My first experience of birth was at the age of 2 1/2, when I attended my younger brother's homebirth.  The atmosphere was very calm and the birth was easy;  I got an excellent first impression.  (My only complaint about my mother's example would be that she gave birth on her back, but it was 17 years ago and reading ACTIVE BIRTH when I was pregnant counteracted that persistent image.)

I became pregnant in November 1994, shortly before my 18th birthday.  I was fortunate enough to be living in Ontario at the time, and midwifery care, including homebirth, is completely covered by the provincial health insurance.  I wanted a homebirth, but because Ottawa's 4 homebirth midwives were booked for my due date by the time I knew I was pregnant (at 6 weeks!!! - midwifery care has not been available for very long in Ontario, and the demand greatly exceeds the supply), I arranged to have the baby in Ottawa's only birthing center, which was run "in-but-separate-from" a local hospital.

My pregnancy was easy and uneventful.  The only pregnancy-related discomfort I remember was suddenly having to re-evaluate my carefree, no-strings-attached relationship with Martin, the baby's father - a process that is still going on nine months after the baby's birth.  We read lots of books, did lots of stretching exercises, tried (and hated) perineal massage.

I started having contractions 5 days before my due date.  I had almost three days of prodromal labour, with mild contractions ranging between 5 and 10 minutes apart.  This wouldn't have been a problem except that I had geared myself up to give birth TODAY within a few minutes of my first contraction, and I couldn't stand to lie down through a contraction (so I couldn't sleep for more than 10 minutes at a time).

On the morning of August 30, I had the midwife do an ROM (rupture of membranes).  I refused the oral prostaglandins the OB was pushing, and immediately got into active labour, dashing her hopes of getting me transferred to the caseroom and starting the pit [Pitocin - an artificial hormone used to stimulate or strengthen labor contractions].

I spent a lot of time in the Birthing Center's jacuzzi but was most comfortable standing up and leaning over for the contractions.  Having Martin rub my back or my legs during contractions was especially nice.  Some time after active labour started I began singing through the contractions, a sort of wordless tune that really helped me focus my energy.  Despite the three days without sleep and the snooty OB, I had found my "birthing space" without much difficulty, and I was really getting into the contractions.  They were very intense, but I did not experience them as painful - except for the one time I tried lying down through one! 

I was alone in the jacuzzi, a little after noon, when I had a doozy of a contraction - actually broke my concentration - and felt the head moving down.  This was very unexpected as I hadn't had a vaginal exam since the ROM and had had no indication things were moving so quickly.  The OB came in and made me lie down for the exam, (I still haven't forgiven her for that).  She declared me 8 cm dilated, I believe due to the prone position and me being tense for the only time during the labour.  Her miscalculation was actually a godsend, because she left the room not knowing I was in second stage, and I didn't have to deal with her.

So I sat down on the toilet, myself and everyone else believing that I was in transition, locked my hands on Martin's arms and my eyes on his, and spent 45 minutes "not" pushing.  I was breathing with him, slowly and evenly, and was very relaxed.  I felt these incrediby powerful forces moving through me, but I could just ride them, passive, effortless.  It felt like floating on your back in the middle of the ocean on 20-foot waves, no land in sight.  All you can do is relax and let it happen.

When I reached down and felt the bulge of the head at my vagina, I regained conscious thought enough to realize that everyone still thought I was in transition, and I didn't want to drop the baby in the toilet.  I said, "The baby's coming out," but I could tell Martin and the midwife didn't really believe me - until I got up and literally waddled out of the bathroom.

I half kneeled, half squatted on the floor.  The midwife was instructing Martin to call for the OB while she put on her gloves and knelt down next to me.  I was completely coherent and every detail of that 1/2 hour is etched into my memory.  "I want you to push into my hand with the next contraction," the midwife said.  I hesitated.  "I don't want to tear."  "You won't tear," she reassured me.  "I'm holding the baby's head.  If the OB gets here in time, she'll want to do an episiotomy."

Now, I had instructed Martin to physically attack anyone who came near me with scissors, but I wasn't sure he'd do it when it came to the crunch.  I pushed.  I felt myself open completely as the head was born, as if I was splitting into two selves, the body opening and the baby being born.  It was the most incredible experience of my life.  Sometimes, making love, I have felt that heightened awareness of self/connection with other, but never so intensely, and birthing was more a peak experience than a sexual climax.  But the comparison doesn't really hold, because it was not two separate selves coming together, but one becoming two.  I pushed again and the baby slid out.

And then somehow I was holding my daughter in my arms (I am told that I reached around and took her from the midwife the minute she was born, but I don't remember this detail).  She was breathing, staring at me, all huge dark eyes and dark hair, and I was reassuring her, "It's all right, it's all right" - we're separate now but I'm still here.

And then the OB (where did she come from?) said, "Now we need a good healthy cry," and I snapped, "She does NOT need to cry!" and the moment was gone.  Martin cut the cord, I nursed the baby and delivered the placenta and got cleaned up.  Within an hour or so everyone left us alone and the three of us got into bed together and ordered a pizza because I was suddenly starving.  The high lasted for weeks.