we called Sonja when I got to a 1:15/3 for each contraction, or if she fluked out and called us. I was quite distracted; I lost all sense of time. I’d been taking some homeopathic stuff that was supposed to help labour progress but at that stage I thought it was a load of bull, and I stopped taking it sometime in the mid afternoon.
The day wore on, but I felt good. The contractions didn’t feel as long as the clock said they were. There was pain, but I knew I could handle it. Dustin stayed with me and coached me, the midwife looked on – lightly monitoring owlet and I. We were physically in pretty top shape. Dustin danced with me, lead me through a ritual (Basic rune magic) to help me focus, rubbed my back in between contractions and then got clear when another wave came because I couldn’t stand being touched. He read to me, brought me cold lavender cloths for my face, helped me in and out of the shower, changed my pad (I was still losing water well into the afternoon) and told me I was beautiful and strong. My midwife told me I was doing great, she reassured me that everything was as it should be. There were many times on that first day where I was really enjoying myself. Yeah, there was discomfort, but it was peaceful and productive and I was loved. It truly felt like I’d entered sacred space.
~Berkano. Here in your sanctuary, focus on your purpose. Connect to the earth. There is a stillness, a now-ness to all things. Just be. ~

Night fell, and there were candles all around the room. I used my altar for focus, I remained calm. There was too much pain for me to face dinner, so I ate a handful of cheerio’s and left it at that. It’s a privilege of homebirthers that they can eat in labour if they choose, but I couldn’t imagine why you’d want to.
The pressure in my bowel was like nothing else. Seriously, I’d already shat four or more times that day, but I still felt like I had to go. Sonja reminded me that birth tends to feel very much an anal experience and that the pressure was the baby’s head squashing everything.
My contractions got weirder as the night wore on. They got so close together that I thought I would stop coping, I’d have 2 -4 without a break, and then a five minute rest. Then more contractions. Some of them were terrifying. Others were so easy to get through, it concerned me. I checked myself internally in the shower at some point, and I could feel how low my baby was. I could feel the funny lines on her head where the bones overlap for labour and everything. I could also feel what I assumed was my cervix – and there was still a lot of it there. I hoped, being untrained, and with the baby’s head RIGHT THERE, that I was wrong. So afterwards I consented to an internal. So far, I hadn’t had one. Another bonus of home birthing – people put their hands in your twat far less.

To get the internal, I had to lay down. That was hard, and painful. I couldn’t lay on my back at all by the end of pregnancy and in labour it was much worse. So there I am, on a plastic table cloth on my louge room floor, splayed out like a frog and HOLY FREAKING SHIT WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE?! IT HURTS! IT HURTS! GET OUT!!
I thought it. To my credit I didn’t yell. I made faces though, and at the end I’m like “ok I’ve had enough”

When Sonja started asking if I thought I’d be able to sleep, a small part of me was alarmed and disappointed. I knew I was on a time limit from my water’s being gone and from the Mec. I didn’t want to think about not being able to finish this thing tonight. But, I was only 3cm open (Magic number is ten) and my cervix was as thick as a wedge of cheese.
I couldn’t deny being tired. And I’ve always prided myself on being able to sleep through anything (True story - Once on a visit, Dustin was working on a film for school and I was allowed to go along. The days were long, longer with the travel… and at one point I slept standing up with my back against a pole. I didn’t even fall over haha.) So I consented that we’d all try to sleep. Of course I thought it must be like 9pm. If I’d have known it was midnight, I’d have been more considerate. (The only clocks in the house are on our computers and phones. I can usually guess the time pretty accurately anyway, but when you’re in the labour zone there is no time. It’s like a trance.) So, they ran me a bath against my better judgement to relax me and ease the pain.

I hated labouring in the water. I don’t understand these chicks and their birth pools and bath births. Granted, in between contractions it helped with the pain (Oh, by the way, there’s still pain between contractions, just not as much of it. I would have liked to know that beforehand. Because everyone mentioned resting between contractions, I kind of figured that when you weren’t having one everything was roses and butterflies. Not so) but when a contraction hit, I felt like I had nowhere to go. I felt out of control. It was horrible. I didn’t stay there long.
Because, medically, I was still in early/pre labour (rather than “active/established labour”) the bath did manage to slow the contractions down quite a bit. I guessed they were five or so minutes apart, maybe as much as seven.
We went to bed, Sonja slept on the lounge.