My Second Home Birth Story
Birthing at home in the mountains with my 3-year-old doula
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There is something about the end of pregnancy that is utterly excruciating for me. Not just the physical weight but the weight of anticipation. There is a German word, zwischen, that has been used to describe this state of in-between. A portal, a mindset, that does not adhere to logic, no matter how many times we hear, “due dates are meaningless”. To me, it’s as daunting as standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to bungee jump, but not knowing when you will be thrust into mid-air. Once you’re airborne, it’s exhilarating, and all your worries are behind you while you soar on a high like no other, as present as you’ll ever be. I have never bungee jumped, nor do I ever plan to, but I imagine that’s what it’s like. I have, however, walked alongside hundreds of women on their journey through matrescence and through this feeling that often arises at the end of pregnancy. I even wrote a book with chapters dedicated to navigating zwischen, but that hasn’t made me immune from experiencing it myself.
My midwife was certain I wouldn’t get to 40 weeks because I had been measuring three weeks ahead with a VERY low baby, but alas, my “due date” came and went and I reluctantly turned my pity party into a dance party as I had with my first pregnancy. For me, an elective induction is out of the question and that goes for “natural” home induction as well. My only remedy for the post-dates blues was pouting through patience and dancing around the kitchen head-banging to No Doubt, Black Flag and The Misfits. Turns out the songs that soothed my teenage hormones do the trick for pregnancy hormones too. My living room moshing didn’t send me into labor, and thankfully didn’t break my back, but I managed to somehow bounce my baby into a far more comfortable position that took pressure off my pudendal nerve (fun word for a nerve in the pelvis right?) in a way that no bodywork was able to.