The Birth of Mable: The Story that made this Midwife a Mother

Being a mom was never something I desired or envisioned for myself. I was (and still am) terrified of raising littles. Before my husband and I were married, I had decided we were never having kids. But, as I’ve learned time and time again, I should never say never to God. 

One year into marriage, the Lord had convicted my husband’s heart, and we decided to follow the Lord in His leading. We received a positive pregnancy test within two weeks of “trying”, and I remember trembling with fear-filled tears, staring at those two pink lines in our tiny apartment bathroom. 

Midway through my pregnancy we moved from WA to MN to be closer to family. As a midwife, I knew my pregnancy was far too easy compared to the many accounts of momma’s I had been taking care of in their pregnancies. Other than first trimester fatigue, I was coasting into 36 weeks feeling confident of my body and its ability to carry this baby and eventually to birth. However, at 36 weeks the tables turned. My baby was found to be breech. 

Being a birth worker, I had already run through the possible complications for delivery that could happen to me. Hemorrhage, check. Neonatal resuscitation, check. Long labor, check. But breech? It literally never crossed my mind. Breech was also illegal for midwives to deliver in my previous states/settings for birth, and my experience was always a transfer to the hospital for an automatic c-section. Breech is scary to modern medicine, and it was certainly fearful for me as a first-time mama at 36 weeks. 

While I could accept a c-section outcome for medical reasons, it felt so important to me to be able to experience labor sensations and a vaginal birth in order to better understand and empathize with the women I was supporting in my own midwifery practice. I felt like my baby’s breech presentation was taking that away from me. 

After several emotional days and discussions that helped me process the possibility of a breech birth at home, my midwife was fully confident that I should pursue a vaginal delivery. She had recently taken a breech training by Dr. Stu (OBGYN who teaches breech maneuvers); she had never attended a breech delivery, but was willing to give an option other than cesarean. With much prayer, we decided to continue the course of a homebirth. 

My anxious first-time-mom spirit was now determined to do whatever it would take to have my baby before 40 weeks. With countless cups of red raspberry leaf tea, evening primrose oil, 6-8x cervical sweeps, a foley balloon, chiropractic care, acupuncture, herbal tinctures, and several rounds of castor oil, I found myself 13 days over my due date in tears. Day 14 would have put me at 42 weeks, and in my mind I would have risked out of homebirth midwifery care and would be transferring to the hospital the next day for a c-section. My heart was crushed and my spirit was distraught. I remember sobbing to my husband, fearfully thinking out loud, “I have no chance of bonding with my baby with a cesarean delivery, and I need to bond well since I don’t even want to be a mom anyway.” 

Soon after my emotional break down, around 1pm, we decided to read the book of Psalms out loud in the living room, starting at Psalm 1. Immediately, and I mean immediately, my contractions started coming 3 minutes apart. One after the other, I was welcoming these sensations while doing hips circles on my birth ball. I was so desperate to keep labor going, my husband made it to Psalm 62 before we decided labor wasn’t stopping. We called my team of midwives around 3pm and my waters released within the hour they arrived. With all the prior labor preparing measures I had been doing for weeks, I know I had started labor being 4cm dilated.  I assumed I would progress nicely and quickly, but by 10pm, though I was 8cm dilated, my baby was still high in my pelvis. 

Hour after hour, we labored through the night. Worried labor would peter out, I opted for herbal tinctures to keep it going. Endless position changes, counter pressure on my back, and a heating pad wrapped around my abdomen, I was hitting a wall. I asked for another cervical check by 8am, and no progression had been made. I was (still) 8cm with my baby not descending. My coping skills were out the window, and I couldn’t have felt more defeated. I was asking to go into the hospital. I didn’t want to do another contraction.

My midwives talked through the options with us, and I told my husband he needed to make the decision for me. I was not in my right mind to decide, and I genuinely felt that all of my options seemed grievously intolerable. After reassuring me that all was still normal, my husband decided we would continue to endure. I had already done 20 hours of labor, “how much more Lord?” I thought.

After a few more hours of many position changes to encourage my baby’s descent, I found myself in the shower finally feeling that unmistakable urge to push. My midwives helped me make my way over to the end of my bed to be upright for delivery. With every surge, I would grasp my husband's hands as he strengthened me through the final moments of birth. My baby was born exactly how she needed to be in breech position and then passed through my legs for me to bring her to my chest. Her eyes immediately opened and looked into mine. She knew it, and I knew it. I was her mother. 

I finished delivering the placenta and made my way to be tucked into my bed. My body was aching and sore but my mind was in the clouds. I was soaring with my body’s ability to birth despite some differences. I couldn’t be more thankful to my team of midwives for being willing to take me on, always encouraging, and saving me from a major surgery. 

Mable’s birth will always remind me of God’s faithfulness and His goodness. I’m grateful He changed my heart towards motherhood. I’m thankful for His patience and tenderness with me as I continue to navigate motherhood, in my impatience with my kids and my wandering heart of discontentment. My daughters have changed me for the better, and I’m forever grateful.