How a midwife is made
For as long as I can remember, I’ve carried that deep longing to become a mum. When I met my husband, I just knew — not only that he would be the one I shared life with, but that he would be a wonderful dad. We got married in 2001, and a year later, we found out we were expecting our first baby.
Oh my goodness… how I loved being pregnant. It felt like such a gift. As my baby grew and those first tiny flutters turned into kicks and movements, I couldn’t believe how incredible it all felt. Don’t get me wrong, those first-trimester waves of nausea and “morning” sickness (which seemed to arrive at all times of day!) weren’t exactly my favourite part, but even that was a reminder of the precious little life growing inside me. I felt nothing but gratitude.
Although I was one of the first of my friends to start a family, I’d been a children’s nanny for years, caring for little ones from newborns to teenagers. So, looking after a baby didn’t faze me; I was beyond excited to meet my baby and pour all the love I’d witnessed in the families I’d worked with into my own. Over the years, I’d listened to birth stories —some joyful, some difficult —and I knew that every experience was unique. I wanted to approach my own birth with an open heart.
Part of the standard care pathway at the time included antenatal classes and a tour of the maternity unit. But at the time, I was a nanny for a beautiful family who were facing something no parent should ever have to endure. Being in that hospital environment just didn’t sit right. It felt cold, clinical, and I couldn’t imagine finding the comfort or safety I needed to let go and birth there.
I shared my reservations with my GP, mentioning I would love a water birth. To my surprise, they suggested a home birth, and that I could hire a pool! That simple conversation changed everything. From then on, I devoured every book and article I could about home birth. I wanted to be as prepared as possible; physically, emotionally, and mentally.
We booked the home birth, hired the pool, and signed up for a class on water birth. I practised yoga, squats, pelvic floor exercises, and learned about perineal massage and raspberry leaf tea — anything to support my body for the journey ahead. I didn’t realise it at the time, but all those positive birth stories I read, the affirmations I repeated in the bath, they were quietly shaping me. I was building my own toolkit of calm and confidence, my version of relaxation techniques for birth. And somewhere along the way, I started to look forward to giving birth. I had this quiet feeling: It’s going to be OK.
And then, at 37 weeks and 4 days… it began.
I woke just after midnight to the oddest ‘pop’ sensation. Within seconds, I was out of bed — my waters had broken with a real gush. Such a strange feeling! After checking everything looked clear, we rang the hospital. As my contractions hadn’t started yet, they advised me to rest and said a midwife would visit in the morning.
Sleep? Not a chance. I was far too excited. After a couple of hours of trying to rest, I gave up. I baked a cake, pottered around the house… meanwhile, my husband slept on the sofa!
By morning, mild tightenings had started. The midwife arrived around 11 am, confirming early labour but nothing established yet. She planned to check in again that afternoon. I tried to nap, but the contractions began to pick up. That’s when we realised the birth pool wasn’t arriving until tomorrow. I felt a flicker of disappointment, but it was quickly overtaken by the excitement… our baby was coming today, and I knew it would be OK.
Hubby dashed off for last-minute essentials (including the all-important home birth bucket!), while his mum came to sit with me. As the afternoon progressed, the sensations deepened. I ran a bath, and with each surge, I instinctively moved upright, swaying and breathing through it.
By 4pm, I called the midwife back. Within half an hour, she arrived, and by then, I was well in my labour bubble. I don’t recall exactly how dilated I was, but I remember feeling safe. The midwife quietly set up in the background, joined later by a second midwife. The lights were low, our music was on, and my husband was by my side as I moved with the rhythm of my labour.
At one point, I remember feeling that deep, overwhelming urge to ‘go’ — so off I went to the toilet, convinced I needed to… but of course, it was my baby moving down. I kept moving, swaying, stamping through the contractions, feeling powerful but also uncertain. I even asked the midwife if I should go to the hospital for pain relief. She smiled gently, told me I was so nearly there — I didn’t need to go anywhere. I was doing it.
That was all I needed to hear.
With a rush of renewed energy, I left the bathroom. Supported by my husband and the banister, I followed my body’s lead. The sensation of my baby’s head crowning was so intense — that stretch, that power. I tried to breathe through it, and in no time at all, his head was born… then with another surge, the rest of his little body followed.
At 7:04 pm, I held our beautiful baby boy in my arms — our darling Oscar. The moment of joy, disbelief, and sheer love was beyond words. I sat back against my husband, our baby snuggled on my chest, his umbilical cord still connecting us, while we waited for the placenta.
After nearly an hour, I agreed to the injection to help birth the placenta, which was soon delivered. I was checked (no stitches needed!), helped into a bath, and then tucked up in bed with Oscar for his first breastfeed and the most satisfying tea and toast I’ve ever had.
I felt on top of the world. That day changed me. It wasn’t just the day I became a mother — it was the day I realised the power of trusting your body, the importance of feeling safe, and the quiet, steady strength that comes when you’re held with kindness through birth.
It planted the seed for the work I do now — walking beside families as they prepare to meet their babies, holding space, nurturing confidence, and helping them feel seen, heard, and safe — just as I did that day.