Trust and Surrender: The Birth of Adelaide Marie

On the evening of Tuesday 16 June, we welcomed our sweet second daughter to our family.

Adelaide Marie Woods

Born 9:38pm on 16/6/26 (at a gestation of 41+3!)

3240g // 7lb 2oz

52cm long, 35cm head circumference

While my love of birth stories was firmly in place at the time our older daughter was born (as evidenced by the 15,000 word epic saga of her birth published on this blog), I think I've fallen even deeper down the rabbit hole of positive birth since then. I never stopped listening to The Hypnobirthing Podcast between pregnancies, and have become an avid listener of a few other birthy podcasts in the interim. Take a look at the 'favourite resources' section at the end of this post if you're pregnant and wanting some recommendations! Special shout out to Holy Confident Birth, which is my new favourite Catholic birth space - I was even lucky enough to share my first birth story on Eve's podcast recently (which, if you're curious to listen to, might be a more efficient use of your time than reading the entirety of my lengthy written first birth story here on the blog). 

Today I'm sharing the story of Addie's birth, which I would consider to be a classic second birth story: much faster and smoother than the first, although both were extremely positive experiences. I feel so deeply blessed to have had another unequivocally joyful, minimal-intervention birth, and to get to share that story with you here. If you're expecting your own baby right now, I pray for God's blessing over you as you navigate pregnancy and prepare your heart to receive your child. 

Please know that I realise that childbearing is a SUCH sacred and vulnerable topic for us as women. So many people grieve and struggle with the reality that their fertility, pregnancies, labours/births, or postpartum journeys have been radically removed from what they hoped or prayed for. Birth trauma is real, and if you have experienced something that means your heart is still hurting around these topics, I want to offer you my love and prayers. I hope that me sharing my own positive birth experience doesn't leave you feeling undermined or discouraged. 

Something that Eve has shared a few times on the Holy Confident Birth podcast is her firm belief that God gives us as women the birth that we need in a particular season for a particular reason. Sometimes that's a positive experience; sometimes it's very difficult in one way or another. In each and every birth, the Lord is offering us something: a chance to grow in a particular virtue or way of understanding His love and mercy. We encounter Him in a profound way through bringing life into the world, whatever it ends up looking like.

My first birth - which was beautiful but so long and hard - was a lesson in the mysteries of the Sacred Triduum. It was a story of suffering and transformation, of perseverance in trial, and the exultant glory of Resurrection. It was the birth that I needed in that season, and it launched me into motherhood in a particular way.

The lessons of this pregnancy and birth were different. Again and again, the Lord's words to me were "Trust and Surrender". After suffering a miscarriage and early fears for this baby, my constant temptation was to research my way out of anxieties rather than turning to prayer. As I hope shines through in the story below, what I needed so much in this last year of life was to stop leaning on my own understanding and believe that God wanted to show up for me. 

I am so grateful for the way Jesus has ministered to me through Adelaide's life in utero and her entry into the world. She's still brand new, and I cannot wait to learn more about her and through her. What a gift to receive something that is in every way beyond my control, beyond my own power, and yet mine to love.

Sending love to you, too, my friend!

Kate

AMDG

~~~

Our Pregnancy Journey

Last July, the day finally came where we realised I could realistically get my PhD submitted and finalised in the time it would take to grow a human. We had prayerfully discerned that the Lord was asking us to wait for another baby until such a time as I would not be in labour while proofreading my thesis for submission. But once the doctoral countdown timer was less than nine months, I breathed a huge sigh of relief: even if I fell pregnant that month, I wouldn't have to navigate the PhD-edits-with-a-newborn-and-toddler nightmare I had feared. 

And immediately, God's invitation to be open to conceiving that cycle became a positive pregnancy test in August.

We were excited and a little terrified, feeling like we were potentially going to be cutting it quite close to the line if my markers required substantial revisions to the thesis. But the Lord's word for me was one of surrender and trust, and of allowing myself to be completely present with the tiny life within me.

About ten days after that positive test, I went to the bathroom at work and saw blood. That morning I had awoken from a nightmare with an anxious jolt and felt widely awake in a way that I hadn't since the first edge of pregnancy fatigue and nausea had begun to creep in. The streak of pink on the toilet paper that afternoon didn't altogether surprise me, and nor did the full bleeding that started a few hours later. I took another pregnancy test and the line was already much paler than it had been. Blood tests and an ultrasound confirmed miscarriage. I wasn't shocked, but I was bitterly disappointed.

That brief pregnancy had felt so Providential, and like such an anointed window of time. I had felt closely attuned and united to the tiny child I got to carry for a few short weeks. Their presence was real and sacred to me, even when I heard God whispering quietly, "Hold this loosely, dear heart". He is the one who gives, and the one who takes away; blessed be His name.

In the quiet of late August, as I drew close to my little one and then grieved their loss, God taught me a new kind of peace and surrender. To love is such a beautiful thing, even if it's only for a brief moment here on earth. One day in heaven we will meet all our children - the ones we held here on earth, the ones we grieved, and the ones we never even knew existed. What a joy to open our hearts up to life; what a joy to know it endures eternally.

Daffodils outside the ultrasound clinic on the day we went in to confirm my miscarriage.

After that early miscarriage, I was bracing myself for a hard road towards conceiving again. Despite having no evidence that conception would prove difficult (in fact, we've never used a fertile window unsuccessfully), I felt wildly certain that it couldn't possibly be easy for us third time round. In a frenzied kind of forced surrender, I tried not to pay attention to ovulation or any early symptoms, and to wait until my period was actually overdue before taking a test. I nearly held out with this resolution - but on the day before my period was due, after praying first vespers for Michaelmas (which is an especially significant day in our little family for multiple reasons), we decided it would be okay to take a test. 

The blazingly positive test line required no squinting. I tried to exhale, to believe that this pregnancy could last, but it was hard to shake the fear and despondency still living in my heart after miscarriage. I wanted to rejoice over this new baby, but I couldn't bring myself to trust the Lord. 

It had been a rainy September, and nearly every single day between miscarrying and seeing that positive test there had been a rainbow over Hobart. I tried to muster hope that this little rainbow baby would one day be in our arms.

In prayer, I begged God for the gift of new hope. Very early in pregnancy, I attended a day retreat with the Nashville Dominicans, the theme of which was: "Behold, I make all things new!" I asked one of the sisters to pray over me and my baby, and stuck the illustrated scripture verse from the retreat into the front of my journal as a constant reminder of His promises.

Prayer card from the retreat I attended at the start of pregnancy

My HcG was unexpectedly high at my first doctor's appointment - unequivocally pregnant!- and nausea and vomiting kicked in very quickly. I had made the decision to get anti-nausea medications to have on hand this time. My first pregnancy was by no means the worst morning sickness among my friendship group, but it had been debilitating enough that the thought of repeating the experience with a toddler in tow struck fear into my bones.

In the middle of October, we trundled back to the ultrasound clinic for a dating scan. I was a bundle of nerves, fearing no baby, fearing no heartbeat, fearing twins (because of the high HcG), fearing uterine cancer, fearing.... well, just about anything I could think of. Trust and surrender. I tried to keep returning to the Lord in the midst of my anxieties.

The scan showed one baby, perfectly sized for the dates we had calculated, steady-looking heartbeat. Only, the number showing up on the heartrate really didn't seem to match up with what I thought we were seeing. The technician rescanned a few times, and very tactfully, unemotively said that our doctor might want to follow up with us soon to discuss results from today. I didn't think about it too much while we were in there, but after leaving the clinic I had a gut feeling that the heartrate was far, far lower that it should have been. I said goodbye to Callum and went back to work, but instantly began googling average fetal heartrates for 7 weeks gestation.

Our baby's had only been 68bpm. That was not, by anyone's account, a viable heartrate. I began to cry. I hyperventilated. I rage-prayed at God: Don't you dare take this child from me. Don't you DARE. Please spare them, Lord. Please spare them. 

We were meant to be attending a wedding that weekend, and now I could only wonder - when would the miscarriage start? Would it be during the ceremony? At the reception? When would this baby that looked so healthy and normal on the screen stop living? How could this be happening?

I got home later that afternoon after picking up my daughter from daycare, and found I had a missed call and new voicemail on my phone. It was from the ultrasound tech:

"Hi, Kate, I wanted to call to follow up from your scan today. I am SO, SO sorry, but I actually made an error when calculating the heartrate. Your baby is FINE. The heartrate was 133, not 68, that was a misreading. I've had the senior technician double check it. I usually work at a different clinic and the equipment was slightly different to what I am used to. I'll try and call back again to speak to you directly, but I'm so sorry, and please don't worry, it's a lovely, healthy heartrate."

I cried again, and laughed, and shakily began breathing again. Oh, Lord. Help me to trust you.

The poor ultrasound tech called again the next morning while we were at the airport, clearly in so much distress at the error they had made. I was just so grateful that our baby was okay and fervently prayed that we would indeed get to meet them in the new year.

~

Even with medication on board, first trimester was rough going and unreasonably long. My morning sickness lurked twenty weeks this time, well into January. I was often fine during the day, but had horrible, nauseous evenings most days from 5-8pm (great timing for parenting a toddler). My fear of losing this baby persisted until her movements became regular and vigorous, and even then the back of my mind was occupied with uncertainties about her health and safe birth. 

But the Lord kept reminding me: trust and surrender. All shall be well.

After the 20 week mark, it wasn't long before Braxton Hicks and a decent amount of pelvic pain kicked in. I felt like I'd jumped straight from the first trimester to the third! I got much bigger much more quickly this pregnancy, and was regularly humbled by how hard my body had to work to keep up with my toddler.

34 weeks in this pic, and enormous already thanks to a transverse baby

At the very beginning of pregnancy, I'd had an incredibly vivid dream about an unexpected vaginal breech birth. In my second trimester this dream recurred: a very clear, logical sequence of events where I reached down and felt a foot emerge. I began researching breech birth outcomes and processes, and familiarising myself with what my providers might do if I presented in advanced labour with an unexpectedly breech baby. It came as little surprise that baby was in fact breech at my 32-week appointment, and transverse at my 34-week appointment (far out, a practically full-length baby in transverse position is NOT comfortable). I started getting nervous about the prospect of a planned caesarean, which I'd never really considered before that point. But in the interim, I would try all the Spinning Babies exercises, handstands and somersaults in the pool, and chasing baby around with hot and cold packs.

In the evening on the day of my 34-week appointment, while I was still feeling a bit shaky about the lingering breech situation, we had our friend Archbishop Emeritus Julian over for dinner to discuss plans for baby's baptism when His Grace returned from his upcoming travels. I asked him to pray the Rite for Blessing a Child in the Womb and Blessing of Expectant Parents over us before he left that night - and for his ongoing prayers that baby would turn the right way. I'm pretty sure it was the very next morning that I woke up to a head-down baby and a whole lot of relief, physically and emotionally. An ultrasound at 36 weeks confirmed that baby was vertex, and I began to let go a little. 

We ticked off a number of major milestones - me getting my Australian citizenship, passing my PhD, implementing minor corrections, and finalising my graduation paperwork, Callum making it through the Federal Budget lockup, me finishing my final tutorials of the teaching semester - right before I hit the 37-week mark. I felt such floods of relief as each thing I'd been stressing about for months was resolved in God's perfect timing. I packed the birth bag, installed the second car seat, set up the bassinet, started maternity leave, and finally turned the corner into a peaceful-ish season of waiting for Addie to arrive. 

It was a "hurry up and wait" situation. I had been so anxious about this baby coming early, before we were ready for her, that I hadn't braced myself for the realistic prospect of another 41-week pregnancy. Week after week in late May and early June, we showed up for the weekly routine of activities to choruses of "Still here?" "Still pregnant?" and "Shouldn't you have a baby by now?" 

Vivid rainbows at the beach on Trinity Sunday, further convincing me that baby would be born at 39 weeks. She was not.

I alternated between calmly confident in reiterating to people that babies come when they're ready, and completely spinning out in despair that Adelaide would never even engage in my pelvis, let alone be born. The only consolation in those final two weeks was that my raging reflux disappeared virtually overnight just after the 39-week mark. Around that time I also started getting regular bouts of practice labour most afternoons - contractions stronger than Braxton Hicks, and often coming at regular 10-15 minute intervals for a few hours. It was never physically painful, but I felt constantly faked out by my body, wondering when it would be the real deal, and trying to make plans for Persephone's, Callum's, and my mum's lives around dubious labour signs.

Again and again, I became aware of how desperately I cling to control and attempt to know everything in advance. It took such hard work mentally to return to the truth that God - and not I - was in charge of when and how this child would be brought into the world. All my research and planning couldn't put me in the driver's seat, and ultimately I knew that the only place I would find peace was in fully surrendering to something bigger than myself.

"Overdue" and waiting for little sister to arrive

Once my due date (6 June) passed... and then the 41-week mark (Percy was born on the dot of 41 weeks)... it was time to start thinking about planning for a post-dates induction. This was something I wanted to avoid at all costs, but was nevertheless willing to at least schedule for the 42-week mark, so that if baby was still inside by that stage we could make a plan. My midwife and I also discussed doing a membrane sweep some time after my due date. I hadn't had any sweeps first pregnancy, and was still a little sceptical about their efficacy and whether interfering with baby's own timeline was advisable. But by 41 weeks, I felt that this baby was genuinely fully cooked and a small intervention wasn't the end of the world (plus my midwife said that sweeps are more effective for mums who have birthed before, which boosted my confidence a bit).

The final bump shot, at 41 weeks gestation

On Monday 15 June, I had my 41-week (+ 2 days) midwife appointment, and she did a membrane sweep. Adelaide was still head down but nowhere near engaged in my pelvis, and as that night turned to morning without any contractions following the sweep, I was hit with a wave of despair that maybe the scheduled induction on the coming Saturday would happen after all. 

I knew spontaneous labour was likelier than ever at this point, but I felt like I had tried just about everything to make it happen without any success. Clearly I was not someone for whom dates, raspberry leaf tea, clary sage diffusion, sex, nipple stimulation, spicy food, pineapple, the Miles Circuit, curb walking, cat/cow poses, forward leaning inversions, sidelying releases, bouncing on a birth ball, walks under a full moon, relaxation meditations, or massaging acupressure points did anything. And I wasn't planning on messing with castor oil any time soon. All I could do was wait on God's and Addie's timing.

Adelaide's Birth

On the morning of Tuesday 16 June, at 41 weeks and 3 days pregnant, I went along to Percy's swimming lesson and started feeling some niggly twinges around 11am while watching her in the pool with my mum. I dismissed it as another round of practice labour, but nevertheless decided against going along to the cafe for pizza with them after swimming finished. I walked home and immediately burst into tears.

I spent an hour or so messaging my best friend while panic-crying. Here are some excerpts from that conversation (bless my friend, she was so patient and encouraging): 

"I'm feeling genuinely early labour-y at the moment but have also felt so gaslit for so long that I don't believe it.

I know it's likelier than ever but I'm also just so... doubtful? Jaded? I just feel so lacking control.

This is literally the one thing God has been trying to teach me all pregnancy, that HE IS IN CHARGE NOT ME, and my job is trust and surrender. But I keep hitting my threshold for coping graciously with that. I want to grow in this virtue but I would like it to end now hahahaha.

I'm also just exhausted with trying to do the right thing. Like I DO NOT WANT TO SIT UPRIGHT FORWARD AND OPEN ANY MORE. I hate curb walking. This baby refuses to engage and I clearly can't make her.

I have to remind myself that labour is not a reward for the box tickers. Plenty of women who do absolutely none of the "right things" have straightforward textbook births at 39 weeks.

Like everything is literally fine. I'm not even uncomfortable really. If it weren't for the date on the calendar it could just be any old day of third trimester. This is purely psychological. 

Sorry I'm such a basket case."

Retrospectively, I really was in early labour during this conversation, and labour hormones were probably contributing to the sense of total overwhelm. But at the time I just felt like I was spinning out irrationally.

When Percy got home, we decided together that it would be a good day to watch the Frozen stage show (live action recording available on Disney+ and infinitely better that the animation, FWIW). I curled up with my little big girl and zoned into Elsa and Anna's story while vaguely clock-watching when contractions came at intervals. I think it was at some point in Act Two that I decided to open up the Freya app to start timing these surges, which felt stronger and lower in my abdomen than other bouts of practice labour had been.

At about 2pm, I sent Callum a message at work: "Maybe be ready to pack up soonish? Still about 10 mins apart but getting more intense and longer. I'll keep tracking. Don't leave yet."

At 2.45pm, I messaged again: "I don't know how to make a call on this. I think they're getting stronger and closer together. So maybe it would be good for you to make a move in case it speeds up radically. I think I'd rather cry wolf than be without you if it gets gnarly. This is starting to feel more real than previously."

Shortly after that I texted my MGP midwife to give her a heads up that things might be making a start - but not to get too excited yet as my body had faked me out so many times over the last few weeks. 

At 3pm, the intervals between surges dropped to 5 minutes and contractions were a full minute long. I began feeling like it was genuinely real labour this time, and messaged a few of my closest friends to ask for their prayers: "And pray that it keeps going hahahaha."

Callum got home just before 3.30pm and took over with Percy, my mum ducked out on an urgent errand, and I started putting the final touches on our birth packing between contractions. I had the Made for This audio album going in the background, and made use of the birth ball and some abdominal lift/tuck positions during surges to help encourage baby deeper into my pelvis. Not long after this point, the Freya app let me know that labour was established - although I still had my doubts, and worried it would die out again soon.

By 4.30pm, though, I was reaching the limits of calm breathing on my own, and asked Callum to help me get the TENS machine on and starting doing some belly lifts and hip squeezes during surges. Some of my contractions had a real bite to them, and although we weren't yet at 3-in-10 (three contractions within ten minutes), the length and intensity of each was getting full on. 

I was aware of a few things that seemed important in making a call about when to go in to hospital: toddler dinner time (avoid at all costs), sunset and winter darkness (imminent), peak hour traffic (also imminent), and the parking situation at the hospital (limited, airbridge closing at 5pm meaning a street walk through downtown Hobart to get to the hospital, closest parking building locked at 10pm).

I didn't know how to make a decision. I knew it was theoretically too early to go to the hospital, but I really didn't want to be at home any more. A walk outdoors had sounded like a good idea an hour earlier, but already it was getting dark and cold, and honestly these surges were more intense that I wanted to cope with publicly on our busy pedestrian street of dog-walkers and kid friends. I called my midwife and she advised staying away from hospital for now if we could. But my gut was telling me that I wanted to at least get closer to the hospital, and to say a nice farewell to Percy while I was still in a good place of coping.

At 5pm we packed up the car, kissed our big girl goodbye, and drove 100 metres up the street. Callum parked and I instantly needed to unbuckle and turn to hang over the seat while coping with an intense contraction. 

"What do you want to do?" he asked.

"I want to go park near the hospital and take our bags across with us, and then maybe just walk the halls or something until we're ready to go to Pregnancy Assessment." Intuitively I felt that I needed the drive and parking building and city streets bit to be over ASAP. 

We parked next to the airbridge, although it had already closed for the day, knowing that it would be handy when we eventually re-emerged from hospital with a baby. Then down the lifts (a stranger in the carpark lift asked "Is it due?" right as a contraction began and I just had to nod with my eyes closed, trying not to moan), through the mall, across the road, into the hospital, and made a beeline for a disabled bathroom on the ground floor. I needed to not be visible or to interact with any more well-meaning strangers. Callum stood holding our hospital bags and my pillow while I straddled the loo for a contraction or two.

"Maybe we could just go upstairs to the hallway outside Pregnancy Assessment?" I suggested. Inching closer to the target. Up the hospital lifts, into another random bathroom (but on the Maternity floor) with our bags, back straddling a different loo and ramping up the TENS machine higher. 

"It's getting full on," I said to Callum, "I think I want to call my midwife again."

When I got hold of her and let her know we'd come into town, she said it might not be a bad idea to pop into Pregnancy Assessment. Given that baby hadn't yet engaged at our last appointment, and given my recurring dreams of unexpected breech birth, she was keen for me to get a bedside ultrasound to confirm that baby was still head down. A ward midwife could check dilation if I wanted and make sure baby's heartbeat was fine, and then help us come up with a plan. My MGP midwife would call the ward to give them a heads up we were coming in.

We waited in the hallway bathroom for another five minutes to give her time to make that call, then walked into PAC right on 6pm. I introduced myself at the desk, and they said, "We literally just got off the phone with your MGP midwife!" 

While waiting to head into triage, I spied a lovely ward midwife whom I had met a few times over the prior months, and joked with her, "Yep, still pregnant! 41 and 3 today, hopefully in labour right now." I was glad when that midwife was assigned to us for triage, and escorted us to a solo assessment room. It was nice not to be in a shared space, and to have a familiar face around even before my MGP midwife arrived.

Baby appeared to be head down on palpation, her heartrate was great, my blood pressure and other obs were great, and the midwife offered a dilation check. "You've done great work, Kate," she said kindly, which made me nervous, "Your cervix is paper thin, and about three or four centimetres dilated." While this wasn't quite the number I wanted to hear, I also knew that I hadn't really been at all dilated the previous day at the membrane sweep - at least there was some progress happening. "Now at this point we would usually advise labouring at home a little longer... if that's an option?"

Everything in me cried no, that is not an option. "We're avoiding toddler dinner and bedtime at the moment," I explained sheepishly, "Are you guys very busy right now?"

"No, it's a quiet evening so far," she said, "Let's watch and wait for now. I'll go find a bedside ultrasound to confirm that bub's where we want her. We can switch off the lights in here and get you nice and comfy for now."

At 6.30pm, she left us in the solo assessment room with the lights off, and very slowly over about the next hour found an ultrasound machine, left it to switch on for more than ten minutes, eventually confirmed a head down baby, and observed me for a few contractions each time she popped in. Callum said later that it seemed she was going as slow as humanly possible to give me time to progress uninterrupted. 

It worked. Once those lights were off, my contractions ramped up to four or more in every ten minutes: surges lasting more than a minute, usually with less than a minute off in between them. I needed Callum physically through each, either squeezing my hips hard or lifting my belly from behind while I arched my head onto his shoulder. I was using breathing techniques and low vocalisation, big boosts from the TENS machine, and a lot of mental power to get through these intense surges. I put the bed into a fully upright L-shaped position so I could kneel on it and hang over the top during contractions. Between them I would curl up in a little ball hugging a pillow.

"I'm so tired," I whispered to Callum, "Like not an exhausted/not coping tired, but just like full on sleepy between these. I really don't want to go home." 

By 7.30pm, having observed me intermittently through an hour of what was clearly active labour, the ward midwife let me know they were getting a birth suite ready for me and had called my MGP midwife to come in. I was flooded with relief. I had just needed so desperately to not change environments again unless it was into birth suite. 

At 8pm on the dot, we headed down to birth suite at the exact moment my MGP midwife walked through the doors of the maternity unit. "Great timing!" she cheered. "You're having a baby!" 

"Maybe," I said, sheepishly, "Hopefully."

Unsurprisingly, I made it down the brightly lit hallway without a contraction, and joked with my midwife that I'm crazy sensitive to external stimuli (the last time I'd had CTG monitoring a few weeks previously, my own heartrate had gone up to 120 just from being around a beeping monitor). 

We walked the full length down the hallway to Birth Suite 9, and I felt such a flood of gratitude knowing that this baby would be born in the exact same room as her big sister! The lights were already out, there were fairy lights on around the tub, and the nighttime view out across the river was identical to that night nearly three years earlier when I laboured to bring Persephone into the world. 

My midwife got set up at the desk to complete all my paperwork, letting us know she was there for whatever I needed but would leave us alone unless asked. Every fifteen minutes she popped over to listen to baby's heart with the doppler before, during, and after a contraction. Everything was going well. 

Callum started putting up my affirmation cards around the tub like last time, although I summoned him back to me for physical support with every contraction so he would never get many up at a time. Back to labouring hanging over the upright bed on my knees, mooing and growling through the surges. I put the Made for This prayers playlist back on, but quickly realised I couldn't hear it over my own noises during contractions and switched over to the Scripture Lullabies Piano Albums music that Percy had been born to instead. I clung to the metal crucifix, like last time, and relied heavily on the TENS machine. 

It was deeply familiar: the beautiful space, the music, the labour aids. Callum even put up the same affirmation cards in front of me that I had on land last time around: "Jesus, I trust in You" and "Low and open". 

This photo is actually from my first birth, but I had the exact same set up this time from about 8-9pm: crucifix, TENS machine, affirmations, kneeling over the upright bed. 

The experience was different though. Last birth, I felt so physically present and reliant on visual and aural cues to help anchor me. I wanted to look at affirmations and feel the crucifix in my hand. I wanted Callum repeating to me "You can do this, you are doing this". I had felt very lucid and joyful and excited.

This time around I felt much more interior. I didn't want Callum, or anyone, talking to me. I barely took in the affirmations on the walls. I was grateful for the dim lighting, and for the music to breathe along to, but I was also in "labour land" in a way that I hadn't experienced before. The surges demanded a lot of focus from me, and between them I felt I needed quiet withdrawal into myself rather than external encouragement.

My midwife's notes from the birth say that I started sounding "grunty" around 8.45pm, and it was at about this time that I asked whether she could start filling up the tub. "I was going to suggest the same thing," she said. She cleared it with the head midwife, and the tub was ready to hop into at 9pm. 

During my first birth, when I got in the tub I had immediate reprieve and a total break from contractions for more than twenty minutes. This time around I was hoping for a similar pause in labour to regain my composure, but I was hit with a powerful surge within a minute or two of being in the tub. They kept coming thick and fast. 

I started feeling that sense of "I can't do this," that comes with transition, but I was still so deep in self-doubt about things progressing at all that I dismissed it. This was probably still the beginning, and I had many hours of hard work ahead of me. No point thinking I couldn't do this, because I had to keep doing it.

"I'm not really sure I want to do this," I whispered conspirationally to Callum.

"You can do this, sweetie, you're doing such great job of this," he said encouragingly.

"Yeah I know, but I don't want to. It's hard work," I laughed. But I was genuinely starting to feel pushed to my physical limits.  

At 9.15pm I felt like I needed to do a poo, and told my midwife this. 

"Like an urge-to-push need to poo, or actually need to poo?" she asked. 

"I think real poo," I said, some gas bubbles confirming my diagnosis, "Should I get out... or...?"

"You can stay in, I've got a sieve, and your membranes are still in tact so there's no issue for baby." 

I did a poo and felt some relief to the intense pressure I'd been experiencing. "Turns out it was just trapped wind the whole time," I joked to Callum and the midwife, "I'm actually not pregnant at all."

But not long afterwards the pressure returned. Something in me began to panic. No way was I this progressed. No way was I genuinely feeling the urge to push.

"Hey," I called to my midwife, "Do you really think I'm in labour? Like, do you think this is progressing?"

It was an absurd question, and my midwife nearly laughed at me, but my self-doubt was so strong that I was genuinely wondering whether this whole thing might fully switch off again soon and just be a bout of prodromal labour. 

"Yes, Kate, I think you're in labour. I really think you are having a baby."

I hadn't had a vaginal exam since that 3-4cm one upon arriving at PAC, and I now really felt I wanted one because my logical brain and my instincts were telling me very different things about where we were at. At 9.30pm, I asked my midwife if I could get out of the tub and do a VE, and she suggested we could put fresh water in the bath while this happened. She half drained the tub and started refilling it.

Callum helped me down the steps of the tub, and I was hit with a crazy intense contraction while gripping the side of the tub. Oh Lord. In that moment as I was fighting hard to survive that contraction, I willed my waters to break. Every instinct in my body told me that was what needed to happen. 

And it did. 

"Waters," I gasped out as I felt the gush. I never experienced my waters breaking last birth, as it happened in the tub and none of us noticed. This time the splash and the relief of pressure released a burst of joy inside me. This was the sign I had been waiting for that I was genuinely going to have a baby in the next 24 hours. We were doing this. 

And then all at once as I continued that same contraction, I was bearing down involuntarily and baby was coming. Callum, giving me hip pressure behind, saw everything begin to open up, and called the midwife over to let her know. 

"Stop pushing if you can!" she cried, "Get back in the tub right now, Kate, I want you to have your water birth!"

I almost couldn't stop. I was having the fetal ejection reflex and my body was doing the work without me. I heaved a leg over into the tub as quickly as I could and sank into the water on all fours, holding the edge of the tub and Callum's hands. 

Thankfully in the water the ejection reflex subsided, the contraction finished, and I could breathe deeply. I reached down and felt my baby's head, and stroked her hair which was still partly covered in the amniotic sac. She was nearly here! I couldn't believe it. 

"We're having a baby," I gasped out to Callum, beaming with the absolute unexpected joy of having made it nearly to the finish line. 

My midwife put through the call to the main desk for a second midwife to come. "Okay, Callum," my midwife said, "Your job, when baby's head is born, when I tell you, is to press the green button on the wall. Not the red button."

I braced myself for the in-and-out stretching of the pushing phase as I waited for the next contraction to arrive. But as it began, my body once again took over and without any effort from me pushed my baby's head out with a pop at 9.37pm. It was astonishing.

A second pop and out came... something else? The sensation was bizarre, but my midwife confirmed that it was a hand and arm. Compound presentation - baby's hand had been next to her face on delivery.

"Lean back, Kate, you can sit up as baby is born and bring her up to you."

The rest of her body slid out easily with barely any time lag (I had prepared Callum for baby's head being underwater for several minutes before the body was born - but turns out this one came out nearly all at once). Gently I caught her and slowly brought her to the surface of the water, and up to my chest.

I was in profound disbelief. That was it? I did it? She was here? But it was so straightforward, so intuitive, so quick!

The second midwife arrived in the room basically as baby's body was being born, just in the nick of time. She brought the heated towels and blankets, and after checking that baby was indeed a girl, I wrapped little Adelaide up and snuggled her close to my chest.

Shock, awe, utter joy.

As I had opted for an active third stage, my midwife administered the syntocinon injection into my arm and then left us to peacefully greet our new arrival. There was no haste, no flood of extra people into the room, nothing to do other than marvel.

After maybe five or ten minutes, the midwives suggested I get out of the tub and head over to the bed. I got up easily and comfortably, still connected via umbilical cord to my baby and carried her carefully down the steps and over to the bed. I think someone helped dry me off in the process, but it felt so empowering to manage it basically on my own.

We curled up in bed with more warm towels and blankets, and eventually set about the business of cord clamping and cutting, placental delivery (which took a bit longer than expected, but eventually emerged with no issues), and examining my undercarriage for damage.

My estimated blood loss was less than 100mL - midwife said it was the cleanest birth she had ever seen - and my perineum was fully intact, although I did have a labial tear on the side where her nuchal hand had been. The midwife recommended getting the doctor in to suture this tear, even though it was minor, because it was very swollen and unlikely to heal neatly without a stitch or two. 

It was pretty easy to ignore the suturing process while holding my sweet new baby, helping her start to breastfeed, and glowing over the extraordinary series of events that had just taken place.

Sweet baby Addie, peachy clean and fresh from the start.

She was born at 9.38pm, a mere ten minutes after I had asked my midwife whether she thought I was genuinely in labour. I birthed her without any medical intervention, caught her myself, and got to hold her uninterrupted for the first two hours of her life. The labour had been smooth and faster than I had dreamed possible after my 60+ hour first birth. From that 3-4cm dilation check until birth had only taken three hours of hard but manageable work. I felt beautifully supported by my husband and care team, and also given the space to be as interior as I needed to be this time.

Over the next few hours, my midwife finalised the paperwork and cleaned up the birth space. Callum got to have skin to skin with Addie while I showered, and then we had her newborn exam in the wee small hours as Tuesday night turned to Wednesday. 

"Kate, that was the best birth I've seen," my midwife told me, "That was so special." She headed off home at around 1.30 in the morning after a final set of obs on me and baby, handing us over to the care of the ward staff. We were free to go whenever we felt comfortable to, but since our car was locked in the parking building until it opened at 6.30am (we had no idea things would progress so swiftly!) and it was a quiet night for Maternity, we were allowed to stay in our birth suite and rest until morning. They made up a pull-out bed for Callum, and both he and eventually Addie fell asleep. I, of course - high on post-birth adrenaline - did not. I was starving, and made my way steadily through a litre of coconut water, half a dozen bliss balls, three slices of gingerbread loaf and several handfuls of tamari almonds (a well packed bag of snacks if I do say so myself). 

Miss Addie with the tub where she was born, in the same birth suite where her big sister came into the world!

In the morning Callum got us some delicious breakky burgers from the hospital cafe, we packed up our things, and headed across the airbridge to our car. At home we were greeted by a very enthusiastic Persephone (who immediately upon waking had asked grandma, "Where's my baby?"). Percy did such a great job from the start of being very loving and very gentle with baby - although sometimes with a touch too much enthusiasm. My mum got to meet Addie, and we settled ourselves in at home, glad and grateful to be back so soon.

First photo as a family of four.

Birth Reflections 

Something that really struck me with this birth was the difference between how my rational brain and my Holy Spirit-led instincts work. At some deep, inarticulable level, I knew exactly what needed to happen every step of the way with this labour. I knew when I wanted to leave the house, to head into PAC, to get in the tub. I knew when I was in transition, I knew exactly when my waters needed break, and my body knew exactly how to push out this baby. Each of those things was an embodied rather than cerebral knowing. And honestly my brain kept getting in the way, shouting self-doubt and trying to rationalise things based on prior learning and my experiences of first-time birth.

While I knew even before this labour began that God was trying to teach me to trust and surrender to Him, I was humbled by what I learned in this birth: that I also needed to trust myself more, to surrender to my embodied, Spirit-led self rather than relying on logic. My body knew so much that my brain didn't; my instincts did what my research couldn't.

I'm a wholehearted believer in preparing well for birth. I think that equipping yourself with knowledge about birth physiology, hospital policies, the merits of various interventions, and non-medical coping strategies makes an enormous difference to your sense of agency in labour and birth. I regret none of the reading and listening I did throughout this pregnancy to equip my brain.

However, I realise in the aftermath of this birth that all my preparation and research mindset can only get me so far. The body - created by God in all its glory - has a wisdom that the brain sometimes fails to grasp. My brain definitely failed to grasp the wisdom of my body, and if there's one regret I have from this birth it's how self-critical and untrusting I was of my instincts and bodily cues throughout labour. I could have just enjoyed the process so much more if I hadn't been second-guessing it the whole time!

The same is true of those final weeks of my pregnancy. For some reason, my body and baby chose 41 weeks and 3 days gestation as the perfect time for birth. I will never know the reasons for that, but I know I should have been more patient and surrendered in those final weeks rather than stressing about being "overdue". She was born exactly when she needed to be, and her birth was as smooth and lovely as it was because she was fully ready to come.

Our sweet Adelaide - what a joy to be part of the beginning of your story. I can't wait to see how the Holy Spirit writes the rest of it!

Favourite Resources

If you're pregnant right now, or thinking about the future, here are some things I would recommend for birth preparation. I've mentioned many of these throughout the body of the post too.

• Holy Confident Birth: Eve's podcast is fabulous, and I've heard great things about her birth course too, although I haven't taken it myself. If you're a Catholic mama seeking out a natural birth education, this is the place to go.
• Made for This, the book: I read this in my first pregnancy and did a refresher this time around. The most beautiful Theology of the Body-led birth philosophy and a fabulous educational resource for both mamas and birth partners.
• Made for This, the app: new to me this time around. A much nicer walk through the weeks of pregnancy than any of the other "your baby is the size of a banana" apps, including prompts for spiritual journalling and prayers for every gestational week. The audio album is a perfect resource for birth preparation and during labour - it includes a pregnancy prayer, affirmations from scriptures and the saints, four birth-inspired rosaries, and more, in Mary Haseltine's gentle, calming voice with beautiful nuns singing in the background. Love it so much.
• The Hypnobirthing Podcast: so many positive birth stories, so much lovely oxytocin-driven thinking. Always a joy to listen to. Plus Claire's accent is utterly delightful. 
• The Great Birth Rebellion podcast: an Australian based, evidence-driven midwifery podcast that I've really enjoyed for learning about particular topics
• Evidence Based Birth: another research podcast that I've found helpful. Their website also has signature articles reviewing the evidence on particular birth interventions, which I find helpful to consult when deciding on birth preferences.
• The Elle TENS Machine: I've borrowed one from my sweet and generous friend who owns her own for both labours, and it's been a lifesaver. I've also used it postpartum for the bitey afterpains this time, and would highly recommend for this alone. 
• Scripture Lullabies' two piano albums, Lighthouse and Quietly: My labour music of choice, and also Percy's sleep playlist these days.
• MGP Midwifery Care: If you can get in to your local hospital's program, the continuity of care midwifery model is such an asset in prenatal, birth, and postpartum care.