It is true that each birth is unique.
It is also true that my memory quickly fades about the difficult details.
But I do know two things:
1. I always gave birth in a hospital
2. Every labor was fast and furious.
Our little Gwendolyn broke the mold.
We were newly pregnant at the beginning of 2020 and our family had our sights set on heading to New Zealand. In early March, Matt and Mallory visited Dunedin in the South Island. Before leaving, Fr. Mark said our family was welcome to come serve as missionaries and his diocese would help us obtain a two-year religious worker visa. Praise God!
When Matt returned to Louisiana on March 18, I knew we had a small-ish window to get to New Zealand before mid-August (when I would be 36 weeks pregnant and could no longer fly), but I was optimistic. It could happen! Afterall, we got the “yes” we had been praying for. Now all we needed to do were some minor formalities - take visa photos, update our resume, schedule health exams.
Then coronavirus struck. On March 25, the Prime Minister of New Zealand ordered the country on a strict level-four lockdown. And it remained that way for nearly five weeks.
Just in case we didn’t get to New Zealand, it was time to start prenatal care. A friend recommended a midwife who had delivered her baby in January. I called the midwife and set up a consultation. She lives in the neighboring town and offered to meet me at the local McDonalds. As a certified midwife in Louisiana, she explained I had two options for delivery: at a birth center or at home. If we were planning to deliver at home, then she would come to our house for every prenatal appointment. I told her about our five previous birth experiences - fast and furious - and that didn’t phase her at all.
Matt and I looked over the midwife’s contract and decided to consider a home birth. To be completely honest, at that point I was still dreaming of delivering this baby in New Zealand and thought it would be highly convenient for my prenatal care to be at home.
In June another friend went into labor with her first child. She opted to remain at home for several hours thinking she was still in the early labor phase. As soon as she got into the car to head to the birth center, her body was ready to push. By the grace of God, they drove safely across town and made it to the birth center just before the baby was born. Only a few hours later they returned home as a family of three.
The birth center is located about 40 minutes from our house. And knowing my history with fast labor, I was starting to believe a home birth might actually be our best bet. Just the thought of racing over to the birth center while in labor and then turning around to come back home a few hours after giving birth, did not appeal to me in the least.
Since the global pandemic was still surging, I finally accepted that we wouldn’t be traveling to New Zealand before our baby’s birth. So, by process of elimination, we began to prepare for our first home birth.
We asked two friends to be on-call to come take the other children out of the house whenever labor began. Our midwife gave us a list of items we would need on hand for the home birth. Did you know I love lists? I do. Checking off each item brings me joy. It makes me feel both confident and prepared. We assembled all the supplies and waited.
And then, a category 4 hurricane was coming our way and we had to evacuate our home.
Did you know that large pressure changes, which happen during major storms, can induce labor?
Wait a minute. I just said yes to our first home birth and now I might be delivering this baby in someone else’s (a complete stranger’s, nonetheless) house? Lord have mercy!
For several weeks I had been feeling mild Braxton Hicks contractions off and on. But the night before we evacuated, I had much stronger and more regular contractions. As I laid down to sleep that night I prayed:
Please Lord, let this baby stay put and wait out the storm.
Thanks Be to God, the storm passed and I didn’t have a single contraction. We returned home and once again, we were poised and ready to meet our baby.
Days turned into weeks. Baby’s due date came and went.
And we still hadn’t settled on a name. We have named each of our children in honor of a family member.
On the morning of Sept. 14 we joined our missionary community at Big Woods for prayer outside the office. I was six days past my due date. During the time to offer our personal prayer intentions, one woman prayed that I would go into labor that day, on the feast of The Exaltation of The Holy Cross.
It was a Monday. All four girls were in school. I asked a friend to watch Daniel so Matt and I could enjoy a lunch date out. We ordered thai food. And for the millionth time, when a stranger asked when I was due, I responded:
Any day now.
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