After a 29 hour labor that began with the full moon, we welcomed our son into the world in early October.

I woke up before dawn on Monday morning, 24 hours shy of my due date, to a cramping feeling I couldn’t ignore. My intuition told me this was the beginning of labor, so I did what I could to prepare my body. I ate an early breakfast in a still-dark kitchen, and enjoyed the anticipation. My only plan at this point was to stay nourished and hydrated, knowing that early labor could last for hours and potentially days. I managed to get a few more hours of sleep, but my cramping didn’t let up; it was coming every fifteen to twenty minutes. I woke up again around 9am and turned over in bed to tell Alfie we were going to meet our baby soon. I couldn’t believe it– after months of anticipation, the time had finally come.

I spent the day at home, doing my best to ignore my contractions, which were still mild and far apart. We finished up some laundry, and I laid in bed. My doula, Deidra, advised me to get some rest. Since this was my first labor, it was very possible that we would be losing some sleep that night. Napping is near-impossible for me on a good day, and I knew I was too excited to actually fall asleep in early labor, but I did my best to lay in bed and zone out watching some TV. It lasted about ten minutes before I decided to call my mom. As much as I wanted to share that her grandson would be here soon, I had chosen not to share when I was in labor in order to keep the calls and texts to a minimum. (I ended up texting her as things progressed, but we’ll get there!) I spent a couple hours on the phone with her and my sister, passing time and enjoying the conversation. My mom offered advice on how to get labor started, my sister asked if I planned to tell anyone when it began, and I did my best to play it coy.

The day passed. I had woken up relatively confident that I would have a baby in my arms before midnight, but as I watched the sun set we accepted that tomorrow would be our baby’s birthday. Quickly, I gathered my camera and asked Alfie to take one last photo of me smiling under the sky. The next time I walked outside, my baby would be in my arms and I would be a different woman.

We enjoyed a last dinner together with just the two of us, and around 8pm I decided to get into the tub to try and relieve the pain that was coming with each contraction. The day had passed relatively uneventful, and Alfie came into the bathroom while my bath was running to let me know his plan:

“I’ll just plan on going to work tomorrow unless things change.”

I burst right into tears and responded, “You’re going to go to work while I’m in labor?” Even though I was thinking to myself something more along the lines of what the fuck is wrong with you?! This is the point where Alfie realized this was the real deal. He called his work and got things sorted out very quickly after that, and we both were able to laugh while I relaxed in the bathtub. I’d spent the whole day telling him how I didn’t have my hopes up too high, and that there was a chance things would slow down overnight, but I hadn’t meant THAT much.

Labor, however, did not slow down. As the night progressed, my contractions began to get stronger. Alfie had been sitting on the floor next to the bathtub to keep me company, and helped me get up to use the bathroom. Once I got settled back into the tub, he went to lay down in bed for a bit and I was left alone in the bathtub with the lights off and my ambient flameless candles clicked on, where reality truly began to set in.

For years I had told myself I could handle an unmedicated birth, I was so sure I could birth my baby at home, but now in the middle of the night I felt doubt wash over me. This hurt. Contractions felt like period cramps on steroids and they were still five minutes apart and barely lasting 45 seconds. The thought of pushing forward felt impossible. There was no way other people did this once and volunteered to ever do it again… surely. It was nearing 11pm, and I let tears fall, regretting this bed I had made for myself. Then I remembered something a friend had told me just a couple weeks prior: everything has to come out before the baby does. All the tears, the poop, all the pee, and all the vomit. I had to allow this to pass through my body. The feeling of doubt, sadness, fear of what was still to come. I had vomited once already, and the physical act of clearing the way for my baby made integrating the waves of emotion easier to process. I finally texted my mom at ten past 11pm. Even if I didn’t have the energy to read her response, I knew she would be praying and that was enough. Things quickly progressed, and as I let my body take over, I checked out.

Active labor is still a fuzzy memory. I had spent the entirety of my early labor ensuring that I was keeping myself nourished and hydrated, only to spend my active labor throwing up. I don’t think I ever managed to say it out loud, but I found some irony in it. Everything had to come out. My doula arrived shortly after midnight, and I can’t overstate how grateful I am for asking her to attend my birth. As soon as she arrived, I could turn my brain off and ground into my body.

Since my birth, I haven’t shut up about how much of a game-changer it was to have her. Deidra walked into our bathroom and asked how I was holding up. I felt out of my depth, unable to comprehend how someone would volunteer to do this more than once. Her reminder to me was one of solidarity. “There are so many women in the world laboring with you right now.” As much as I felt out of my depth, there was so much power in knowing I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t the only woman who had ever experienced this. I wasn’t the only person in the world to experience suffering for something greater. She quietly guided me through each contraction, a reminder to breathe in, breathe out, and relax my body.

I labored into the early hours of the morning. Deidra and Alfie worked together to time my contractions, and called my midwife around 4am. With this being my first baby, Deidra let me know there was a chance I still had a way to go in my labor, and my midwife may check in, and then leave and come back later. You can imagine our collective surprise and joy when a cervical check revealed that I was seven centimeters! I remember looking at Alfie and smiling. I was so excited to know my body was doing what it was supposed to, and I felt relief knowing transition was so close. I spent most of transition on the toilet, and Alfie and Deidra took turns rotating a stack of books under my feet one at a time to help open my pelvis.

My consciousness returned to my body somewhere between 6:30am and 7am to Deidra asking me if I wanted to have my baby on the toilet. I was so confused and thought to myself what is she talking about? She asked me, presumably for the second or third time, where I wanted to have my baby. After all the preparation I’d gone through, I hadn’t actually made a decision as to where I wanted to welcome our son. I’d imagined him being born in several places around the house during my pregnancy, and I felt relatively unattached. Not to mention the fact that thinking in any capacity was basically a joke. Alfie was by my side, my midwife was in our bedroom, and everyone was waiting for me to answer. Barely able to form a thought, I asked Alfie where we should have the baby. I didn’t care.

He chose the bed, and it sounded perfect. I was still shocked that it was already time. I had made it through transition. One more step to go: pushing.

My midwife informed me that I had a cervical lip as she performed a cervical check to ensure I had made it to 10 centimeters. My options were to push through, or have my midwife hold it out of the way to decrease the chance of inflammation and swelling. I agreed to her holding it out of the way while baby’s head passed through. I began pushing around 7:30am on Tuesday morning. I started on my back, but eventually progress slowed. Deidra and Alfie helped me move onto my hands and knees for a few contractions, and then to my side, and eventually onto my back again. The feeling of my body bearing down, with no ability to control my muscles, was incredible.

After hearing about the fetal ejection reflex, I had been so curious to experience myself. Being present in my body and able to fully appreciate the ancient ritual she was made for was exhilarating. And also a little terrifying. There is nothing you can do to prepare for the physical sensation of being stretched to the absolute limit. As much as I was excited to be back in my body, I also got into my head during the pushing stage. Once again it all felt like too much. The thought of tearing sat in the forefront of my mind, a daunting potential outcome that I could only do so much to prevent. I remembered another piece of advice I’d been given by Deidra: if I could reach down and touch my baby’s head, it would help strengthen my mind body connection and take away the fear and I had nothing to lose. I felt around and there he was, nearly earthside. I had to keep pushing. (Literally.)

This was the ring of fire, and there was no going back.

“Reach down and grab your baby!”

Just like that, he was here. I reached under his arms and pulled him onto my belly, shocked. He was here. My baby was here. He cried out, a perfectly clear shout into the world: I made it! Together, we had done it. I finally got to see the face I had been waiting to meet for many long months.

All I could think was so that’s what you look like! It was a euphoric surprise, mingling with how freaked out I still was by the feeling that my vagina was going to fall out at any moment. My body was frozen, but my eyes shifted between memorizing Alfie’s huge smile and the tiny face of my son.

I chose to delay cord clamping until after I had delivered the placenta, both to ensure that all the blood and stem cells from the placenta made their way to Arthur, and so I could document the connection to his lifeline, the organ my body created to keep him alive. Seeing the full magic of life and birth, splayed out on an old puppy potty-training pad in my bed is exactly how the birth of my first child was meant to go. A sacred ceremony, a rite of passage, unfolding in my own home. Perfectly.

One of the moments I had been waiting patiently for, was seeing the man I love hold his son for the very first time. Finally, I could fully share the connection I’d had with our baby for months while he was nestled inside my womb, reminding me of his presence with every move he made. Here he was, the tiny speck we’d seen on our first ultrasound scan. The feet that rippled across my belly in the middle of the night. The space between us, here at last.

My first birth was nothing short of a spiritual awakening. I’ve never felt so alive, grounded, intuitive. We are so happy to welcome our son, Arthur Rigby Bourne, into the world, and finally have him here with us.

As I mentioned throughout my entire birth story, I wouldn’t have had the experience I did if it weren’t for Deidra, my doula and friend. I’m so grateful for her. I want to also give her full credit for the photographs she took for us during my labor. I showed her how to turn on my camera and she didn’t hesitate to pick it up and capture some of the most precious moments of my life. She’s a doula in the Phoenix area, and if you’re still on the fence about whether you want or need one I hope I’ve brought you to the side of YOU NEED ONE. You can contact Deidra through Instagram @motherandearth_.

Additionally, my midwife Connie has been an incredible provider throughout my entire pregnancy. I reached out to her days after I found out I was pregnant and she got back to me within a couple hours, which is simply her standard of care. I’m so grateful to have found her and her team at Canyon Midwifery, and for the love, time, and energy they poured into my family from day one. You can contact them on their website at CanyonMidwifery.com.