Prior to going into labor, I had prodromal labor for five long days.

The afternoon of the 18th, I started feeling a little off. I emailed my husband to let him know that I thought things might be happening, but not to get too excited because we'd had a couple false starts already. I went to the toilet, had some loose stools, lost a little more of my mucus plug / bloody show, and had some lunch. Shortly thereafter, I felt fine again.

I had a midwife appointment at 4:30 that afternoon. During the appointment, my husband and I expressed some fears I was having - how would I know if something was wrong with my placenta (I had GD), how would I know if the baby was moving slightly less, etc. Unexpectedly, I burst into tears talking about my concerns and about how I had been in prodromal labor for so long. My midwife suggested two things to ease my mind: a check to see how dilated I was, and a nonstress test. We did the check first, and I was elated to find out I was 3cm dilated and 80% effaced. Hooray! All that prodromal labor was accomplishing something after all! Immediately after we received this news, the Braxton Hicks contractions I'd been having for weeks became longer, stronger, and more painful. My midwife said it was because I had received good news and had relaxed because of it.

Then we went on to the nonstress test. My husband and I both now felt confident that everything was fine. We watched on the monitor as it registered contraction after contraction, and I realized that some of these were hurting. Not just cramping, but hurting. This, of course, made me even happier.

However, when the midwife came back, she said, "Well, I'm glad we did that." Long story short, I failed the nonstress test. This meant that my hopes for having the baby at the birth center were out the window. She told us to go home, have dinner, pack a bag, and meet her at the hospital later tonight so that she could break my waters. She assured us it was not an emergency and that I had a very good chance of having the natural birth I wanted. She told me she was fairly certain I was already in early labor and that breaking my waters would just speed things up a little bit.

We were excited and terrified, but we did was we were told. We called my parents and our doula, and then went home, where I had a shower to relax. My husband installed the carseat and loaded up our bags. We then took a quick trip to the chiropractor (I'd popped my SI joint out of place in the shower) and had dinner at our favorite sandwich place. (We're regulars there, and the owner gave us half off our meal when we told her I was in labor. Score!)

By the time we got to the hospital, the contractions were taking a bit of concentration to get through. I could still talk through them if I really tried, but most of the time I didn't even try. I wanted to be relaxed and calm, so I rode them quietly with deep breathing.

We got all checked in and settled around 9:30 or so. I declined the IV and the hospital gown, and signed a waiver stating that I only wanted fetal monitoring every 90 minutes instead of every 60 (as per hospital policy). At 10 my midwife arrived. I told her I was really nervous that her breaking my waters would start a cascade of interventions I didn't want and didn't need, and she assured me (again) that this would not be the case. So, I hopped into bed and let her break my water. If you're curious, it didn't hurt. I actually found it more uncomfortable to have my cervix checked in the office than to have my waters broken. She broke the bag, the waters rushed out, and thank goodness they were clear!

After that, things started to move very, very quickly. I had two contractions that felt no different, but after that they were much more painful than before. I put on some of those awesome mesh panties and a giant pad and we went for a walk around the ward. At this point, we were still convinced we had a long night ahead of us. We were so wrong.

We made it one lap. I kept having to stop and go down on my knees by the handrail. My husband was awesome about carrying a pillow from my room and tossing it down on the floor for me whenever I started to sink down. With each contraction, I knelt on the pillow and held onto the handrail and sort of bounced up and down a little. I know I must have looked ridiculous but it was the only thing that made me feel better. When we made it back to my room, I was done walking. I assumed the same sort of kneeling position on the floor by the bed. I remember my awesome nurse stroking my hand and arm where it was draped over the bed, as my husband knelt beside me and told me how great I was doing. I remember by this point I was starting to sigh and moan through contractions. I moved around a bit, always assuming the kneeling position - on the bed (draped over the back), on the couch (also draped over the back), and on the floor. My nurse was a great help during this part. As I was kneeling on the bed, I was swaying from side to side, and she put her hands on my hips and helped me keep the rhythm going all the way through the contraction. A little while later, I was on the floor, and she said she was going to fill the tub. She and my husband stripped off my nightgown and my bra, and helped me get into the tub.

Surprisingly, I hated being in the tub. The hot water did not help with my pain, which was almost 100% in my back. But I was concentrating too hard to move, and I was in too much pain anyway, so I labored there for some time. Our doula arrived while I was in the tub. I recall I was lying on my side in the tub as my husband spoke softly to me, but I did not want to be touched and sometimes I even shushed him. (Poor guy. He was a trooper though!) Anyway, my doula filled the sink with ice, and when she knelt beside the tub and touched my back, I was in heaven. Her hands were so nice and cold! I think my husband had been applying counterpressure to my lower back at this point, so I asked her to switch with him because her hands were colder.

This part's a little fuzzy for me. I think this is when transition really got going. I went back and forth between the tub and the toilet for a while. I remember sitting forwards on the toilet with my head in my doula's arms while my husband rubbed my back. At some point I was sitting backwards on the toilet. I kept complaining that I wasn't comfortable on the toilet but again I couldn't move. Too uncomfortable. When I gathered the strength and courage to move, I went down on my hands and knees beside the tub. I started rocking again, and thank goodness my husband was on the ball - I almost hit my head on the tub but he stuck his hand in the way instead.

I remembered something I read in a book at this point, and experimented with a tiny push. It brought a bit of relief, so I told my husband and doula that I thought I might need to push. My doula got the nurse, who wanted to check me and listen to the baby's heart. She asked me to get into bed, but I ignored her. I remember my doula asking if she could check me on the bathroom floor. The nurse said, "Well, I can..." but she didn't sound too happy about the idea. My doula stood up for me. "Well, I don't think she's gonna move for you right now." Thank goodness for her.

The nurse did check me on the floor, but it hurt a lot! I don't really know why. I told her to stop and she didn't listen, so I shouted at her to stop. She said she thought I was a 6 or a 7. I did not care at all. Because she had hurt me and distracted me, my next contraction was twice as hard and I couldn't maintain any of my breathing or moaning (or growling or whatever I was doing) that had been getting me through.

Shortly thereafter, I moved back out to the main room. I had a couple contractions on the floor. My nurse had been telling me not to push, and I think I must have been complaining that I needed to, because my midwife calmly said, "Just push if you feel like it." So I did. It felt so much better to push! I think I went back to the toilet to push at some point. I remember sitting backwards and sort of rocking between contractions and my doula encouraged me, saying, "Keep going, rock your baby down."

I ended up in bed pretty soon. My midwife checked me. It also hurt and I asked her to stop, and to my surprise her response was, "Heather, you're at ten!" I was lying on my right side in bed. By now, my body had pretty much taken over. I was pushing with each contraction, without even really meaning to. My husband was wiping my face with a cool cloth, my doula was pressing an ice pack into my lower back, and my nurse (who was still awesome but who I hated by this point) was holding the fetal monitor on my belly. At one point the baby had a deceleration and they stuck an oxygen mask on me. (Which I hated. I was so hot and it only made me hotter.) I heard the nurse phone down to the OR, which annoyed me because the baby had had ONE decel - not a big deal yet. I thought to myself, "I need to get this baby out or they are going to try to cut him out of me." I redoubled my efforts. He didn't have another decel and I was able to take the oxygen mask off after the next contraction.

One detail that really sticks out to me about this part is that while my nurses were running about and constantly checking the fetal monitor, my midwife was very calm. She was sitting in the rocking chair across from the foot of the bed, watching me. Sometimes I said, "I can't do it" or "He's not moving down" and she would smile and reply, "You are doing it" or "He is moving down, he's coming."

My support team was awesome through this part. My husband kept wiping my face and talking to me, telling me how great I was doing, how strong I was, and how proud he was of me. He reminded me that I could do it and I was doing it and that the baby would be here soon. He kept telling me that all this hard work was for that one moment at the end - the moment when I would meet my beautiful, healthy, alert baby boy. My doula was also wonderful. She stroked my back, side, and leg and applied ice and counterpressure to my lower back. Sometimes I felt like the pressure she was putting just above my tailbone was the only thing holding my body together.

Pretty soon, the baby was close. My husband, who was taking turns holding my leg with the nurse and the midwife, told me he could see the head. My midwife added that it was only about an inch away. I pushed and pushed with all my might. Sometimes I had to be vocal with the pushes, grunting or growling with them to power through. I clung to the pillow or to the bedrail for leverage. It seemed like it took forever, but soon he was crowning. I complained that it burned, and my husband tells me that when I said this, my midwife and doula smiled because it meant I was very close to the end.

I won't lie - when the head was coming, I really felt like I was being torn apart. I had read a birth story in which the author had said she put her hand on her vulva to keep from feeling like she was being ripped in half, so I reached down with one hand and did the same. I'm not sure if it helped or not, but I held myself for dear life because it was the only way I was convinced that my pelvis wasn't breaking in two.

I knew the end was very near, so I kept telling myself so in my head. My support team reminded me too. I had my foot on a peanut ball, and I remember turning my leg out to accommodate the baby. (Remember, I was pushing on my side. And it killed my back if my leg wasn't at just the correct angle. So up to this point I had only been opening my legs a little bit with each push, but now I opened it all the way.) I rested - really rested (my husband tells me I looked serene) - between contractions, and then when another one would come, I would brace myself with a few deep breaths, wait for the peak, and push really hard. Then when I thought I had pushed as hard as I could, I bore down a little harder.

When the head popped out, I was shocked! My husband tells me that my midwife hooked a finger under the baby's head to pop it out. Then I gave another good push for the shoulders, and the rest of the baby slid out all slimy and slippery. I don't remember what I said when they handed him to me, but I was in shock and awe that he was finally here! My husband cried and I just held our baby and spoke to him and called him 'sweet prince'. I kissed my husband and smiled and I was happier than I had ever been.

Nikolai Evan arrived healthy at 2:14am on June 19th, just four hours after my water had been broken. He weighed 8lbs 5oz and was 21.5in long.