I get that I make the rules here, but how much information is too much? I found reading birth stories hugely reassuring waiting for my turn because I knew I wanted to try for a no-intervention birth but had almost exclusively seen the screaming, feet-in-stirrups, everyone-yelling-“PUSH!”-at-a-woman-begging-for-drugs birth scenes of American film and television. So with that in mind, I guess I’ll shoot for writing this like I could go back in time and tell myself how it would be.

First, there’s no way to describe the feeling of a contraction to someone waiting to feel one. My first few were irregular, non-progressing, and happened every night for a few days. They were curiosity-inducing, mild tensions in the lower half of my torso and reminded me that we were another day past our estimated due date. As such, when the midwife asked on my 41-week visit if I’d like my membranes swept to encourage progress from my two centimeter dilation, I happily accepted. And then I ate extra spicy Thai food for dinner. And stayed up way too late for someone with a non-stress test booked first thing in the morning.

[Pro tip: You really, really should sleep. If you don’t, you will have the baby. And I assure you, there will be plenty of opportunities to not sleep after you have the baby.]

I woke up to pee three hours later at 5 AM and discovered my non-progressing contractions had progressed. I sat and timed them with our trusty app for an hour. I figured there had to be some kind of mistake because I wasn’t miserable or writhing in agony. I finally woke Cody up at 6 knowing he’d be mad if I didn’t tell him when the app kept insisting I was in active labor. I think he responded by texting my mom and a handful of his friends about it.

My doubts about being in labor vanished when my lower back started aching with every contraction. I began a sampler of comfort measures to help pass the time. I took a shower, paced our bedroom, rocked on my hands and knees, leaned over our bed, leaned over a birthing ball, strapped an ice pack around my back… probably all in the span of thirty minutes. Meanwhile Cody got himself together and packed up a few last-minute items to bring to the hospital with us. He also made this little video:

It was a little after 8 AM when we got in the car (which I don’t recommend to anyone who hasn’t had much sleep and is aching every few minutes). I became very quiet in between sharp, decisive announcements of how to get to the hospital via local roads instead of the evidently motionless freeway. As I sat through two stops at gas station convenience stores and morning traffic, my mom texted me nice mom things like, “Drive carefully,” and I crabbily responded, “Don’t text me unless it’s an emergency.” [Sorry, mom! I love you more than I ever have before!]

We arrived at the hospital around 9, and my mom was already in the waiting room. A quick visit in triage showed me at 3.5 cm, and I was asked if I might like to take a walk around the neighborhood before being admitted. I don’t understand how some women do this. The contractions at this stage were past my personal point of public grace. But food! I wanted food! Some hospitals don’t want laboring women eating anything that isn’t Jello. Thankfully, mine seemed pretty lax about it. I opted against the walk, got settled into a delivery room, and with minimal-to-no sneaking, my mom quickly hopped out, reappearing with a croissant.

Here’s where things get blurry. I started feeling even more intense pressure in my lower back with every contraction, so much so that I was still feeling crappy in between. I held off on the tub for a while not wanting to slow labor, but as soon as the midwife gave the, “I don’t think anything’s going to slow you down,” the water was drawn and I couldn’t get undressed fast enough.

[Sidenote: one of my favorite things about being in labor was the part where my self-conscious mind shut off and my body just made me say and do what I needed. I don’t ask for help or really ever communicate much regarding my own wants or needs. On top of that, my worries about labor were things like how weird it would be to be naked around my mom, Cody, the midwife, and nurses… I worried about pooping on the table. Guess what! I was naked around all of those people! And I pooped! And I could not have cared less! In the throes of it all, all I cared about was our baby. I could tell everyone exactly where I needed hands pushing my hips to help me guide our girl out. I don’t know if I said please or not. Recalling a friend’s advice, I found myself yelling, “FUCK,” a few times, which was briefly met with giggles from our L&D nurse. Her giggles were swiftly struck down by a stern voice that flew unbelievably out of MY mouth saying, “I need you to not laugh when I say ‘fuck.'” (And then I was suddenly overcome with the realization that my body would produce different chemicals for happiness and love than for stress and switched to repeating, “I LOVE YOU! I LOVE MY BABY!” anyway.)]

So the tub! Being in warm water helped so much! I could actually laugh and eat half a popsicle in between contractions, and I pretty much hung out in there  until someone (probably the midwife, but like I said… it’s blurry) suggested everyone help me back up toward the bed to check how things were coming along…

I had made it to seven centimeters! I flipped through a folder of helpful resources from our birthing class to show myself that this was kind of a big deal. I was way past what Penny Simkin called “the moment of truth” and waited faithfully for my second wind as the nurse and my mom refilled the tub.

I got back in the water, where I dangled the thought of that second wind like the completely imaginary carrot it was.  None of the focused breathing we practiced (admittedly not as much as we should have) could compete with my body’s force, and a few times my flailing skull was saved by Cody’s hands catching it just inches from the faucet. This, I would argue, may have been my actual “moment of truth.” After every contraction,  I had the following chain of thoughts: “I can’t take another one. Maybe I do want the epidural. Nope, too late for the epidural. You’re already past the hardest part. You can do it. One more,” at which point another contraction would come and I would do it again.

By the time they had me back up to check my cervix, I was so tired that just being upright to walk to the bed felt unreal, like my legs didn’t belong to me. But I had made it! Not only was I fully dilated, but this kid was LOW, enough to feel her head with my own hands. The nurse asked how I wanted to push. My whole pregnancy, I imagined myself squatting to give birth. My body would open up and gravity would welcome our baby out into the breathing world. Of course, here was the moment, and I absolutely could not. I couldn’t trust my legs to bend and still hold me up. I guess that second wind doesn’t come for everyone. Basically on my back, I gripped the squatting bar anyway as the nurse and midwife began asking me to push.

After one or two pushes, someone announced that we could see her head. Exhausted, I knew catching my first real glimpse our baby would get me through this last part. I instantly asked for the mirror.

I never thought I’d want the mirror. You hear so much about how you’ll see things you can’t unsee and it’ll ruin the way you think about your vagina and all of these horrible things that take into zero account how incredible it is that you’re capable of delivering a completely beautiful person from your own tiny body and remain whole. My eyes were open as long as I could keep my focus for pushing, and I’m so grateful I kept them that way. Watching our daughter’s birth as it happened was an experience more amazing than I can describe. I felt humbled and empowered witnessing the very moment my heart burst. A month and a half later I still have a hard time believing that we did it. So yes, for the record, you do see things you can’t unsee. You get to see that you can do (and did!) something more amazing than you ever imagined – this wild and enormous thing that women have been doing for ages.

Throughout the day, we had the labor playlist I put together on shuffle. Appropriately, some of the biggest pushes happened during Vampire Weekend’s “Young Lion” (its only lyrics are, “You take your time, young lion”) before one of my favorite Visqueen songs, “Mrs. Elder” came on. It was at 3:42 PM and during the “don’t be afraid to love me now” part of the song when Bowie took her first breaths and let out her first cry. She was carried up to lie on my chest, and I greeted her saying, “Hello, little traveler. What a long way you’ve come!”