I never imagined I would one day look back on my birth experience and get to describe it as transcendent, something I was deeply grateful to experience. But that’s exactly how I feel this second time around. I expected it to be just something I would endure again. Instead, it became one of the most empowering, beautiful, and spiritual experiences of my life. Yet I don’t think I would be here today if I hadn’t first gone through everything I experienced the first time.
There was so much uncertainty the first time around. As a new mom, I researched everything I could in an attempt to prepare myself. And in doing so I made up the type of experience I wanted and inevitably married myself to that image. It’s no surprise, then, that nothing went as planned (read that story here). Which is why this time around I chose a different approach. I decided not to carry any expectations. I didn’t put pressure on myself or try to control how everything would unfold. Instead, I walked into pregnancy with both confidence and faith. My goal was simple: make the best decisions I could with the information and options available to me at the time. Nothing more, nothing less. That mindset is what ultimately led me to choose a birth center.
My life looked very different than it had during my first pregnancy. I had moved to Pennsylvania, deep in Amish country, where the nearest birthing hospital for me was more than thirty minutes away. A hospital that also happened to have some concerning reviews regarding patient care. While searching for alternatives, I came across a birth center just twenty minutes from home that came highly recommended. It wasn’t what I expected. I assumed I would end up delivering in a hospital again. My first experience wasn’t terrible, and there was comfort in choosing what was familiar.
But ever since I was pregnant with my first daughter, I had dreamed of giving birth in a birth center. I imagined a peaceful environment surrounded by caregivers who viewed birth as a natural process rather than a medical emergency waiting to happen. People who believed women are capable of bringing life into the world without unnecessary interventions.
Of course, there were fears that came with that choice. If something went wrong, the medical care I might need would be a long ambulance ride away. And the thought of laboring without medication was intimidating. I often wondered what I would do if I reached a point where I felt I couldn’t endure the pain any longer. There would be no epidural waiting to rescue me. But this time, I had something I didn’t have before: confidence.
Statistics were on my side. Second births are often smoother and quicker than first births. More importantly, I trusted my body in a way I never had before. So, I told myself, “Well, if it’s going to hurt like hell, at least it’ll be over quickly.”
As I sat in the waiting room during one of my prenatal appointments, inside a building that had once been a house, I couldn’t help but think, “How did I end up here?” It was the middle of winter. I sat between two Amish women who seemed to know each other, chatting comfortably while I waited. I wore snow boots, tight maternity leggings, and a large puffy Columbia jacket. They wore long handmade dresses layered over pants, their heads covered in the traditional style.
In that moment, I felt out of place. It was a feeling I had become familiar with during our time in Pennsylvania. I was far from what I considered home, living a life I never imagined for myself.
When I was eventually called back to discuss my birth plan with one of the midwives, there wasn’t much to discuss. The way they approached birth already aligned with what I hoped for. Unlike my first pregnancy, I didn’t arrive carrying a long list of preferences and requests. I was simply praying for a healthy outcome. Experience had taught me how quickly things can go sideways. Because of that, I didn’t spend much time imagining how perfectly everything might unfold either…
As I passed weeks 34 and 35, I threw myself into preparing for postpartum. I meal-prepped for the fourth trimester like a woman on a mission (read more about that here). I was excited to be nearing the end of pregnancy and wanted to make life as easy as possible for my family once the baby arrived. But meal prepping eventually concluded as I ran out of space in my freezer and standing became too exhausting for me. My days grew quieter and slower. We were preparing to move back across the country shortly after our baby was born, but because professional movers would be packing everything for us, there wasn’t much I could do to get ahead. I had cleaned the house so thoroughly that any further effort might have removed the paint from the walls. So instead, I spent my days soaking up every moment with my toddler, knowing our one-on-one time was drawing to a close.
By week 38, I was thrilled knowing labor could begin at any moment. Which, ironically, made every day feel impossibly long. I was constantly checking in with my body to see if I felt any different. Was that a contraction or Braxton Hicks? Was baby in the right position? Each day I would walk on the treadmill, climbed up the stairs sideways, bounced on the yoga ball, ate my dates and drank my raspberry tea. As the days passed and I approached week 39, I did all of those things with increasing impatience. By week 40, I began to realize I might actually make it all the way to 42 weeks. I dreaded that possibility. Our moving date was becoming more concrete, and I worried there wouldn’t be enough time to recover before making such a major transition. Fear slowly began to take hold. My due date came and went, and I found myself spiraling.
I began to think of all the ways this birth could go wrong. What if I end up needing a C-section and became bedridden for weeks? How could I move under those conditions? I worried about who would watch my first daughter and more importantly, who would put her to bed at night? I’ve been the only one she’s wanted every night for almost 2 years. Would she cry for me? Would she feel abandoned? As desperately as I wanted labor to begin, I was also grieving the end of her only-child life. The long mornings spent playing together. The walks. The baking. The books. The uninterrupted attention she had always known. Soon, all of it would change. I was caught between two emotions: sadness for what was ending and excitement for what was beginning.
With all of those emotions swirling inside me and making a mess of my thoughts, I knew I needed to spend time with the only One who could quiet the chaos brewing within me…
