My first year of motherhood was a year full of lessons about letting go. And, of course, my birth—the ultimate test—was no different.
Birth Story 🤰🏼🐭 My first year of motherhood was a year full of lessons about letting go, letting the turbulent and murky waters settle so I could see clearly again. And of course, my labor—the ultimate test—was no different:
🗓 Wednesday, August 2 ⏰ 6:30 p.m.: At 39 weeks and 2 days, my water broke at home on the couch while Wesley and I were quietly watching a movie. I suddenly felt wet and rushed to the bathroom. And sure enough, it was coming out drop by drop. 💦 I call out to Wesley that it’s time, and in a daze of panic and euphoria, I call my doula, who reassures me and encourages me.
🏨That evening, the midwife came by twice until midnight to check the amniotic fluid, the fetal heart rate, and dilation: already 2 cm dilated with mild contractions every 5 minutes. We decide to ⏰leave for the hospitalat 2 a.m. for a comprehensive monitoring session, to make sure Minimuis is still doing well. Because of the amniotic fluid leak, we know that if we go in now, we’ll have to stay in the hospital.
⏰ 3 a.m. – The monitor looks fine. ✅ We’re allowed to go to the delivery room. The contractions are getting a little more intense, but dilation stays at 2 cm all night. Every hour, a nurse comes in and out. Telling me I need an enema (no, I don’t need anything), that I need a catheter (no, I don’t have to do anything) 😖 It’s making me nervous: the contractions stop, and I want to sleep but can’t. Morning comes.
🗓 Thursday, August 3: Starting early in the morning, I’m sitting on the ball with my headphones on and a gentle “baby” playlist, trying to stimulate my natural oxytocin and, in turn, my contractions. 🎶 Wesley massages my hands. I cry out all my frustration. I’m angry that I was pulled out of my bubble by all the interventions. This wasn’t how I’d imagined it. 😔 Disappointed. After the crying spell, the contractions were back. A glimmer of hope—proud of my body 🙏🏻
⏰9 a.m.: The gynecologist (not mine—he’s on vacation) comes to cheer me up. 🥴No, just kidding: he comes to tell me I’m not making any progress at all and that we’d better go home—because what are we even doing here? 🤷🏻♂️ He asks if I’m sure my water broke (yes!). Later that morning, my lovely doula comes to give me a pressure-point massage to get things going. We decide to move from the delivery room to our regular hospital room, freshen up, go for a walk in the afternoon, and grab a bite to eat. 🍴During lunch, my contractions gradually become a little more noticeable. I’m proud of my body again—it knew exactly what to do.🙌🏻
⏰ That same gynecologist visited my roomin the evening: no further dilation, no noticeable progress. “I’m actually just sitting here doing nothing” (his words). 🤷🏻♂️ He wants to induce labor; this is all taking too long. I’m confused, because my body is telling me—through the contractions that keep coming—that it wants to give birth naturally. 🥴 We agree to start a gentle induction at 11 p.m. with a dose of prostaglandin to give “a little nudge.” I’m angry, confused, frustrated, and disappointed all over again. But I go along with it because I’m tired and emotional.
😫Here’s where things get rough: the gynecologist hadn’t even left yet when, all of a sudden, around⏰10 p.m., I was hit by a massive storm of back contractions—out of nowhere, with no breaks at all. 🌊🌊🌊One back contraction after another sets my whole body and head ablaze. I can’t think straight anymore; there’s no escape—sitting, standing, lying down, walking, crying, screaming… nothing helps. I curl up in the fetal position on the bed and endure it all while Wesley turns pale—he didn’t see this coming either. At⏰11 p.m., the prostaglandin—in my mind, just a formality by then, because my body had indeed gone into labor on its own, as a nice rebuke to the gynecologist who clearly had lost faith in it.😤
🗓Friday, August 4 — Around⏰1:00 a.m., we’ll call our doula to weigh all our options using the BRAINS method.
Wesley’s doing the talking because I’m mentally checked out, still caught in the storm of back contractions that’s raging mercilessly with no respite. My hope for a natural birth had left the room along with the gynecologist, so we bring up my dreaded “E” word. 💉The doula asks me if I’m going to regret this later. I say no, because after the second sleepless night in a row in 48 hours, I’m physically and mentally exhausted😥, and I want only one thing: for our little one to be born peacefully and without drama. 🙏🏻
⏰2 hours – We’re checking my dilation: 5 cm. Halfway there. HALFWAY THERE! 🏆My body did half of this on its own; it endured the pain on its own. ✨This doesn’t make me weak—I’m letting go of that idea. I’m proud, satisfied—it’s all good. ✨Now let me just look forward to what’s coming in peace. The epidural brings calm to my body and mind, and I can think clearly again. 💭And suddenly I realize: in a few hours, our baby will be born. OUR BABY. I sink into the blissful feeling of eagerly looking forward to her arrival. 🥰
⏰4 a.m. — It’s only now, during my second sleepless night, that I realize just how exhausted I am. I’m fighting off sleep because I don’t want to miss a thing about this process. 😴 I call our doula to ask her to come to the hospital.
⏰6 a.m. – Fully dilated. I feel the urge to push. Little Mouse is really about to arrive now. I’m secretly hoping I can hold off on the pushing stage until after 7 a.m., because that’s when there’s a shift change and a different OB-GYN—not “Mr. Motivational Coaching”—will be on duty. The kind midwife senses this, and we wait.
⏰8 a.m. — I’m allowed to start pushing. We put on my baby playlist. A soft blanket of romantic covers envelops me in my birth bubble. At first I want to lie on my side, but because I’m so exhausted, it feels better on my back. Wesley is on my right, the midwife on my left, and a kind female OB-GYN I already know is at the foot of the bed, along with my doula, who’s holding up a mirror so I can perfectly see, feel, and coordinate what I’m doing. I love it. 🙌🏻This is fun, this is magical. ✨Wesley is cheering me on like I’ve never heard him do before. Encouraging words coming from all sides. 🎶Everyone is humming along to my playlist. 🎶I feel the pain, but I’m breathing through it. Your little head in the mirror. Two hours fly by without me even realizing it. I’m enjoying this. No tear, no cut—you can come out in peace.
Grateful.🙏🏻
⏰9:58 a.m. – ✨And there you are. Welcome, Minimuis. All this time, it was you. To the tune of “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” Coincidentally (or not?), that was the opening dance at our wedding reception.
You latch onto the breast right away and look at me with interest, one eye open. Wesley is beaming with pride at his girls. We made it. 💕
We let the umbilical cord finish pulsating completely. Golden hour. ✨Your placenta is delivered and will be saved for you to take home.
💭What an experience: I threw all my plans out the window and got (yet another) crash course in letting go. That didn’t make the lessons any less wonderful—maybe they were even more wonderful. I’m grateful.🙏🏻
My first year of motherhood left a deep impression on me. Such a deep impression that a few months ago, during yet another late-night breastfeeding session, I felt an irresistible urge to write down the words that were swirling around in my head. That’s how @moederschapsmijmering was born: early motherhood poetry, about Motherhood with a capital M—an honorary title we’ve more than earned for our hard and loving work. In August 2024, “Moederschapsmijmering” will also be published in print. The book will be available through Bol, among other retailers.
Dear (future) Mom,
You’re doing so well. Your hard work is paying off. I see you, I am you, I bow to you.
Love,
Jolien || Instagram: jolien_brx
