I wanted a water birth, but the only facility that provided it in my area stopped taking babies due after January 1st. A nurse there told me about homebirth, and so I checked out nchomebirth.com to check my options. Two midwives contacted me, and I met with one and loved her right away. She was well-informed, experienced, and crunchy, like me. I kept all my regular OB appointments, and I met with the midwife once a week after my 36 week mark.

February 20th is when the sonogram reported I would give birth. My math told me otherwise. There was only one day that I could have gotten pregnant - June 7th, 2006. Bobby and I were at the beach. The first two days we spent relaxing and exploring the beach. The fourth day onward we were too sunburned to even look at each other. February 27th was my real due date. I didn't need a machine to tell me that.

So after a quick doctor visit on the morning of the 27th, in which the doctor who had delivered me wanted to talk induction, I was going about my normal activities. That evening, I was starving, so I fixed myself a wonderfully massive dinner - a huge slab of grilled salmon, mashed potatoes, and baked beans. That didn't satisfy, so chocolate pudding and milk followed. I went potty (again), and then came back into the utility room to do laundry. I felt a trickle on my foot, so I muttered and waddled back to the bathroom, thinking the baby had again head-butted my bladder. I finagled my way into the shower, with my shirt on, just to rinse. I noticed what I thought might maybe have been a pink tint to the water flowing toward the drain, but shrugged it off.

I looked at the alarm clock glowing 10:15 PM on the way back to the washer when I felt the first pain. I knelt across the bed, thinking I was having a Braxton Hicks contraction. This pain, however, was real. Really, really, real. I started breathing slowly and deeply, the way I was taught in Lamaze class. It helped. Bobby knelt by me for a while, keeping an eye on the time between contractions and grabbing the phone. The first call was to the midwife, who listened to my breathing. She inferred that it was early labor, and told us to sleep it off and call her in the morning. I called her back in 15 minutes, when the contractions were rapidly increasing their pace to 4 minutes betwixt pains. She thought it prudent to go ahead and make the two hour drive. Meanwhile, I'm beaching like the whale I am, trying to find a comfortable position to push out the calf, but I'm not satisfied anywhere. I feel the urge to release the pee, so I sit on the toilet, and angels sing. YAY! No more pain, and no mess on the floor.

The perfect birthing chair for me was the porcelain perch. Let me note here that my friends and family say I have balls of steel. I didn't scream in pain the entire time I birthed. I was silent until the pushing began, at which point my body started grunting for me thanks to the force on my entire torso. When the Lamaze teacher told us to replace the word pain with the word pressure, my preggos and I laughed out loud. She was right, though, so I should probably let her know. I think I was the only one in the class of 25 that wanted to have a natural childbirth, much less at home.

Back to the labor - Sara has entered the picture, and is beginning the phone tree I have in place, letting the attendees know the event horizon was looming. Bobby is on the phone with the midwife and his family, and I am breathing on the toilet. To be completely honest, I couldn't have screamed even if I had the inclination. It took all the air I could suck in to maintain the blood flow to my brain. Remember that big dinner? My advice to you is not to eat any large meals, especially ones that won't be as pleasing in reverse. I chucked and hurled for hours, much to the dismay of my queasy-stomached husband, who had the honorable job of holding the trash can and smelling my instant-replay fish dinner. He hated fish before that, so you can imagine that he despises it now. An hour into labor, my contractions were about 3 minutes apart, which gave me little time to breathe between chucks. The vomit didn't stop for another 4 hours! I told you it was a huge dinner. I can tell things are coming out of me, but I am disinclined to move more than a few inches - just enough to keep the toilet ring from making a permanent impression on my heinie. I really wish I had thought to shave that morning. Would have made the entire process much less - hairy.

Alas, my shirt was the only vestige I claimed from this point onward. At 12:20 or so, my entire birthing party had arrived - My mom, two RN sisters, best friend's CNA mom and sisters, in-laws, BSN midwife and RN assistant, in addition to Bobby, Sara, and I. At least I was covered well in the medical field, yes? Everyone came in to visit me in my dimly-lit restroom and were astounded at my position and muteness. I spoke to them in my mind, but my focus was internal. Occasionally, my sisters would come in and note the position of the baby's foot, protruding noticeably from my enlarged abdomen, as it descended lower and lower. Finally, the midwife asked me to try walking around the house. I put on a robe, walked from the bedroom, into the living room, to the kitchen, and then the prayer meeting began in front of the microwave. A contraction hit right then, and I grabbed Sara, Betty and Molly (that I remember) and we all breathed in unison as they supported my weight. Once it had passed, I looked up to notice someone had left time on the microwave, so I hit the cancel button on my way back to the commode. "Don't leave time on the microwave, people. That messes with me. So much so that I will fix it during labor. So please."

I remember the midwife asking if I was going to deliver on the toilet, and I nodded. She moved the comforter and the chuck pads under me, and attempted to listen to the baby's heart rate. The contractions were getting too close for her to get an accurate reading, but she could tell in a few seconds that it was fast enough. The contractions were so close by the fourth hour that they were one solid wave, ebbing ever-so-slightly from one second to the next. That continued for at least an hour, and I remember very little of it. I was so focused by that point I don't remember anyone speaking to me or checking me, though I am sure they did. On my next attempt to escape the bathroom, I exhaled into a body vibration. It was really time to get down to business. I asked (I think?) if that was the urge to push, and someone gave me a positive response. The midwife checked my cervix, and I was at least 8 cm dilated, so I went with my body. A small grunt at first turned into a high-pitched meow. The air was forcefully removing itself from my lungs. The midwife asked me to squat on the bedroom floor, which I couldn't do well, but I tried. After a few attempts, we tried a side lunge to get me opened up, and the force buckled my knees. Gravity was supposed to be on my side, right? My growls became deep groans at the coaching of the midwife, which helped me focus the downward push. One more attempt at squatting, and I felt what I describe as a road block - the baby was jamming his head against a bone in my pelvis. The pressure was too much, and I fell forward onto my hands and knees. I felt a pop, a release, and I knew his head had found its way into the birth canal.

At this point, Bobby and midwife were behind me, watching the progression of that small black head of hair toward the world. Hot compresses were being pressed against me to help the blood flow, to relax the tissue, and to keep the area clean. You would think scalding washcloths on your butt wouldn't feel so great, but it's all relative at that point. With my contractions now only every 2 minutes, I had time to breathe, stand, talk, and joke. I was aware that I had an audience for the first time in a while. I noticed it was getting hot in my room. It was hot enough for me to sweat. Later on, I hear that Mom had complained of being too hot, and had completely forgotten she was still wearing her thick winter coat in the 85 degree room. The temperature was just right for baby, so the door stayed closed, and the air stayed hot.

Sometime around 4:00 am I did the inevitable - I pooped in Bobby's hand. Of course I had no idea, considering the immense pressure there, but we caught the look of disgust on video. I do remember the assistant scrambling for tissue paper, which was my only clue to the activity at my rear. Bobby could feel and see the baby's head now, which nearly brought him to tears. Once his head was ready to crown, the midwife told me to breathe shallow, like blowing out one little candle at a time. The ring of fire was only a second long, and I barely noticed it thanks to the endorphins and hot compresses. Once his head emerged, I heard gasps of "AW!", which was my clue that he was almost out. He tilted his head to the side to prepare for his shoulders to come. I felt the last contraction coming, and asked if I should push or not, and the midwife said, "Push lightly," but I only heard, "Push," before rocketing him into Bobby's hands. I knew at that moment I had torn, which is uncommon in home births.

I looked over to see the looks on everyone's face, and I wish I was the one holding the camera. Teary-eyed grandmas, aunts, and a proud dad were the first things Logan saw. He was born at 4:19 AM on the 28th, fashionably late, like the Rose side of the family. He was very red, with dark, thick hair, and a black eye. The "easy" part was over, and the part I was dreading was upon me. I have a beautiful squirming baby boy attached to my placenta by a too-short umbilical cord, and I'm in no position to see him. My large belly and my shirt were hanging down too far for him to be passed through my legs, and I had no muscle control in the lower half of my body. I spent the next minutes surveying faces, listening to oohs and aahs, and waiting for instructions on how best to proceed with getting up and getting him to the breast. Bobby and midwife were busy wiping him off, wrapping him up, before they helped stand me up long enough to pass him to the front. I said hello for the first time to my baby, so tiny and light. He passed the all fingers and toes test, but he was still attached via a pulsing cord. Since it was so short, he had a hard time reaching my breast, and I stopped contracting all together. He didn't offer enough stimulation to the nipple for my body to trigger the placenta's delivery.

After almost an hour, the midwife hoisted me up to squatting position long enough to push it out. It felt like pushing a bowl of Jell-O through an hourglass, and it plopped into the bowl. Logan's cord was clamped and cut, he was weighed and measured, and he was finally free enough for me to hold. I looked at Bobby in through dazed eyes and realized that we were parents now for the rest of our lives. After a while, my father-in-law came in to meet his new grandson and take a few pictures, and my birthing party starting heading home for some sleep. The one noticeable absence was my dad, who felt the compulsion to go fishing in Tennessee just two days before my due date. He met Logan when he was a month old.

The midwife checked my tears, and they were more extensive than she felt comfortable suturing herself, so she sent me to the hospital. Bobby, Sara, Ann, and I all headed out, and my welcome in the ER was less than hospitable. That confirmed my feelings that home was the best place for Logan to start out - surrounded my familiar things, people, and smells. I will say the injections that were supposed to numb the area were more painful than the whole birth. And I could still feel every stitch. Luckily, I wasn't there long, so back home with my baby I went. I could have avoided the sutures all together, had vaginal stretching exercises been employed for weeks before the birth. I was happy, I was home with my new family, and the rest is history.

A few notes about the recovery: My lochia flow was exactly four weeks. Imagine your worst period. Now for a month solid. Yeah. I felt so gross.

Sitz baths were my friends.

Scar tissue is terrible.

Kegals are great.

My belly didn't go down for months.

I had no stretch marks. Yay!

I was walking by day 2, but only for short distances.

The baby's first pediatrician appointment and shots were day 2.

My midwife did my laundry and checked on me the next day.

Breastfeeding is best, but it took 6 weeks to establish a strong nursing relationship.

He won't take a bottle or pacifier to this day.

I went back to my part-time job the next day, and my strenuous job in 8 weeks.

I definitely took advantage of the "sleep when baby sleeps" method for the first 2 weeks.

Sleep deprivation or depression was not an issue for me.

I first slept 18 hours after he was born, meaning I was awake for 39 hours straight.