Birth Story #1

The Wait to 42+5

When I first discovered I was pregnant, I knew this journey would stretch me in ways I could only imagine—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. What I didn’t expect was how much I’d be challenged to surrender control and embrace patience, especially as I waited for Baby T to arrive.

While most people think of pregnancy as nine months long, my body had other plans. I carried my baby until 42 weeks and 5 days, an experience that tested me but also prepared me for labor, birth, and motherhood in ways only God could orchestrate.

I’ve always referred to the “due date” as a guess date. Babies aren’t late; they come when they’re ready. Statistically, only about 4% of babies are born on their guess date, and for first-time moms, it’s not uncommon to go past 40 weeks.

At 39 weeks, I felt my baby drop—a moment of pure excitement and anticipation. My body was preparing, and I couldn’t help but think, This is it! A few nights later, I woke up out of a dead sleep to a sensation I’ll never forget.

As a first-time mom, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but in that moment, I knew exactly what my body was doing. I could feel my cervix beginning to dilate, a wild and beautiful sensation that left me in awe of how perfectly designed our bodies are.

I smiled to myself, thinking, my body is starting to open for this sweet baby to enter the world. Knowing I needed to conserve my energy, I went back to bed, thinking labor could be just around the corner. But that was it. Nothing more.

Shortly after, my midwife was leaving for a two-week trip. Casually, she said, “If you’re still pregnant when I get back…” I couldn’t help but laugh to myself, There’s no way I’ll still be pregnant in two weeks!

But sure enough, 40 weeks came and went.

During my 41st week, I woke up again in the middle of the night to another unmistakable sensation of dilation. My excitement surged once more—surely, this time, labor was imminent! Then Hurricane Helene arrived. When we lost power, I thought, Ooo, this could make for an exciting birth by candlelight!

Despite the storm, I had peace. I knew my doula had phone service, power, and gasoline in her car. We were prepared. If this baby decided to come now, we could totally do this.

And just like that, my midwife returned stateside, and there I was—still pregnant at 42 weeks.

Let me tell you, I had done all the things. I did everything I knew to support my body and baby throughout pregnancy—every method to relax, to open, to create a safe, inviting space for this baby to enter the world. But there were still the “holistic” interventions I hadn’t tried yet.

If you know me, you know I err on the side of conservancy when it comes to making health decisions. I operate by the “heck yes” rule—if it’s not a firm yes, it’s a no (or at least a not yet). That meant I wasn’t ready for the midwife’s brew with castor oil or black and blue cohosh. My gut told me my body would know when the time was right. Even holistic interventions felt like they’d be forcing my body into a state it wasn’t ready for.

My midwife and I had many conversations about the tiers of testing and interventions available. She was incredibly supportive, though I could sense it was unusual for her to see no definitive signs of labor approaching at 42 weeks and 2 days.

The only thing that was out of the ordinary, according to the “American way”, was the sheer number of weeks I was pregnant. But every other marker reassured us: my labs were excellent, my weight was right where it needed to be, my blood pressure was textbook, there was no protein or glucose in my urine, and my baby’s movements were normal and consistent.

I truly felt great. My body wasn’t sending up any red flags or even yellow flags for that matter.

I trusted that my baby and I were on the right path, even if it wasn’t the timeline I had imagined.

At 42 weeks, I decided it was time to create my own bubble. I had been receiving 7–14 texts and calls every day from well-meaning family and friends. What a gift to have so many people care for me and my baby—but the constant concern started to pull me out of my body. It became harder to stay grounded and listen to the cues my body was giving me amidst all the outside noise.

So, I made a decision: I would create a bubble around myself and my support team. I gave myself permission to step back from responding to messages until after the baby was born. If people really needed to check in, they could contact my husband.

This decision was so freeing. The moment I let go of the pressure to respond, I felt myself reconnect with the intuition God had given me and the peace He offers. I was reminded that my body knows exactly what it’s doing, and I could rest in Him during this waiting season.

Earlier in my pregnancy, I had started tracking my heart rate variability (HRV). I had come across research suggesting that an increase in HRV and a drop in resting heart rate during the third trimester often meant labor was about seven weeks away. I tracked these changes closely, but as the weeks passed and my sleep became more inconsistent, my numbers started to feel all over the place.

At 42 weeks, I looked back at my HRV data and noticed the curve had shifted around the 35–36 week mark. When I first saw that change at 35 and a half weeks, I thought, Surely, I don’t have seven more weeks—I could have this baby any day now! But if the research held true, it made perfect sense: I was right on track to go into labor late this week.

Trusting my body and the timing it was guiding me toward, I came to a decision. I told my midwife, I feel like I’m going to have this baby toward the end of the week, but if not, let’s discuss our options on Saturday. I am so grateful for my midwife, who supported me exactly as I needed. She didn’t hesitate to share her professional opinions when I asked but always empowered me to trust my body and make my own decisions.

While I carried our baby, my husband and I made decisions together. He trusted my instincts fully and reminded me of that trust whenever I needed to hear it most. I am so thankful for his unwavering encouragement and support throughout this journey.

On Wednesday night, we went for a walk at the park. As we walked, I noticed something had shifted. After stopping to use the restroom, I came back out and told my husband, Whoa—I’m not sure what just happened, but Baby T is definitely lower. On our final loop around the park, I felt an undeniable pressure on my pelvic floor, which only confirmed it. When we got home, I went to the restroom again, and SLAP—there it was. My mucus plug had made its exit.

Lessons from The Wait

As I reflect on the journey to 42 weeks and 5 days, I am struck by the valuable lessons God taught me through the wait.

1. Patience in a “Now” World
We live in a world that celebrates instant results and quick fixes, but God’s timing doesn’t follow our schedules. Waiting for Baby T reminded me that patience is an active process of trust. When the world shouted, Why isn’t the baby here yet?, I leaned into the truth that babies aren’t late—they arrive precisely when they’re meant to. Surrendering my timeline taught me to embrace the process and trust in God’s perfect design for my body and my baby.

2. Meditation on Scripture Grounds the Soul
During my third trimester, I turned to the Christian Hypnobirthing app, filling my heart and mind with scripture. Those verses became a lifeline, helping me stay grounded amidst the noise and uncertainty. Words like Be still and know that I am God (Psalm 46:10) reminded me to anchor myself in His peace. Meditation on scripture quieted my mind, connected me to God’s promises, and prepared me mentally and spiritually for the journey ahead.

3. Healthy Boundaries Are Just That, Healthy
The decision to create a bubble of support wasn’t just necessary—it was life-giving. Saying “no” to constant texts and calls freed me to listen to my body and connect with my intuition. Healthy boundaries are not barriers; they are tools to protect your peace and energy. This boundary helped me rediscover the strength and wisdom God designed in me, allowing me to focus fully on the sacred process of bringing life into the world.

Each of these lessons became a foundation for the rest of my birth journey. They taught me to release control, trust in the Creator, and embrace the beauty of the wait.

Labor & Birth

SLAP—there it was. My mucus plug had made its dramatic exit. It was not like the little snot-looking thing you see in pictures. No, this was thick, gel-like, and enormous. There was no mistaking what this was. I called my husband in and, naturally, had him take a picture of the plug. We got excited together. He asked, “Does this mean you’re having the baby soon?” I explained that while some women lose their mucus plug right before labor, others lose it weeks beforehand. Still, we both hoped this was the former.

That night, I woke up at 10 p.m. with a jolt. Whoa, THAT was a contraction. By midnight, they started coming more frequently, and the intensity was building. Unable to stay in bed, I moved to the living room to try to get more comfortable. By 4 a.m., my husband came out to check on me. I told him, “Don’t go to work today. We’re having this baby!” By 5 a.m., my contractions were a steady minute long every five minutes. When the sun rose, though, they slowed down.

We took a morning walk and made a Publix run for some fresh pineapple. I had to stop frequently for contractions, so we cut it short and headed home. I decided to watch a familiar movie to distract myself. My husband had never seen Bridesmaids, so we turned it on. As my contractions climbed in intensity, I began feeling more and more back pain. It wasn’t just any back pain; it felt like the old injuries from soccer and volleyball were flaring up. I couldn’t tell if it was back labor or irritation from scar tissue, but either way, it was relentless.

Throughout the movie, I alternated between sitting on the birthing ball and being on all fours. At one point, I rushed to the bathroom, expecting to throw up, but it never happened. By the end of the movie, my husband had started timing the contractions more diligently. He wanted to call for reinforcements, feeling the time was near. We called our doula and then the midwife. About an hour later, our doula walked through the door.

Earlier in my pregnancy, I’d asked my husband if he thought I’d be loud during labor or quiet and serene. It was definitely not the latter. I wasn’t shy about finding my deep vocal tones and letting them resonate through my body. My doula suggested it was time to fill up the birthing tub. While she and my husband prepared it, I swayed in the birthing swing hanging from our door. This is where time began to warp. The contractions were intense, but the most challenging part was the constant back pain. It felt never-ending because I never got a break between contractions. My husband’s calming presence was invaluable, but I couldn’t bear to be touched. I was overstimulated and just needed him nearby.

When I finally got into the warm tub, it was such a relief! The stabbing back pain dulled, and I felt a little more in control. Switching positions in the water helped take the edge off. But after some time, I started to shiver as the water cooled, and my contractions began to slow. I decided to hop in the shower to warm up. Afterward, I walked around the house, eventually noticing the midwife had arrived. She’d brought her backup midwife, just in case. I felt like I scored the perfect birth team for me.

Back in my bedroom, my doula noticed I was stuck emotionally. She gently asked, “What are you afraid of? What’s holding you back?” I’m so thankful she’s a dear friend who knows me well. She saw right through me. I shared I was afraid of not making progress, of being exhausted and stuck in this cycle of pain. I feared I wasn’t dilating enough and might have to transfer to the hospital. She reassured me, “Oh great, we can work through that.” Her confidence took me by surprise and immediately it shifted my demeanor.

She then shared a story I’ll never forget. One of my patients, who was also her client, just weeks ago stood her ground against her birth provider insisting she shouldn’t go past 39 weeks. Without hesitation, this woman boldly replied, “Well, my chiropractor is past 42 weeks pregnant!” My doula recounted how my own story had inspired this patient to trust her body and advocate for herself.

Hearing this took my breath away and it still brings me to tears. In the midst of my labor, as I wrestled with my own doubts, my patient’s courage and confidence became a beacon of encouragement for me. What an incredible full-circle moment—here I was, inspiring her to trust her body, and now, through her story, she was inspiring me right back to trust mine. Thank you sweet mama. Your words are far-reaching.

That moment was a divine reminder: my body was designed to do this. God had equipped me perfectly to grow, carry, and birth my baby. My doula’s words brought me back to that truth and filled me with renewed strength and determination. It was beautiful, empowering, and exactly what I needed to press forward.

After some discussion, I asked my midwife for a cervical check. I needed to know where I stood. I was aware that cervical dilation is not an indication of how fast labor could progress from there but still, I wanted a tangible number. I hoped for at least 6 cm, fearing I’d feel defeated if I was 5 cm or less. When she checked, I was indeed 5 cm dilated. My midwife explained that my water hadn’t broken and there was a large bulge of fluid. Baby T’s head wasn’t pressing directly on my cervix, which was likely stalling dilation. She reassured me that once my water broke, the baby would drop, and my body would progress more easily.

I became determined. I visualized the goal and set my mind to breaking that water. I knew sitting on the toilet—the “dilation station”—was my best chance. Though it had previously aggravated my back pain, I braced myself and sat down during the next contraction. SPLASH! I yelled, “Did you hear that?!” Everyone outside the bathroom cheered. It sounded like a tsunami had crashed into our home.

With my water broken, contractions ramped up quickly and intensely. I stepped outside for fresh air. It was dark, but I had no idea what time it was—nor did I care. Back in the tub, the warm water provided some more relief. Then it happened: my body began to push. I couldn’t believe how fast I’d progressed from 5 cm to this point.

After some time, I felt like Baby T wasn’t making enough progress. I hopped out of the tub and my midwife noticed bright red blood and suspected a cervical lip was preventing the baby from descending fully. She asked for consent to help move it during the next contraction. The pain was sharp but effective. Baby T’s head finally engaged, and progress resumed.

I moved to the bed, lying on my right side. My doula held my leg while I focused on visualizing Baby T enter the world as my body pushed. My husband was ready to catch the baby, while my midwife monitored both of us. The other midwife held my hand, maintaining eye contact. That simple act made me feel so seen and cared for in the midst of this intense moment. Her gaze validated my strength, my pain, and the beauty of this process.

With each push, Baby T made progress. At the end of each push, I’d stop, fearing I might tear. Baby T kept sliding back, but I realized this was my body’s way of stretching gradually to prevent damage. I was so encouraged by my body doing exactly what it needed to. Slow and steady allowed me to have minimal tearing. Finally, sheer determination took over. Enough slow and steady, it was time. With the next push, Baby T’s head emerged. My husband can tell you what that looked like! I felt a tug and for a brief moment felt distraught, but my midwife reassured me it was the baby’s reflexes helping baby’s self out, no one was pulling or assisting.

A few more pushes, and baby slipped right into Ben’s hands. What a catch! My midwife unwrapped the cord—three times around the neck and twice around the body—and placed Baby T on my chest. “Babe, is it a boy or girl?” I asked Ben. With soft eyes and a huge smile, he said, “It’s a boy!”

Tate Austin, welcome to the world!

Lessons from Labor and Birth

1. We Are All Human and Need Encouragement
Even as a chiropractor and someone deeply connected to the birth world, I needed support, reassurance, and reminders of my own strength. Labor is a vulnerable, raw, and beautiful experience that humbles you. It showed me how powerful encouragement can be, whether it’s from a doula’s calming confidence, a midwife’s steady presence, or the full-circle inspiration of another mama’s journey. Don’t underestimate the impact of someone believing in you—it can completely shift your mindset.

2. Know Your Options and Trust Your Instincts
Every decision during labor felt empowered because I knew my options. Whether it was asking for a cervical check, deciding how to break my water, or choosing positions that felt right for my body, I trusted myself. Informed choices paired with instinctive trust in my body and baby were the keys to navigating each moment with confidence. Birth is unpredictable, but when you’re equipped with knowledge and listen to your intuition, you’ll feel prepared to adapt.

3. When You Need Help, Ask for It
There’s incredible strength in asking for help when you need it. During labor, I relied on my birth team to guide and support me. My doula’s words helped me release fear. My midwife’s hands helped my baby descend. My husband’s unwavering presence reminded me I wasn’t alone. Labor isn’t a solo journey—it’s okay to lean on others and accept their help. It’s not a sign of weakness; it’s an acknowledgment of the beauty of community in such a transformative experience.

Labor taught me about the strength of the human body, the resilience of the human spirit, and the power of connection. These lessons extended far beyond the birth itself and are reminders I’ll carry with me always.

Moments After Birth

It’s amazing how labor felt like a twilight zone, a space between worlds. And then—just like that—Tate was in my arms, and I snapped back into a consciousness I recognized. The haze lifted, replaced by an overwhelming awareness of this sacred moment. I was holding my son. A perfect, healthy baby. My heart swelled with gratitude for the people surrounding us, each having played such a vital role in bringing him earthside. I looked at Ben—his eyes soft, his hands steady as he gazed at our son. In that instant, I watched him become a father. The most tender, gentle father.

We did it. I did it. God did it.

Exhale the tension.

Inhale all the baby smells.

But before we could fully settle in, there was one last task—birthing the placenta. A little while later, I was still lying on my back, Baby Tate curled on my chest, soaking in the warmth of his new world. I knew that nursing him could help stimulate contractions, encouraging my uterus to release the placenta. But in that moment, my mind wasn’t focused on physiology. Instead, my old athlete mentality kicked in: Let’s get this puppy out so we can enjoy our son.

I pushed, thinking I’d done it—but no, just a big blood clot. My midwife helped reposition me, and with a gentle pull on the cord and a few more pushes, the placenta finally slid free. Whoa. It was such a strange sensation, almost surreal after just delivering a whole human. But now, we were done. Closed for business. Time to let my body seal and heal.

When we were ready, Ben cut the cord, officially marking Tate’s transition to this side of life. Our midwife carefully inspected the placenta, showing us its intricate details—the organ that had sustained our baby, beautifully unique in its design.

Meanwhile, I hopped into the shower, feeling the hot water wash over me, grounding me back into my body. By the time I stepped out, our bed was freshly made, the linens washed (thank goodness for two waterproof covers!), and the space reset, as if it had all been a dream.

We crawled into bed, this time as a family of three. Tate latched for the first time, instinctively seeking nourishment and comfort. My midwife completed her final checks on both of us before quietly gathering her things. She hugged us and slipped out the door, leaving us to soak in the quiet magic of this first night together.

Ben and I looked at each other, eyes heavy but hearts overflowing. We’d done it. God had done it.

At 3 a.m.—far later than our usual 8 p.m. bedtime—we finally closed our eyes, drifting into sleep with our son nestled by my side.

How incredible is God’s design? That two people could come together and create something so perfect, so full of life. What a miracle. What a gift. Praise be to Him.

We woke up the next morning, and with it, the rollercoaster of postpartum began.

Lessons from Moments After Birth

1. The Joy in the Process
Birth isn’t just about the final moment of holding your baby—it’s about every sacred step that leads there. The intensity, the surrender, the unexpected laughter, the deep connection with those around me—there was joy woven into all of it. Even in the hardest moments, there was beauty in the process.

2. No Pain Was Too Big for Me—It Was Me
The intensity of labor wasn’t something happening to me—it was me. My body. My power. My strength. The waves weren’t outside forces to fear; they were mine to ride. There was no battle between me and the pain—it was all working together to bring my baby into my arms. I didn’t need to escape it. I was it. And God made for this.

“Count it all joy” – James 1:2-4”
“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.” Labor, birth, and postpartum stretched me, literally and metaphorically, but in every challenge, there was purpose. God doesn’t waste a single contraction, a single tear, or a single moment of exhaustion. He refines, strengthens, and completes us through the process. When we surrender to His work in us, even the hardest moments become a source of joy.