Angel + Bryan.

“The Birth of a Mother”

For my midwives Hannah and Krystal.

Angelica.

Snowboarding has always connected me to Bryan, and I hadn’t seen him since our neighbourhood “Christmas in July” dinner party. We made mulled wine to share with our neighbours and Bronwyn and I enjoyed it a little too much. Though we live together, it feels like we live apart with him working away 2 weeks at a time. To top it off, Bryan was on a fishing trip with friends for his birthday and I wouldn’t see him for another week. I was putting my snowboard boots in front of the fire to prepare for another day with the Yuki Birds crew, an all inclusive, all abilities, snowboard park hang out with girls from all over Australia. We had just spent the day learning how to ride different park features and I was particularly keen on trying a backside 180 off a box, and hitting the rails. It was my first time in the park, and I was hooked. The instructors for the day felt more like friends you’ve had since high school, and the vibe was empowering in its polarity – there was fear and courage, apprehension and anticipation, patience and stoke. Most of all, there was women supporting and encouraging women to try something new, to do it scared, and to get back up after a fall. I was excited to see some of the girls I had met that day – Camille who was visiting on a working visa, Jess who worked on the mountain, Jade who was helping her younger sister, Sheridan, fall in love with snowboarding and Bridie, a women’s adventure extraordinaire and the founder of Tough Tits Co. a women led project connecting and empowering snow communities. This was the peak of girlhood. I day dreamed as I unpacked my gear from the day, pleased that nothing was too wet, meaning re-packing for tomorrow would be a breeze. We had a group breakfast on the mountain planned and I was so excited to see everyone again. My phone lit up, an app telling me my period was overdue. Bryan and I weren’t trying for a baby, but we wanted one. We weren’t trying not to have a baby, but we have been unlucky in our efforts so far. I pulled another pregnancy test from the box, a routine I had been disappointed with many times before. But I was on such a high from the day passed, and the day ahead that I took the test, put it down and forgot about it until the following morning. Positive. I had to take a second test right away to be sure, but I was running behind for the on-the-mountain breakfast. So I took the digital test, and got in the car. Before I’d even made it out the driveway an unmistakable “Pregnant” appeared. 

Despite this not being my first pregnancy, choosing a care pathway has always been something I’ve known little about. I never really understood why a surgeon was the common private hire for most pregnant people. Everyone I’ve spoken too or read about, spoke of going private or public, and living rural and being pregnant felt a bit like getting on a public bus. You knew your destination, however you had no say in who was getting on the bus with you, who the bus driver was, nor which route they would take to get you there. But what if there was another option? Looking back, I have so much gratitude for how my pregnancy and birth unfolded. Spoiler alert, I had the same 5 women as my care providers for the whole journey. That’s it. The same five women, providing continuity of care, with one destination in mind – bringing my child safely into this world, with me in the driver’s seat. 

I booked an appointment with my GP. Having moved back to my hometown 6 months before meant that I was seeing the same GP I saw as a teenager. It’s funny how time seems to freeze when you come back to your hometown, I swear Dr Laura Zagorski hadn’t aged a day since I saw her last for a pap smear 15 years earlier, half my life ago. Dr Laura monitored and supported me through the ups and downs of early pregnancy, providing reassurance ultrasounds as I needed and helped me consider my options for birth. Her sunny disposition was almost as bright as her colourful outfits, at each appointment I was delighted by her sense of fashion, a welcome distraction from the anxiety that had accumulated since the last reassurance scan. 

Another familiar face found their way to my pregnancy, in the form of the ultrasound technician who I saw for all of my ultrasounds from 8 weeks until 20 weeks. Teagz, a girl who I used to kick a ball around with when I was 16, got to be the warm and skilled hands that showed us our baby on the big screen. Pointing out bubs’ features, and mine, answering my endless questions and affirming that yes, for a black and white blob, mine is definitely the cutest. There’s no feeling like day dreaming about your baby’s future while looking at the still images captured during each ultrasound, and I am so grateful that Teagz took the time to get some great profile shots of bubs. A beautiful, personal element to an otherwise diagnostic process. 

In my 31 years, I hadn’t had much to do with babies or pregnancy really. I recall one former colleague of mine telling me about the doula he and his wife had for their third child (what even is a doula??) and then another colleague telling me how his wife was hanging out the window hollering through contractions as they zipped down Hindmarsh Drive to the Canberra Hospital. My brother has a 5 year old, she was born during the pandemic – even so, I was lucky enough to meet her when she was three weeks old. Holding a child so vulnerable, and floppy was well and truly out of my comfort zone, at one point she was in my arms, I was taking in her face and then in a blink, she face planted in to my collarbone. That was the last time I held a baby. 

I announced my pregnancy to my colleagues with a cake that my beautiful neighbour, Mattia, had made for the occasion. Because the only thing better than a pregnancy announcement, is one that you get to eat! Funfetti, buttercream, sprinkles. Yum! We all sat around the tea table in the dining hall, eating cake and doing the daily quizzes from whichever newspapers are spread out on the table. Herald Sun, Myrtleford Times, The Border Mail etc. So much trivia. I had never felt smarter, but also dumber, when doing trivia with my colleagues. Smarter because I was learning so much (like the world’s tallest building being 828m tall!) but also dumber because many of my colleagues already knew this and so much more. So while they titillated over the newspaper quizzes I scanned over headlines, and gazed at the pictures. When I was a kid, we used to travel a lot for soccer, often stopping at takeaway places for fish and chips. While waiting for our food to be ready, I would flick through to the classifieds section looking for “Puppies for sale” ads. I’d read them out loud to my dad hoping that if I read enough of them he would finally get me a puppy. Newsflash, we never got a puppy. The Border Mail had a feature article on births in the region, and a headline asking the same question I wondered 4 years earlier; “Birth and Beyond: the intimate lens of birth photographer Louise Gorham” what is a birth doula? Why more Border mums are capturing this special moment. Still when I told Bryan I wanted a birth Doula and he inevitably asked “what’s a doula” I didn’t know how to answer it. 

The article spoke of home births, and birth supports, and choice, and advocacy. It was also accompanied by a black and white image that took up most of the page. The prize winning image was of a mother with her child in her arms, chest to chest – the umbilical cord still tethered to both mum and bub. A towel draped over mum’s shoulders and fairy lights in the background. This is a mother who birthed her child at home. Her eyes downcast, not at the baby in her arms, but just ahead of her feet, discretely bringing the reader’s attention to the blood streak that trickles down her legs, yet her expression seems peaceful. It’s a powerful image that depicts a mother who chose this. She was driving, and Louise captured this image. In her interview Louise reveals more about her work as a Doula. Doula Lou. So I picked up my phone, and found her instagram, then her website, then her mobile number. I called her and as she spoke I made a single note in my phone. I wanted to birth at home.

The first time we met Lou was at her husband’s woodwork studio in Yackandandah. We walked through this great big timber door and perched ourselves on the plush lounge among the impressive showroom furniture displayed. We sat and chatted for over an hour and Lou was able to guide us in our understanding of what it is a Doula does, and she created a space where we could be radically honest about our fears about home birth and grief. By the time we walked out that big timber door, we all but handed over her fee. Award winning Birth Photographer Doula Lou, was going to be our Doula in April.

Lou reminded me that babies aren’t cheap, and it is easy to fall into the trap of buying the best thing, buying brand new, getting the expensive pram, etc etc. But the most important investment we have made, was in having Doula Lou on our birth team. Looking back, I wish we’d found her sooner. Looking forward, I wish we had her around longer. 

Summer holidays were just around the corner, and I was definitely looking and feeling pregnant. I absentmindedly checked my emails and noticed I had one from Hannah at Soul Midwifery, a steady, skilled and passionate midwife who supports both hospital and home births for Border mums. Hannah had been in high demand and therefore had limited availability for a birth in April, I’d asked to be put on her waitlist, and it seems the universe had our favour at heart. Hannah became our primary clinical care provider, taking over from my GP. And let me tell you, she was anything but clinical. She maintained her professionalism through her passion for enabling informed decision making, for being responsive in times of anxiousness and uncertainty, and for fostering self-belief. Her calm, can-do, anything-is-possible temperament lends itself well to her role in women’s experiences, exceptional medical care aside. I never felt like I was a passenger with her, more-so that she was riding shotgun, had the map and was giving me options of the route I could take. But I was the one driving. I got to choose. Hannah introduced Bryan and I to Sacred Sixth Birth’s Krystal, who as fate would have it, would deliver our antenatal classes and become our second midwife. Krystal is a Lamaze Birth Course facilitator, and in our birth class, there were two other families, all of us first time parents, and all of us choosing to home birth with Hannah. However, only Bryan and I had Krystal as our second midwife. There was a small sense of victory between Bryan and I, knowing that she would be at our birth. Despite having six children, she is full of energy, vitality, passion, and ferocity. She fitted perfectly into the Krystal shaped gap left in our birth team. 

Bryan and I were informed and empowered by the women who we’d chosen to be a part of our birth team. We were assured in our choice to birth at home, and had little fear of anything going wrong. Despite our confidence and courage, I had well-meaning friends and family question and challenge our choice to birth at home. The narrative of needing an induction, “bleeding out”, or vaguely something going wrong dominated this space. They brought their own fears and experiences to the table. They were worried for me because of what happened to them. I couldn’t help but take this worry personally. As if they were worried that my choice for my body and my baby was ill-informed. But the thing about having the three women that I had chosen on my birth team, was that I was well-informed and empowered to make my own decisions. A scenario that isn’t common enough in the birth space. I began noticing current affairs pertaining to women, mothers, birth, pregnancy, choice. I paid attention to data, evidence, and lived experiences. I took it all in and still I chose to birth at home. Because what I learned was that when you choose home birth you are choosing an intervention free, normal, physiological birth. I am privileged to have access to home birth, and to be able to make this choice for me and my family. I am privileged to be able to have the courage to do the extraordinary, and be trusted by my partner and my birth team. I am so privileged to be a woman. 

I loved being pregnant. I loved the feeling of my child waking, kicking, somersaulting. I loved the gentle moments too, the intentional slowness. I loved that my body was growing fuller with my child, and that I was sustaining my life and hers. I was fortunate to have had the pregnancy that I had – free from any significant ailment that typically accompanies pregnancy – my only complaint being that it had to come to an end eventually. I couldn’t stay pregnant forever. My body and my baby held on to pregnancy as long as we both could. Tethered to each other. Mother to whenua, whenua to child. 

Bryan had been home for four weeks, we were two weeks past our due date and tomorrow was my birthday. This is the longest stretch of time we have been in each other’s company since our relationship began. Bryan had spent his time getting jobs done around the property that he hadn’t had the opportunity to since buying the place in 2023. Being the incredibly capable man that he is, he put new gutters on the shed, dug trenches and lay downpipes in anticipation of the upcoming winter rainfall. He cut and split enough firewood to see me through winter, and built a trailer for the back of the quad bike so that I can haul the bins down our 500m driveway with the baby in the carrier. He was doing the hard work now, so I can be independent later. 

Days passed, the maple leaves changed colours and begun to fall, we were well and truly into Autumn. We patiently waited for signs that the baby would come. Hannah reassured us that all was well with bubs and to block out the noise and remember that we can’t stay pregnant forever. The vibrant leaves decorated the driveway like a carpet. We laughed big belly laughs while Bryan and I tried to catch the falling leaves before they hit the ground. Anything to pass the time. Bryan usually has such a serious disposition, but this was the first time I’d really seen him play, snowboarding aside, he hadn’t been the most playful man but he gave glimpses of the father he was becoming. My body felt swollen, it had a fullness to it that I hadn’t felt in pregnancy yet and I was beginning to grow impatient over baby’s arrival. I honestly thought they would be here by now. This was the first taste of disdain towards my pregnancy that I had felt in the 42 weeks. Bryan steadied me, and reminded me that the baby will come when they are ready and I have done incredibly to remain optimistic and positive the whole time – a moment of impatience doesn’t mean that I have failed. I was overcome by grief, I had wanted to be pregnant forever, I had wanted the baby to stay with me where my body can take care of hers. But now I was desperate for the pregnancy to be over.

We settled in to our evening routine, it was not long before 5pm, Bryan cooked and cleaned while I got a movie ready. With the fire crackling away, my body started to tell me that our baby was getting ready to join us. It had been practicing for labour for a week now, reliably by 9:08pm each night I would have irregularly spaced contractions, of varying intensity for about an hour before they would subside. But this was different, there was a pattern. Lou and I had been messaging regularly about how I was feeling and she seemed delighted to hear that I was over being pregnant and that I was able to recognise a pattern in tonight’s contractions. Lou was at a birth film screening with Krystal and Marcelle (a mum I would later meet on the mothers’ day weekend), she had invited me to come, but given the circumstances I opted to stay home. Lou kept her phone on silent, but screen up in her lap in case I needed her. She gently asked if I had told Hannah yet, and I took that as a prompt – I messaged Hannah. I didn’t know it yet, but Hannah was at another birth for Emily, one of the mums from our antenatal classes – she told me to try and relax and ignore the sensations as much as possible. I took the opportunity to practice breathing through the intensity – preparing for the real deal. 

I climbed the stairs to our bedroom and was in disbelief that (a) I was very pregnant and growing our baby, and (b) I’d be meeting said baby very soon. Life was about to change dramatically and I felt panic rise as I realised that I was afraid of the transition.. from 2 to 3, from “Angel” to ‘Mum’, and “am I going to be able to do this?”… ‘this’ being; labour, birth, matrescence, motherhood. How do I even look after a newborn?!. I was snapped out of the spiral by another contraction and after breathing through it, I tried to drift off to sleep. Sensations peaked again waking me, and 2 realisations hit me one after the other. It was my birthday. It was my birth day!. Bryan lay in bed beside me, though I can’t imagine he was getting much sleep. I needed him rested for all that was to come. I couldn’t stay in bed when the only relief I felt was with movement and finding my breath in low vocalisations. A sleep-in and pancakes in bed was off the cards. This is the real deal we have been waiting for. My body found its’ rhythm of deep sensation, breath and relief. I could do this. I had no choice. I was doing it. The dimly lit lamp light permeated through my closed eyelids. In these moments, I held my belly and my baby in my hands and tucked my hips for relief. Hours of this passed before the sun poked its head over the valley. It was time to call Lou. I picked up my phone and was alarmed to see that it was only 5:45am. Contractions were coming faster and harder than before. Breathing through them for relief was beginning to lose its effectiveness. Between contractions I managed to give Lou enough notice to get ready to be here before things really ramped up. 

Bryan had been practicing setting up a variety of birth tools to support me during labour, so he was worked quickly to put up the birth sling and to fix the tens machine pads to my back, he handed me the remote. The tens machine offered relief during the surges and with the remote in hand, I was in control. Time warped, surges felt like minutes and breath felt like hours. I was losing track and had begun going inward. I laboured upstairs in our bedroom, I could feel the plush cowhide rug between my toes, occasionally catching a glimpse of my still pregnant body in the mirror, and feeling immense gratitude for all it had done and was about to do. The intensity of the sensations pulled me back to my breath and my baby. Bryan provided counter pressure during the surges, making it easier to breathe through. I don’t remember when Lou arrived. But Lou and Bryan took it in turns to take the pressure off my labouring body with the rebozo or other supports. Bryan also brought food and water to keep my body energised and well for the marathon we were entering. Lou played music through her phone, a playlist that helped me affirm and believe that my body is capable and was going to bring my baby into the world. The lyrics swirled around my head, I chased them with my gaze and felt like I was in a trip. A warm glow grew brighter as I inhaled, and when I exhaled the glow moved from my third eye down into my pelvis where my baby was waiting. We moved from one birth support to another, from the shower, to the birth sling, or the exercise ball, to rebozo. All to help my body move through the sensations as I was becoming one with my baby. How will I know when it’s time to push? What if the baby comes right here, right now? How long does this feeling go on for before the baby comes? 

I started getting overstimulated. I hated being wet and cold after the shower, I was frustrated with the texture of the exercise ball, and it became more difficult to stomach foods and nausea rose. My mind was altering. I began laughing hysterically, and Lou was laughing at me laughing, and Bryan was laughing at us laughing at what? We all joined in a chorus of laughter and neither of us knew what exactly we were laughing at but that was the funny part. The glow consumed me and I was no longer aware of anything that was happening beyond my breath. The sounds were the only thing grounding me to anything external. I could do this. My voice found its place deep and low with every surge. I couldn’t stifle it – but I was self-conscious of how I was being perceived. Am I weak because I am loud? Am I going to be able to do this? How will Bryan cope seeing me suffer? “I think she’s waiting for you, she’s holding on” Lou’s hushed voice broke through my barricade. I knew that meant we’d be having the baby today, but I was more concerned that Hannah might not have had enough rest. 

When Hannah arrived, I recall her placing her hand on my shoulder to let me know that she as here. I also recall hoping for Bryan to come back into the room, wondering where he had gone, and what could have held his attention from me labouring for so long. But Lou was still with me. Whatever it was, must have been important. A strong, sweet, and familiar smell wafted up the stairwell and filled the room. Bryan’s arms embraced me, and a wave of nausea accompanied the next surge. “Bryan, I love you but I’m going to need you to take your shirt off – its smell’s too strong”. In all his good intentions, he doused his shirt in the Gucci cologne that I got him for Valentine’s Day. He knows how enamoured I can be by this flavour and he wanted me to have a sense of familiarity and calm. I’ve heard that unlike other senses, scent signals have a very direct connection to brain regions involved in memory and emotion. Meaning that certain smells can instantly bring back vivid memories or feelings. This phenomenon is known as the Proust effect, named after writer Marcel Proust, who famously described a flood of memories triggered by the smell and taste of madeleine cake. The last thing that I wanted was to be thrown back into memories of labour every time I caught a whiff of my lover. He did as he was told. 

Not long after, I was assisted down the stairs and to the nursery. Fairy lights aglow, birth pool illuminated and warm. I didn’t hesitate to get in. Labour seriously intensified. Each time Hannah came in to top up the pool with warm water a massive wave of intensity rippled through my body. Lou always seemed to have what I needed, a warm facecloth, a cool facecloth, a dry facecloth, a facecloth for my forehead, and one for the back of my neck … (note to any pregnant mama’s, pack facecloths in your birth bag!) I gripped whatever part of Bryan I could get my hands on to ground myself through each surge. I immediately regretted my decision to get acrylic nails the day before. That’s going to leave a mark. He left the room momentarily and returned with snacks. I was grateful for his selection, tossing a raspberry liquorice in my mouth, I began to chew. The red candy was chewier than I remembered and I didn’t have enough time to finish before another surge hit, I spat it into my hand and threw it across the room. My eyes were closed but I could picture Bryan’s shock as the half-chewed soggy lolly stuck to the new carpet or the white painted walls. Oh well, he’ll have to forgive me. 

My resolve started to slip. I was self conscious that each time I yowled through a surge and the midwives came to check on me – it meant they were worried that something was wrong. That I must have been ‘failing’ at birth. Somewhere in it all, Krystal had arrived. Bryan likes to remind me that she’d nonchalantly scooped up a rogue poop out of the birth pool with a sieve that I’d purchased from Kmart for $3 (what a champion). I like to remind Bryan that somehow that same sieve ended up in our kitchen and he used it to make pancakes in the days that followed. Krystal’s presence in this moment was pivotal not just for her impeccable clean up but for her encouragement. “You can sing or roar that baby out if you have to!”. With her encouragement I let loose. All inhibitions about being loud, poop, or ‘failing’ dissipated. There was only so much space in my body for all the feelings of labour. The physical, the emotional and the spiritual. I don’t subscribe to any religion in particular, and I don’t care what you say, but labour and birth is inherently spiritual. We are giving a body and life to a spirit and consciousness that chose us to help guide them in this lifetime. I had to let go of fear, and outsource courage and calm from my midwives, Lou and Bryan. My breathing quickened and I couldn’t seem to release any tension – my eyes tightly shut, “help me breathe!” I urgently ask everyone in the room. Bryan breathed audibly and I followed his lead. My voice took over. I could feel my baby wriggling in the birth canal. “It means baby’s doing good, you don’t need to be worried about it okay” Hannah said through a grin. I take two more deep breaths and open my eyes. In a moment that I will never forget my gaze drifted from one person to another, setting on each pair of eyes looking back at me. I nod in acknowledgement of each person who I had chosen to be there to witness the life of my baby coming in to this world and my matrescence as I become a mother. I sigh in relief and push, begging my baby to come. “You’ve got this” says Hannah, “Good job” says Krystal, “That’s it” says Lou, “You’ve got it baby!” says Bryan. These people believed in me, and so I believed in me. I push again. “It’s out!” Bryan shouts.

Daisy emerges underwater, head full of hair, face up, hands either side of her face, blood swirling beneath her as she slowly floats to the surface. I take a moment that felt like forever before scooping her out of the water and bringing her to my chest. Both Bryan and I in awe. “You did it honey.” Daisy let’s out a few soggy cries, her umbilical cord tight against my still very swollen belly, and I remember that I have no idea how to hold a baby and this one is wet and floppy. I gave her a kiss on the forehead and apologise to her telling her “it’s my first time”. I look around the room again “we fucking did it!!” Trying to stifle my giddy laughter because it felt like my pelvic floor was going to fall out (spoiler alert, it doesn’t). I keep laughing “you guys we did it!!”. Her waxy body giving my hand some purchase as I try desperately to look collected as I fight for my life to keep her above water. Bryan was eager to find out the sex of our baby “it doesn’t matter” I say back, but he insists moving her legs to the side and tilting his head to sneak a peek. A baby girl. Daisy Joy. We sing her happy birthday.

The water was well and truly murky with my blood. My body and then Hannah, both remind me that we still have the placenta to deliver. Like Daisy, it took its time. With some help from homeopathic tinctures and synthetic oxytocin it came safely, and remained attached to Daisy for sometime. Hannah and Krystal cared for my body while Bryan nursed Daisy and the placenta that was nestled in a 4lt nestle ice cream container beside his lap. Lou brought warm towels straight from the oven, wrapped me up and assisted me upstairs to the bedroom. A journey I wasn’t ready to make again anytime soon. Bryan, Daisy and I in our bed together as a family. Hannah, Krystal and Lou sipping tea downstairs, there if we needed them. All at our own pace, in our own space. Cared for by a remarkable team of women. Daisy is so lucky. We are so lucky.

Hannah and Krystal measure and weigh Daisy on our bed, Lou pats Bryan on the back, Bryan ties Daisy’s umbilical chord off and I lay there taking it all in. I had lost enough blood to make me feel a little lightheaded and floaty. Bryan disappears downstairs as I feed Daisy. He and Lou reappear with a star shaped cake with a single candle atop. Everyone sings happy birthday to Daisy and Me. How special to share a birthday with my first child. My dad tells me that when you share a birthday with a family member it means you knew each other in a past life. Hannah and Krystal efficiently set up a makeshift IV drip with a coat hanger and Bryan’s R.M Williams belt hung from the rafters. This is home birth. I felt better immediately. We said goodnight to everyone and settled in as just us. To be honest, it felt illegal to be in our own bed, on our own, with an infant, hours after they were born. I didn’t want to put her in the bassinet we’d only just set up days before. I wasn’t ready. So she slept on my chest that night.

In the days, weeks and months since Daisy was born, we have formed such an intimate relationship with the women who empowered us through pregnancy, labour, birth and postpartum. Now, at 6 weeks since, we are saying our goodbyes and it feels like cutting the chord all over again. But this time, I am ready.