Nov 2nd, 2023, 4 PM, I’m finishing a buttery garlic butter salmon dinner in my kitchen, when my water breaks. Singular water is the right word, since there were several waters, but I wasn’t sure how many. I was exactly 37 weeks on the dot, from my loose calculations of when my last period was and when the possible and very unlikely conception date could’ve been. Unlikely, since, TMI, we got pregnant using pull-out. Everything about my story is unlikely, yet it continued unfolding in a very mentally surreal and gut-body-and-belly real way.
The Setting (Mental and Physical)
My husband, older son (3.5), and daughter (almost 2) were in the house. In fact, they were in the hallway overlooking the kitchen when I placed the salmon on the dining table and my water broke. I realized I wasn’t going to have dinner. Nobody was. For the first time, my water broke with a huge gush, and the kitchen floors were soaking it in.
My belly was huge, it had been so since about 25-ish weeks when I decided to get an ultrasound, only to be told that I am likely carrying triplets, that they are likely three boys, that I am high risk and “relatively small frame,” and that I should take a bunch of medications and report to the nearest hospital ASAP. I was in a rural village at that time, going to a random OB, and decided to relocate back to the city for the rest of the pregnancy. But, I never went to see a doctor or do another ultrasound for the rest of the pregnancy.
Throughout the pregnancy, I always felt two babies, but I wasn’t sure why. That did worry me, but otherwise I felt mostly fine. I knew that I personally couldn’t engage with the medical system further and that I needed to do the rest of the pregnancy on my own. I was just hoping that I wouldn’t go into labor before 34 weeks, because that would’ve likely prompted me to go in for my babies’ safety.
Fast forward to when my labor started, everything came back, but I knew that I needed to focus and be in the moment. I had just finished listening to a podcast that morning, reflecting on my choices, and accepting whatever comes. I was in touch with a traditional midwife who attended my first birth—she had also become a friend in the meantime. She knew that I was considering having a freebirth again (my second was a freebirth), but that I may feel like calling her to come and support me. I called her to let her know that my labor started but that I had no contractions yet and that I would let her know if I felt like I needed her once they started.
A Fast Start
I also sensed that I needed to be alone, I couldn’t have my kids there. That was a gut feeling, and I know I needed my undisturbed space last time too. I told my husband to take the kids to his parents, who were a quick 10-minute drive away.
I changed my amniotic-fluid-soaked clothes and went into the room I thought I was going to labor in, the room I gave birth in last time. I felt the contractions start to set in, maybe 20ish minutes after my water broke. I was excited, and, I’m not going to lie—I was nervous. My heart was pounding. The moment was finally here. So much anticipation, and so much pressure I put upon myself from all angles.
I called the midwife to tell her. I told her to just drop by and then go back home after our encounter. That’s how I imagined it, I guess I thought I just needed some reassurance. The whole pregnancy I felt like I was doing something big, and I wondered if it was too big for me to handle, if it was somehow superhuman, and if maybe I was too small for it all… Though I knew all this was very human and that I couldn’t conceive, carry, and birth these babies if that wasn’t so.
And all of a sudden, I was alone in the house. I let myself release, melt, surrender. I brewed some strong motherwort tea with honey, a ritual from my last birth that felt so good. I tried playing drumming music on my laptop, but that didn’t feel right. I switched to birth affirmations. I spoke the words with them. I let the tears fall. The contractions were hitting hard. It wasn’t too painful, I let them move through me, I knew there was no point resisting. I was ready to see where they would take me, and I was entering that deep vortex of birth and the altered state of consciousness it demands. My husband called me to say he’d dropped the kids off and was driving back soon. I ahammed his words, I couldn’t talk when the waves came but moaned through, gently still, and he knew that my labor was advancing fast. This was about 45 minutes after my waters broke.
When he returned, it was about an hour since it all began. I was in the living room, swaying my hips, occasionally sipping my tea, occasionally going down on my knees. It was already mostly dark outside. Deep down, I knew I wouldn’t move from there. But, since I mentioned that I may want to labor or give birth in a pool again—and he felt good doing something practical knowing that I like my space in birth—he went upstairs to get the pool ready.
Full Surrender
It was in the next 15 minutes or so that things started getting very intense very quickly. I knew this feeling from my last birth, I knew I had to fully surrender. I wasn’t sure if that was definitely it, but I knew I was getting close. I didn’t know exactly what or who or how many I was getting close to, though, but at that point—I was thankfully beyond thinking.
That’s when the big sensation came. I moaned loudly, my whole body moaned, I was on my knees on the floor, and I felt my baby slide out head first. There was no ring of fire or separate emergence of the head and body, it was all one big contraction. Such relief. I took him, he was screaming from the start, so fierce, so small, with such big eyes and mouth. I told him that he is my brave little one, and at that moment my husband came down. This was about 1h 20 min since the start of the birth. I knew I had to put him down to focus on what was coming next, and I didn’t want to cut the cord until later.
The contractions picked up again, building up fast. In another 10-15 minutes, I felt the power of wanting to bear down again, and I was a bit scared. I went with it, and then I felt legs come through, dangle. My husband was there, right behind. The midwife was ringing at the buzzer at that very moment. We didn’t pay attention to it, we needed to be there and then.
I asked him if everything looks ok, whatever that meant. He said that, yes, he can see the legs and they’re moving. He asked if he should do anything, and I said no—we have to wait for the next contraction, he shouldn’t touch the baby. So I waited, dangling feet. A couple of minutes may have passed, I knew that I couldn’t rush it but the background nervousness was there. I focused, I felt back into the trust and my body. The next contraction came, and my baby was out. My husband received him and gave him straight to me.
I took him in my arms and looked into his face, pale, white, at first not responsive, floppy. The worry came back, I kissed him, sucked his face, suctioned his nose, blew on his face, rubbed his small body. My husband asked if we should call the midwife, and let her in, I said to wait, that it’d be ok. I told the baby to come to me, to come here. And in a couple of moments, I don’t know how much time passed, the baby I thought was “him” did come to me, opened its eyes, and took its breaths. “He” didn’t cry, but I knew he was there and all was well.
Marko, my husband, asked me if it was a boy or a girl, and I took a quick glance and said “Boy!”… Then, instinctively, I looked again and realized I was wrong: “It’s a girl!” … Another one against the odds.
I put her down, I knew there was still work to be done.
Was that all?
The contractions started, but not like before. It felt strange… and right. I felt empty. I was confused. Everything calmed down. I felt that I wasn’t going to give birth to another baby. There was a sort of knowing to it.
And, I felt that the placenta was probably coming. I wanted it to come to get resolution. We decided to let the midwife in, just moments before I birthed the placenta. As she came into the living room and my husband quickly told her what happened, she sat on the floor next to me. I was squatting on my knees and felt the placenta slide out. Once it did, she gently swirled it to help the amniotic sacs all come out with it. I didn’t feel the movement since the placenta was already out. But, for a moment, I was blank. I knew that was it. People sometimes ask me how I knew there wasn’t another baby and placenta in there, but I just knew.
I felt so relieved, so honestly done, so much like going through the most incredible storm and coming out, being ready to finally meet my babies and be one body and soul again.
I did it, and it was hard, and it was wonderful, and it was all I never thought to wish for but was destined for. I took my two perfect babies, as small as they were (2300 g each) on my chest. The boy, Vojin, breastfed right away, but the girl, Visnja, just couldn’t. It was only months later that we uncovered that she has soft cleft palate. She is the most incredible miracle, both of them are. Two souls that I am beyond grateful came into this world through me when I already thought I was complete. Oh, was I wrong, and being wrong is sometimes the most wonderful, humbling lesson.
Now, technically speaking—we can call it or not call it a freebirth since I partially intended on having a midwife present, and she was there for the placental birth and immediate postpartum. But I honestly don’t care whether other people classify it as an “official” freebirth or not!
Ah, and to make this story full circle: my kids came home shortly after and we all ate the salmon with my midwife friend. She said it was the best salmon she ever tasted and asked for the recipe. I guess the ready-to-burst amniotic fluid is the secret hot sauce.
