Birth Story: She’s Here!

Just because I didn’t announce it on Facebook doesn’t mean it didn’t happen…I gave birth to a healthy baby girl at home, once again! We are thrilled. And overwhelmed and sleep deprived. I started this blog post so long ago I can’t even remember how many days its been…

On the day I went into labor, I started to feel some twinges in my lower back at about 12:30 pm. Could this be labor? For weeks I’d been wondering if every little feeling was the start of labor… My back doesn’t feel right. Better sleep on a towel tonight. Oooh, Sweet Pea is acting extra needy. Does she sense the baby is coming? Better sleep on a towel tonight. Is that a full moon!? Better sleep on a towel tonight. I’d gotten it in my head that I would definitely go into labor in the middle of the night.

But my labor began just after lunch. I was with Sweet Pea at an event at the JCC when I felt the first pain. I took Sweet Pea home, not because I was sure I was in labor- at that point it was just a suspicion- but because it was nap time. When we got to our neighborhood, Sweet Pea had just barely fallen asleep, so I drove around the block a couple of times to be sure she was totally out. I carried her from her car seat into the house, savoring the feeling of her floppy body melting into mine. I laid her down in her bed and noticed my back was hurting a little worse. Was this labor? Maybe… but then again, how was I supposed to feel at 40 weeks and 5 days pregnant, after carrying 30 pounds worth of sleeping toddler?

I settled in on the loveseat in our den to watch an episode of Breaking Bad, and about 20 minutes into it, I reached for my phone to text my friend. I had the message all written out in my head-“OMG did ___ really just happen!?” (I can’t be more detailed in case you’re not through Season Four yet. I wouldn’t want to ruin it for you). Except when I grabbed my phone, I paused the show and called my mom.

“You should probably still plan on flying out a couple of days from now. I think I’m in labor.”

“Oh! Wow! How do you feel?”

I took measured breaths, in through my nose, out through my mouth. This was definitely a contraction. “Well… It hurts.”

When I got off the phone, I called out to Dan, “I think I’m in labor!”

He stopped his yard work immediately, jumped up and said, “Ok! I’ll vacuum the steps!”

I had been asking him to vacuum the steps for me for a couple of days. I had tried to do it myself but with my huge belly pressing against my lungs, forcing me to choose between bending or breathing, I gave up.  Why had I not faked being in labor every day for the past 20 days? The haste with which Dan set to work on the stairs was unbelievable. This is The Miracle of Childbirth, people.

I called the midwife to give her a heads up, then I returned to Breaking Bad, but I kept having to pause it to hit the start/stop button on my “Full Term” app (yes there is an app for everything) and breathe. It wasn’t exactly a relaxing viewing experience, so I turned off Breaking Bad and tidied the house. I asked Dan to please call to check in with his parents, who had volunteered to take Sweet Pea whenever I went into labor. When he got off the phone twenty seconds later, I asked him what they were up to.

“They’re going to a party.”

“Ok… and?”

“And that’s it. They will have their phones and they are happy to leave the party to come get Sweet Pea if we call.”

“But where is the party?:

“I didn’t ask.”

“When is the party?”

“I don’t know.



While Dan called his parents back to get more details, Sweet Pea woke up from her nap, I fed her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, tidied the house some more, and reorganized her overnight bag, adding more diapers and sunblock, pausing every so often to breathe and time my contractions, which grew gradually longer, stronger, and closer together. At 3:00 I called the midwife again with a status update. I thought she was going to tell me to call back when the contractions were consistently a minute long and three minutes apart. Instead, she said, “Call back when you feel like you can’t make the phone call. I’m just ten minutes away.”

Dan’s folks came to get Sweet Pea and I came outside to say goodbye and thank them between contractions. Now unable to tidy the house, I hunkered down in the corner of our bedroom, kneeling on the rug, and leaning over our bed, my elbows resting on the mattress, while Dan set up the birth tub. Around 3:45 I told him, “You better call the midwife.”

“Hi! It’s Dan!”

Why was he so happy!? And why was he yelling into the phone!?

“Dan, do you have to have this conversation right next to me??” I hissed.

I could hear the midwife’s voice through the phone. “It sounds like I need to get over there.”

When she arrived, it was a little past 4pm, and I was in the middle of a contraction. She quietly crouched by my bedroom door and observed me. I waved, weakly. Then she came over and took my blood pressure and my temperature, and used a Doppler to get the baby’s heart rate. All were fine. She told me I could get into the birth tub if I wanted to.

“Should I?” I felt incapable of making the decision. She was the birth expert. I was going to do whatever she suggested. Except all she said was, “It’s totally up to you.”

Alrighty, then. I took off my clothes and got in. I wish I could say it was an instant relief but being in the warm water just made it easier to move around. There was no relief until the baby was born.

The contractions grew gradually more intense, and I kept reminding myself that they would be strong, grow stronger, and then taper off, and I would have a rest before the next one. I tried to remember to relax, especially my face, as I could feel myself grimacing when the pain was bad. I told myself that I couldn’t control this and I just had to let it happen to me.

I asked for water when I needed it, a cold rag for my neck and face when I needed it, a bowl when I needed to puke, and I apologized for pooping in the tub. Everyone- the midwife, her assistant, and Dan- assured me it was fine. But still, EW. Yes, you’re in a different zone when you’re in labor but I’ve done this twice now and I’ve never been in a place where I wasn’t mortified that I’d shit in front of everyone.

Dan was in the pool with me, pressing on my lower back with every contraction. He dragged a colander around to capture the rogue pieces of poop, the way one would skim the surface of a swimming pool with a fishing net. He claims to still find me sexy. Oh, the Miracle of Childbirth.

I didn’t have a watch, but I knew it hadn’t been too long when I felt like I needed to push. Through the cracks in the light blocking curtains, I could see it was still daylight. Was this really happening?  I looked to my midwife, who had been silently observing me and intermittently checking the baby’s heart tones with her Doppler.

“Is it really time to push?”

“I think this baby is going to come soon.” She’s a great midwife, but she had fewer answers than a Magic Eight Ball.

“Are you sure it’s going to be soon? How do you know?”

She hadn’t checked my cervix one time. Not that I wanted her to. I just wanted to know what she was thinking.

“I can see the head creating a big bulge. It won’t be long.”

Shortly, I felt intense pressure and tightness and I knew she was right. We’d talked a lot during my prenatal visits about not pushing. In fact, we’d talked about it in our initial consult. My midwife doesn’t believe in pushing. She said even a woman in a coma can deliver a baby, and since the uterus is a smooth muscle, it will do the work itself. The additional effort of pushing would only exhaust a woman further and increase the chances of tearing, according to her philosophy. Before I hired her, I asked her references, “Seriously? Did you not push?” And all three of them said they did not push and they would never do it any other way.

So here I was, kneeling in the birth tub, my arms resting on the edge, the urge to push so intense I just had to push, and when that feeling backed off ever so slightly, I reminded myself to just breathe through the urge and trust that the baby would find its way out.  And slowly, she did. While I felt like I was being cleaved in half, I looked at the midwife’s assistant, who sat in front of me. I felt desperate for someone to say or do something. Not that I thought anyone could take the pain away. I just needed something. I wasn’t sure what.

The pain was so bad it was a struggle to form words but I asked the assistant, “Can you just breathe with me or something?” She nodded and I grabbed onto her arm and squeezed hard. I looked at her face and tried to focus on it while we breathed together. I wondered how I could possibly get this baby out, yet I knew without a trace of doubt  that I would,  that the only thing to do was just hang on and let it happen.

I hoped the neighbors remembered that I had mentioned I was going to have the baby at home and that they would not call the police to investigate the strange, loud noises coming from our house. I promised myself I would never, ever, give birth again.

As I knelt at the edge of the birth tub, with Dan and the midwife behind me and the assistant in front of me, the midwife asked me to bend one knee and put my foot on the floor of the birth tub. My leg shaking like crazy, I did as she requested, and then she asked me to stand up. Her assistant practically had to lift me up. My body shook with exhaustion. With my arms wrapped around the assistant’s neck, I was upright, though it would be a stretch to call it “standing.” At that point, the midwife gently maneuvered the baby out, concerned that her shoulder might be stuck (it wasn’t) or that it would be a while before my next contraction, and that the baby would spend that time in limbo, with part of her head out and the rest of her still in. Of course, I didn’t know any of this until later. I was aware only of the sensation of the baby’s body sliding slowly out of mine, burning pressure, knowing it was really, finally happening, yet not totally believing it.

And then the pressure was gone and I had the freedom to sit down. Carefully, I sat against the side of the tub and caught my breath, then reached my arms out for the baby. I wasn’t sure I remembered how to hold a newborn, but I remembered the sticky, slightly slimy feeling of newborn skin, covered in vernix. Through the grayish tint of the vernix, I could see her color was pink-ish, although her eyes were closed and she was limp.

“Is the baby ok?”

The midwife assured me there was nothing wrong and to breathe into her face a few times. I got up in her face and breathed, stroked her cheek and hoped she would show some sign of life. Within seconds, she perked up. I exhaled. Dan and I gazed at the baby for a while before either of us remembered we still didn’t know if it was a girl or a boy. I peeked between the legs.

“Another girl!”

Up to then, I was sure I was having a boy. I spent about a half a second feeling shocked and never thought about it again.

Slowly, carefully, we moved the party from the birth tub to our bed, where we I rested, ate, drank, and called my mom. The midwife and her assistant examined me and the baby. The baby weighed in at a healthy nine pounds and six ounces and I didn’t  tear at all. Born at 6:41 pm, my labor lasted just over six hours. I was, and still am a little incredulous that I went into labor and had the baby on the same day, let alone, before sunset, considering my labor with Sweet Pea was a 30 hour ordeal.

Thanks for reading and if you checked in to see what the heck was going over here and whether I’d had the baby yet, sorry for the silence.

photo 1

Early labor: This is kids’ stuff. Time for a selfie!

photo 3

Dan reminds me I asked him to make sure someone took pictures of the birth. I begrudgingly smile.


photo 2

Are you seriously taking my picture? This really hurts.

Birth 2

Another healthy baby girl born at home!

An update: pregnancy, the home birth book and definitely not feeling blessed

Remember when I was really excited about my home birth book project? And how I didn’t say anything about it for a while, and then I was consumed with Listen To Your Mother, and then I was obsessing about why, at this stage of my pregnancy, I can’t just wear a damn two piece swimsuit at the pool, (or wear anything anywhere for that matter) without being a spectacle…

Right. For much of that time, I was busy coming up with reasons excuses not to work on the book. Like, I was too busy with Listen To Your Mother, and then I was feeling uncreative and tired, which was (mostly) justifiable because of it being so late in my pregnancy, and then I was feeling just totally uninspired about the whole project and I was thinking the whole idea was stupid and I shouldn’t even pursue it, even though I have done a fair bit of work on it thus far.

And then something awesome happened, which I never mentioned here or on any social media because I am really fed up with the hashtag #blessed or anything that might resemble it. This New York Times article says it better than I ever could. Or if you’re not going to click over there, this pretty much sums it up:

…calling something “blessed” has become the go-to term for those who want to boast about an accomplishment while pretending to be humble, fish for a compliment, acknowledge a success (without sounding too conceited), or purposely elicit envy.

(But you should really click on that article, if only to read the hilarious tweet about the bacon.

What happened was, Dan insisted that I put Sweet Pea in daycare all five days last week so that I could get more rest as my due date was approaching (it’s today).  Normally she goes two days a week, which I consider a luxury. I felt horribly guilty about the idea of putting her in daycare all five days… Not because she hates it (she loves it), not because of the expense (well, not entirely, but somewhat), and not because I would miss spending time with her (I spend plenty of time with her). Mostly because I feel being her mom is my only job right now (I haven’t taken a shift at the hospital in a while) and I felt like a fraud, taking time off from my responsibilities.

But then Dan texted the daycare people and got Sweet Pea in on the extra days and it didn’t matter that I felt like I didn’t deserve a whole week to myself. It was happening, either way. Even with a daily nap/lie down/episode of Breaking Bad along with time to check off items on my to do list, lunches with friends, and errands, I still had a lot of time on my hands. There was no reason not to pick up where I left off with my book.

I reached out to a home birth Facebook group, requesting interviews. I emailed people I had been meaning to email for weeks. I expected nothing. After all, people are busy and I’m no one important. But an amazing thing happened. I got responses to my requests. People wanted to talk to me! Lots of people wanted to talk to me! And after they talked to me, they told their friends and they emailed to tell me they want to talk to me, too.

As I talk to people, I am learning so much. I am learning about all the different ways a home birth can look, including not just the birth itself, but also the prenatal and postpartum care. I am learning what questions I might not need to ask and what questions I ought to be asking. I am learning how to be a better listener and I am learning how to phrase my questions to get the richest answers. I learned that if my i phone isn’t on airplane mode and a call comes in during an interview, it will erase everything that I recorded on using my i recorder app. I learned that my cordless phone only holds a charge for so long and I learned that transcription is a b*tch and paying someone else to do it is usually about $1/minute of audio.

I learned all over again what a patient listener Dan is because there is so much to obsess over when you embark on a project like this. I learned (for the millionth time in my life) that starting is the hardest part and how easy it is to confuse fear with a legitimate reason for not moving forward.

I’m learning that people are excited about my book. I’m re-discovering how excited I am about my book.

Meanwhile I’m sort of ambivalent about the baby. Is that horrible to say? I’m in a groove with this book project and as much as I don’t want to be pregnant anymore, and I’m not scared or nervous about actually giving birth, I’m not excited about it either. I know it’s going to hurt and I know it’s going to be hard. If it’s anything like Sweet Pea’s birth it will also be transformative and awesome but it’s hard to get excited about that. I don’t exactly feel like transforming right now, other than I’d like to be able to put on my strappy sandals independently.

PS If you would like to know a bit more about the book or be interviewed for it, go here. Thanks!

Because I haven’t talked about birth lately…

About my last post…  To clarify, I did not mean to imply that natural or home births are the only kinds of birth worth celebrating.

The point of birth is to bring a baby into the world. When mom and baby come through childbirth healthy- no matter how that happens- it is ALWAYS a joy and a cause for celebration.

I don’t judge anyone for not having a natural birth. When it comes to parenting, and birth in particular, I believe that we are all making the best decisions we can in light of our individual circumstances, those of our family, the knowledge we have about the situation, and (most of the time) within the constraints of the medical system. I also know that sometimes we don’t get to make a decision- when there are medical conditions, high-risk situations, and/or medical emergencies, the only option is the one that will keep mom and baby alive and healthy. I am grateful to have access to modern medicine, including the option to have a C-section, when necessary.

What I do judge is a medical system rife with protocols and policies that largely view birth as a pathology that needs to be managed, versus a natural process that will- most of the time, when the mother’s pregnancy is low-risk- play out in it’s own time, with no risk to mom or baby, without intervention. In the context of this medical system, many women are having unnecessary C-sections. According to the CDC, the C-section rate in the US is at 32.8% Meanwhile the World Health Organization recommends a goal of reducing it to 10-15% of all births.

It has never been my intention to judge other women for their birth experiences. I just want to create a resource for people planning home births, in hopes that their positive experiences will have some effect, however small, on the culture of birth in the U.S.



How My Home Birth Book Was Conceived

So, last week I told you I am (gulp) working on a book. I know, right? [Clears throat. Attempts to evoke confident tone] I’m writing a book. In January, my friend and I talked each other into taking this online class that coaches you through the steps of writing and publishing a book, and within 48 hours I was plotting out a book on home birth.

It’s going to be a resource for people planning a home birth. Imagine “Idiot’s Guide to Home Birth” meets “Our Bodies, Ourselves.” Based on research and interviews with home birthing moms, partners, and midwives,  it will have factual information to answer all the questions one might have when planning a home birth, along with vignettes from said moms, partners, and midwives. My goal is to present as many different perspectives as possible.

Am I trying to convince people to have a baby at home? Certainly not. I just want to create a guide for people who have chosen this route. While there are books upon books offering advice to prepare women for childbirth in a hospital setting, few books are dedicated to preparing women for a home birth.

Why do I care so much about home birth? Here’s a little story:

The day after I gave birth to my daughter, my sister in law asked me, “Was childbirth harder than an ironman?”

“It doesn’t compare really. Maybe it’s like doing a hundred ironmans, back to back?”

Once people got over their shock when I revealed my plans to deliver at home, many were quick to tell me I would have no problem with a natural birth, given my athletic background. I have completed two ironman triathlons and six marathons.

These people are not athletes.

Childbirth, I discovered, is nothing like an athletic event. In the first place, you can’t train for the big day. You don’t even know when the big day is. (My daughter arrived 2 weeks after her due date). Though I pestered my midwife for months, asking, “Are you sure? There’s no class I should take? Nothing I should do in advance?” She assured me there was nothing to do but try to relax, let it happen, and let her support me. Meanwhile, friends attempted to push their favorite birthing methods on me with a zeal that was almost evangelical. A co-worker claimed “You must do the Bradley Method!” One friend practically ordered me to use her technique. “Trust me. You need to do Hypnobirthing.” An acquaintance with a four week old called me when I was nine months pregnant and kept me on the phone for 45 minutes, describing in great detail the breathing method that she absolutely swore by. She made me breathe with her on the phone. (I still wonder how she found the time).

Meanwhile, I wasn’t really scared about how I was going to handle childbirth. It was the idea of actually being someone’s mother that gave me nightmares for nine months.

And when I went into labor, I soon discovered that childbirth was unlike any race I’d ever done. There was no telling how long it would take, for one thing. And there was no getting out of it. The baby would have to come out at the end, no matter what. Though I’ve never quit a race, the option exists. Childbirth required me to hang on until the finish, no matter how grueling the course.

My thirty hour labor lasted forever and for one blessed moment. It was terrible and beautiful. I was sure I would not be able to endure another second and positive that I was meant to complete it. I was not scared. I was simply doing what needed to be done, doing the same thing women have done before me for millions of years. And when the baby was finally born- I felt that I was capable of doing anything in the world- even being her mother.

And then I would hear other women talk about their birth experiences. One woman in my breastfeeding group said, “The baby was too big- eight pounds- so I had to have a C-section.” When she asked my how big my baby was I sheepishly told her she was eight and a half pounds at birth.

“Well, my baby had a really big head.” I just nodded.

One of my co-workers said, “I always wished I could have a natural birth. I had to have a C section with all four of my babies. The doctor said my pelvis was too small.” She said it with a huge smile. I nodded and shrugged, as if to say. “Well what can you do?”

My cousin recently told me, “I’ll avoid an epidural if I can. I’ll wait and see how bad labor is. But my friend is a labor and delivery nurse and she said childbirth is like breaking every bone in your body. I just don’t want to get attached to the idea of having a natural birth, because then if I do get an epidural, I will feel like a failure.” I can totally see her logic. But it makes me angry. All of these women’s stories and attitudes about birth make me angry.

I’m angry that modern medicine has told these healthy women that their bodies are lemons- that they are not up to the task that their bodies were, in fact, designed for.  I’m angry that they have not or will not get to experience the joy and the empowerment of natural birth. Birth in the United States today is not a rite of passage for most women. Rather, pregnancy is a medical condition to be closely monitored and birth is a procedure that must be carefully managed.  People don’t know that birth is an opportunity for women to be stronger than they ever believed they could be- an opportunity that nature gives us- and this makes me want to scream.

When my daughter was a few days old, I chatted with an old friend who had fought to have the water birth of her third child at her local hospital. After we caught up and I shared the details of my birth story with her, she said to me, in a tone that was almost conspiratorial,

“I think if every woman gave birth naturally the world would be a different place.”

I nodded emphatically into the phone and my eyes got teary.

“I think so, too. For sure.”

Click here for an addendum to this post, published 3/27/14

Why I Chose Home Birth

A friend invited me to the home birth of her child a few years ago. It was a really special- dare I say, spiritual- experience to witness a life coming into this world. Not to get too woo-woo on you but it was life-affirming. You know how you feel at a wedding when they say “You may kiss the bride”? It was kind of like that, times a thousand.

Although I felt home birth worked out well for my friend, I felt it was definitely not something I would consider for myself. When it was my turn to have a baby, I would do it in a hospital, where all the necessary technology and trained medical personnel would be available were anything to go wrong. I just didn’t think there was any reason I would want to risk my or my baby’s healthy by giving birth at home.

When Dan and I decided that we wanted to have a baby, I did what comes naturally to me- I read and I planned. Everything I read lead me to conclude that perhaps I would not feel as comfortable in a hosptial as I had thought. I learned that there were many interventions and restrictions that were not research based and were not necessarily useful, and sometimes uncomfortable for the mother. For example, many hospitals have a policy of no eating or drinking for laboring women. It is my understanding that this is in case you would have to have general anesthesia for an emergency C-section. In this case, anything in your stomach becomes an aspiration risk. That is well and good, except they seldom put you under for a C-section these days. Also, many hospitals use electronic fetal monitoring. This requires you to move carefully or not much at all so that it stays in place. It has not, however, been proven to increase the chances of a healthy outcome. There were many other things I read that did not sit well with me, but those are just a couple that come to mind.

The reading I did led me to believe that giving birth in the hospital opens the door for medical intervention, and once you begin with one intervention, it often leads to a cascade of other interventions, which heightens your chances of requiring a C-section. I knew I wanted to avoid a C-section and I did not want to do anything that would facilitate one becoming a necessity. I also knew that I did not want an epidural or pain medication. I wanted to know what birth really felt like. What I had read assured me that under the right circumstances (privacy, no feeling of being rushed, being in a position that allows gravity to help, in the presence of people whom you know and trust, not having many people present), a woman whose pregnancy is considered low-risk is usually well-equipped to deliver naturally. I considered giving birth a rite of passage and I wanted to experience it.

Also, I scream bloody murder when I stub my toe. I take three Advil at the first sign of a headache. I really enjoyed the Versed they used when I had my wisdom teeth removed. I didn’t think I would avoid an epidural if one was available.

I have worked in hospitals for ten years and I know things about hospitals I wish I didn’t know. I know not everyone washes their hands as thoroughly or as often as they should. I know how easy it is to mistake one patient for another when you’re busy and rushed. I know how easily you can forget the details of someone’s medical history or be unaware of them in the first place because of incomplete or non-existent medical records. I know how clueless and arrogant medical residents can be.

And I know how angry I get as a patient when some person pokes at me without even introducing him or herself or stating what they are doing there. Seriously, someone whose name I did not know once stuck a probe in my eyeball without even warning me and it really pissed me off. (Turned out, it wasn’t to be mean, it was to check my corneal pressure. Who knew?)

I couldn’t imagine delivering a baby in the company of strangers, especially strangers who might treat me more like a patient than a person. And what if my doctor wasn’t on call when I delivered? What if I liked my nurse, but she had to leave when her shift was complete and I didn’t like my new nurse? I wanted to give birth in the presence of a professional I trusted, someone I had a relationship with.

With all this in mind, it seemed my only option was, in fact, the home birth I never thought I would have. That is how I went from definitely not ever having a home birth to having a home birth.

I am pretty sure I wouldn’t have had the same experience, had I given birth the traditional way, with a doctor or a midwife in the hospital. For one thing, everyone predicted the baby would be large. The acupuncturist, a former midwife, estimated eight pounds or so. My midwife predicted seven and a half to eight pounds. At an ultrasound performed the day I went into labor, the OB acknowledged that midwives are generally more accurate than ultrasound in predicting size but his image indicated an eight and a half pound baby. I was the only one who was convinced I was having a six pounder. I just thought there was no way a baby that large was in me. I was 5’0″ and 115 lbs. before I got pregnant. So there was the big baby part.

More importantly there was the fact that I was long overdue by the time I went into labor- twelve days, to be exact. By the time the baby was born, it was a full two weeks beyond my due date. I wonder how many traditional doctors or midwives would have let my pregnancy go that long. Meanwhile, I was healthy, there was every reason to believe the baby was healthy, and as it turned out, she came on her own when she was ready, even if it was more than fashionably late.

I think that if I had been induced, the labor and delivery would have turned out very differently. As it was, I had a long labor (30 hours total). I tore slightly, I healed normally, and we had no problems with breastfeeding or post-partum depression. I could not have asked for a more positive birth experience.

For so many reasons, I am thankful that I went the home birth route. At the birth were my midwife, her assistant, Dan, and my mom. I never had to get in the car while I was having contractions. I was never told that I was exhausted. I was never poked or prodded by someone I’d never seen before. I never felt scared.

It lasted forever and it was one moment. It was the worst thing and the best thing I have ever been through. It was a process that I had to surrender to, and a process I was not sure I could endure. I will always consider it a peak experience of my life.

Charlotte Birth

I just love this picture. Yeah, that’s blood in the birth tub. Don’t worry, everyone was fine. Birth is just bloody.

Are you curious about home birth? Not curious as in “What the f*ck were you thinking, you stupid idiot, don’t you know that’s not safe!?” but curious as in, “I might like to try that but I have some questions,” I am happy to chat. Click here to email me.

Why Home Birth graphic

This post was brought to you by the Finish the Sentence Friday (FTSF) Blog Hop. The prompt this week was “”We can either be traditional or non-traditional in the way we do things, I…”

Finish the Sentence FridayT

Please visit the FTSF (Finish the Sentence Friday) blog hop hosts:

Stephanie at Mommy for Real

Kristi From Finding Ninee

Janine from Janine’s Confessions of Mommyholic

Kate at Can I Get Another Bottle of Whine