Jarras Home Birth Story

My Care Team

For my second pregnancy, I chose home birth. My first pregnancy was rough. Now I know I was suffering from undiagnosed hyperemesis, so this time I wanted continuity — someone I trusted and who trusted me too. We live in Braidwood — an hour from hospital — and I also just wanted to stay in my own space. I trusted my ability to manage the sensations of a drug-free labour because I had done it last time, even in a tertiary hospital with an 18-hour labour. Home birth cost about 6k — and we didn’t have heaps of money. But I thought, I’ll never get to birth this baby again. If I was going to spend money on anything, I wanted it to be this. I prepared by tuning into my body and building community. I went to women’s circles, did retreats, and made space for self-care. We didn’t find out the gender, which was hard for me as a planner — but exciting too.

The Beginning

It was a sunny September day. I had a deep urge to garden, so my son and I planted herbs, bought a Daphne, and soaked in the sun. I was feeling those familiar period-like waves in the background throughout the day. That evening, out of nowhere, I just blurted, “I have a feeling when the sun goes down, we’re on and this is it." Right on sunset, I lost my mucus plug — a big, stringy one. I called Paul over and held it up, laughing: “Babe, I literally told you.”

Quick Escalation

I messaged my midwife, lit candles, and told my women’s circle. Then — bang — a huge surge hit. I leaned on the kitchen bench, swaying. That was it. I was in labour. I couldn’t send another text. I curled up with my son on the couch, telling Paul, “I’m scared.” I felt the butterflies, but also the realness. There was no going back now. While cuddling up with my son, having a cry for his last time as an only child, I felt a pop deep in my belly. Maybe my waters? Nothing came out, but everything ramped up fast. We called Mum to be with my boy. When she walked in, I was on all fours — and so was he. Nose to nose, swaying through surges together. It was beautiful. After a while, I wanted privacy. They went and played in the spare room, and I got in the shower. It felt strong but good in there — until we ran out of hot water. Suddenly, everything felt like it was falling apart. The birth pool was out. Nothing felt right.

Transition

I ended up wild, in the one room I hadn’t even prepped — the dark corner of our bedroom. I sat on the birth ball beside the bed, towel underneath, riding wave after wave. I was commanding my partner between surges — towels, heat packs, now hold me! My sounds changed. I was yelling “NO!” — then caught myself and started yelling “YES!” which made me smile, thinking what it must have looked like for my partner. When my midwife arrived, I saw my partner exhale. I was biting bedsheets, groaning, swaying, bouncing. She just stood in the bedroom doorway smiling, and during one contraction whispered, Work with your body. You’re doing so good. I asked for my jasmine oil. Random things — like the smell of linen — were bothering me.

Pushing

Deep groans took over. And I didn’t believe I was already up to this stage. I moved the ball and leaned into my partner’s lap by the windowsill and started to push. I reached down and felt the head. My midwife asked for help to move the bed over (obviously talking to my partner), but I shoved it with my leg, full adrenaline superhero style. I had no ring of fire like last time, and with a few pushes and sounds I never knew I could make, she was born — head and body all together — into my partner’s arms and scooped straight onto my chest.

The First Meeting

Everything had happened so fast. I closed my eyes, leaned back, took a breath. My body needed to catch up and arrive. All I could think was, Thank god that intensity is gone. That was too much. That was too strong. Too much. It took me a moment before I could even grasp that my baby was here. My partner scooped us up and gently shifted us into bed. We lay there, snuggled, soaking it in. No rush or fussing, thank goodness, because my brain needed to catch up. After some time, I felt a new contraction and dread pooled — but I concentrated on bub. The placenta flopped out onto a bluey and we had a little exploration of it, voicing our appreciation.

Catching Up

After a while, I remembered and said, “Paul, should we check baby’s gender?” We looked at each other, giggly, and unwrapped her from me like a present. When I saw her little vagina, I scream-cried. Paul teared up, and even our midwife was in tears over in the doorway. I was in disbelief that I could be so blessed. She still had goo on her head. Our midwife offered to wipe it. I said, “No, I like it.” I didn’t want to shower off the blood either. I think it was all so fast — I needed that stuff as proof to process. Less than three hours from the mucus plug show to now.

Settling In

I asked for my son. It was 9pm. Mum and he were snuggled up asleep — somehow, they’d slept through the whole thing. Mum brought him in, all warm and dreamy. She made homemade stew and brought it to bed with a cuppa. That night, I didn’t sleep. I just lay there, staring at her perfect little face. She was untouched, still covered in vernix — mine, in our bed.

I found myself holding such mixed emotions. It was the most intense thing I’ve ever done. So physical. So big. Yet somehow it also felt like... nothing? Just a normal day, and then suddenly — a baby. No bright lights. No fanfare. Just us, in our home, eating stew and going to bed. I felt proud. But also surprised by how quiet it all felt afterward — I didn't have that all-consuming high. Maybe because this time, I didn’t have to fight. There was no proving myself. It just... flowed. It wasn’t easy. But it was undisturbed. And maybe that’s why it felt so simple. Wildly intense, yet oddly ordinary.