Clarissa Benton — Luke’s Birth Story

Birth of our second child at home

For my first birth I did a heap of practical preparation: I learned about dimming the lights and warming the room to increase oxytocin. I learned how toning during contractions would allow my jaw (and also my cervix) to slacken. I did a heaps of reading on natural birth and my husband drew all the acupressure points on me with a sharpie. But, during my first birth, I was all “in my head“. I lacked the skill to take my brain to a place where I was relaxed and peaceful. I wanted to be able to completely trust my body and surrender to the birth process but I couldn’t quite get there.

So, the preparation for my second birth was all about “head -space”. Whenever I was in a beautiful place that triggered a feeling of serenity or happiness (basically the beach or a forest for me!), I imagined myself having contractions and tied the two feelings together.

This time we were going to have a homebirth. We were a little apprehensive at first, but my husband and I discussed all our concerns with my midwife, and she assured us that after an easy first birth, I was a great candidate. I was looking forward to labouring in my own space and I wanted to focus on the contractions and not have to worry about the best time to go to the hospital.

It was 2 am when I awoke to a violent kick and a snap that felt like a giant elastic band breaking in my belly. Then I felt some trickling and I thought, “Argh, my waters have broken! - Where are the towels?” A good friend once told me to saturate every towel before getting the next one, so I diligently wrapped it around me like a nappy and crawled back into bed. I considered my options. I could wake my husband, but he had work in the morning, and what if it was a false alarm? So, I lay quietly in the dark and tried to get back to sleep.

My first contraction arrived 20 minutes later. It was huge! I immediately focused on riding it like a wave, feeling the power of it and transporting my mind into the clouds. I imagined myself in the place where an aircraft takes you, without actually being on board. Clouds below, sky above, and a perpetual pink glow all around.

Back in the room, I got practical. “Where is the paracetamol?” “Do I wake my husband?” I decided to let him rest - labour might go on for hours. I scrambled to the bathroom to find paracetamol. Another contraction, again rode it like a wave, visualised the sky. Started to feel quite pleased with my new technique. This was all do-able! Oop! Need the toilet! Shifted to the toilet just as another wave arrived. Before I could focus, I heard my toddler shifting in her room. I started to worry about her waking and crying, which made my head spin, and the next contraction hit me hard. It felt like being caught by a gnarly wave, all the power overtook me and dumped me hard on the sand, painfulness piercing my body, and the breath was knocked out of me. I gave a long involuntary groan. “Bugger, lost it.”

I can hear my husband going in to settle Tara. I relax, and the next few surges are manageable as long as I focus. If I stop to listen to them, I let out a groan. I can hear Tara saying “Mummy is having a baby - I can hear her yelling!” and my husband saying “What!” and the stomp, stomp, stomp of footsteps as he comes to check on me.

I can't say much, but he knows what to do. Mum and Dad are asleep in the next room, and he wakes them to look after Tara. I have an overwhelming desire for privacy and quietness. I drag my foam mattress (an old camping mattress recruited into use as a labouring mat) up into the dark lounge and tuck it out of sight behind the sofa where no one will find me. I am all good when I can't hear the family and engulfed by my contractions when I can.

The next time he checks on me, I say, “Ring Bryan (father-in-law). Tell him to pick them up.” He nods. He asks about the midwife, and I say, “Don't ring the midwife” (in my head, I was thinking of the midwife warning me not to call her too early).

After the house was emptied of grandparents and toddlers, I felt content. My husband was rustling around, getting the birthing space ready. I was labouring happily behind the sofa in my makeshift nest. He would check on me occasionally, but mostly I was peaceful. Most contractions I would ride like a wave. Occasionally some would catch me off guard and knock me over. Eventually, I became aware that I was nesting in a part of the lounge that he needed to arrange for the birth, and I was HOT.

It was a warm, calm night, and the sky was clear and full of stars. Our picnic table was just the perfect height for leaning on. I was varying my visualisations with each wave of contractions and had explored clouds, flowers, worms in the compost heap, and swimming in Lake Taupo. All of a sudden, a really intense contraction came over me. By now, I had learned enough to realise that I just had to go with it.... There was a weird sensation of something shifting, a landslide in my pelvis. I started to panic - What the @#$%$! What was that???? I don't think I could do another 7 hours of this!?

When a cow gives birth to a calf, at the point where she pushes the calf out, she will produce a loud, open-mouthed holler. It comes from deep inside her, welling up and erupting involuntarily as a guttural roar. 

That was the noise that I heard while my pelvis tilted forward, and my abdomen contracted in an enormous involuntary push. I yelled, “S$#@! He's coming!” I hear my husband yell “F$%^!” and suddenly he is there with towels and talking into his phone.

“Comequickly,it'sClarissaBentonshe'scrowning!” And he chucks the phone onto the grass. Then there is a pause, and he says nervously, “You are doing a really good job.” I have the urge to push again, and the head pops out… (NB There are a couple of things the midwife preps you for in the event that she doesn't get there in time. The first one is don't panic! - babies that come fast are doing fine. The second is to check the neck to see if the cord is looped over it.) I can feel my husband checking, and it feels stretchy and sore. There is a pause, and I feel that stretched sore feeling again, so I say, “Please don't check again, it hurts!” The reply comes back: “I'm 3 feet away,” With astonishment  I realise that the baby was shaking his head. I push again and feel the slithery, slippy, all-come-out-in-a-rush feeling of a baby being born.

Then we all sat in a heap in stunned elation. My husband had Luke in a full-body hug, and I was naked and crouched on some towels... Eventually, we did an awkward three-person-and-an-umbilical-cord manoeuvre to untangle the cord from my legs and we made it inside. The midwife arrived. She warmed me up and gave me a shot of oxytocin to help the placenta come away. Luke lay on my chest and started his birth crawl. It had been 1 hour and 40 minutes since I woke up.

My husband played a crucial role in the whole process. He prepared the birthing space, set up the pool, and removed all the people. He quietly respected my wishes and never waved a labouring app in my face, even though he was dying to try it. He kept busy and distanced himself when I needed privacy. He prepared himself for the challenge and didn't freak out when it didn't go quite to plan. But above all, he protected my space and made me feel safe throughout the whole experience.