The Night the Storm Brought My Son: A Raw and Real Home Birth Story
12:45 AM — The Storm and the First Signs of Labor
Perhaps it was the flash of lightning or the deep boom of thunder that woke me up.
Or maybe it was the fact that I needed to pee again for the 18th time because my past-due-date-third-trimester bladder couldn’t hang.
Either way, it was the middle of the night.
I checked my phone before rolling out of bed and made my way to the bathroom.
Without turning any lights on, I did my business and waddled back towards bed.
Did I really do that shitty of a job wiping? I thought, my underwear feeling a little too wet for comfort. Which, if we’re being honest, wasn’t an uncommon occurrence this late into the pregnancy. I’d prolapsed at 10 weeks pregnant and my bladder had a tendency to finish emptying itself whenever it fucking pleased.
Back to the bathroom, I rewiped, exchanged the wet pair for another pair, and crawled back into bed. Amidst the chaos, I had a couple mild contractions.
Of course, I had the brief thought, “maybe I’ll have this baby tonight,” but I’d had that thought every day for the last two weeks while dealing with miserable on and off prodromal labor so I certainly wasn’t getting my hopes up. I dismissed the idea as quickly as it came.
Completing the twelve-point-turn spectacle of rolling over to get comfortable with my pregnancy pillow, I felt my underwear get grossly wet again followed by another mild contraction.
Annoyed at the cruel joke that is third-trimester pregnancy, I headed back to the bathroom—this time shutting the door and turning the lights on to get a better idea of what was going on.
It looked like I’d lost another part of my mucus plug, which I’d been doing for weeks. Feeling like maybe this might be the real deal but trying not to get my hopes up, I changed my underwear again and tried to go back to sleep.
Not to spoil the ending or anything but I did not—in fact—go back to sleep.
1:33 AM — The Text That Woke the Husband
At 1:33 am, I texted my doulas: “Update: contractions started around 12:45 and I’m not positive but I think my water may have broken? I’ve rolled through three pairs of underwear and one of them is pink with blood.”
Worried about another false alarm, I hadn’t woken Brandon up yet. But when I heard his phone ding loudly from his bedside table I remembered he was in the group chat with my doulas.
Ope, I thought. What a way to find out your wife is in labor.
By the time I got in touch with my midwives, the pink had turned to bright red blood from dilating quickly and the contractions were consistently 3-4 minutes apart.
The storm continued to hammer the neighborhood—flash flood warnings popping up on our phones as we prepared the house for the birth team to arrive.
The contractions felt easier to manage while standing, so I kept busy in between them and would pause where I was to ride out the wave. We tidied the house, set out snacks, finished airing up the birthing tub, and lit candles—all while Sonora, the 3.5 year old, slept soundly in her room upstairs.
3:45 AM — Help Arrives, and So Does the Flood
Kelsey, my primary doula, arrived—just as we were discovering water pouring into the piano room and basement from all the rain.
Fast forward a few hours.
5:00 AM — The Labor Intensifies
Brandon took care of the water in the basement; Kelsey took care of me. I had the tens unit zapping on full blast. I napped on the couch in between contractions. I ate some soup.
The contractions growing in intensity and my body getting pushier with each surge, Brandon started filling the birth tub and Kelsey called the midwives.
They suggested we wait to fill the tub until they got there, but with one more hard contraction and a low, guttural moan from me, my doula instructed Brandon to “fill it up anyway.”
7:00 AM — Waiting for the Midwives
Ashley, my backup doula and friend, arrived and found me laying on the bed, waiting for the midwives to arrive so I could get in the water.
We heard Sonora’s door open, and the toddler bounced into our bedroom wearing only undies and a messy mop of hair. She was excited to see a “swimming pool” in our room and happy to see Ashley and Kelsey at the house again.
7:15 AM — Into the Water
The midwives arrived, heard one contraction, and got me in the water. Sonora joined me in the tub—having the actual time of her life. My deep moans had turned to ancestral roars, and she simply covered her ears when it was loud and then continued to play in the water. It was peacefully and distractingly wonderful to have her there with me.
This is where it all blurs—the transition.
7:30 AM — The Final Stretch
Sonora got out of the tub to go eat pancakes. I shifted positions to all fours. The water was too hot; I was overheating. Cold rags on my neck. Fan on my face. Chocolate protein shake to drink. Brandon held my hand. Sonora came back. “Good job, Mommy,” a sweet little voice said.
I was somewhere else, watching the whole thing.
I visualized my cervix opening.
I pictured my baby descending easily and effortlessly.
Wise body, wise baby. I kept repeating.
I could hear the midwives instructing my breath during the ring of fire—his head stretching me to its widest limit.
Brandon let go of my hand and prepared to help deliver our baby.
It felt like forever.
“Is his head out?” I asked softly, out of breath.
It was.
I took a minute, breathing deeply.
8:30 AM — He’s Here
I felt hands on my lower back, reminding me to keep my body submerged for delivery. I heard instructions. I felt exhausted.
In a blur of a final contraction, the baby was out and Brandon handed him up to me through my legs. I sat back and brought him up to my chest, leaning against the wall of the birthing tub.
Our son, Roman, was born.
I looked up and saw his sister—my first baby—absolutely beaming with pride and my heart exploded with love.
He’s here!!
8:45 AM — The Placenta, the Knot, and the Calm
After resting in the water with Roman on my chest, it was time to deliver the placenta. A couple gentle pushes later and a giant bloody organ made its way into a floating bowl next to me.
The birth team helped me out of the water, dried me off, and guided me to the bed.
His umbilical cord had a true knot—a rare phenomenon the midwives were surprised and excited to see. At some point in the pregnancy, Roman had swam through his cord. When it was fully white and no longer pulsing—about 30 minutes later—Brandon cut it.
Roman’s true knot in his umbilical cord.
Holy shit.
I did it.
We did it.
And then—finally—I felt myself relax.
The storm had passed, both outside and within. The rain slowed, the sun came out, the birth team left, and the house quieted.
Roman’s tiny breaths against my chest, Sonora’s giggles echoing down the hallway, Brandon’s hand in mine.
The night that started with thunder ended in the calmest serenity I’d ever felt.
My body, my baby, my family—all home.
You Were Made for This Kind of Trust
If this story moved something in you—that deep knowing that there’s more waiting for you—you’re in the right place.
This is what I help women come home to:
trusting their bodies, their boundaries, their enoughness.
Come hang out in The Creating Confidence® Society or explore 1:1 Coaching.
You already have what you need. Let’s just help you see it.