April 4th, 2017 — 12:30pm — 7 lb 2 oz — Born at Home

I still remember Anita, our midwife, telling us, “Don’t look for labor to start. Wait until it comes and taps you on the shoulder.”
And that’s exactly how Magnolia’s story began, with the softest tap just after midnight on April 4th, 2017.

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The night before

We had gone out to a small, family-owned Italian restaurant with close friends. I remember the warmth of my sweatshirt stretched tight around my baby bump, the way it hugged me as I ate and laughed, trying to settle into the waiting.

Just one day earlier, I had reached my 40-week “due date”. A date I knew was only an estimate, yet it had lived in my mind for months as this big, meaningful milestone. When nothing happened, a soft blah washed over me, a mix of disappointment and restlessness. My heart understood the logic, but emotionally it felt hard.

So that night at dinner, wrapped in my sweatshirt and holding my belly without thinking, I had no idea that within hours, labor would tap me gently on the shoulder…just as Anita had said it would.

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When labor whispered: “It’s time.”

Around midnight, I woke again with what felt like period cramps. When the waves returned every fifteen minutes, I nudged Rob and whispered, “I think it’s time”. We timed a few more rounds, and when they held steady, we knew our baby was finally on their way.

I stepped into a warm shower while Rob put on Pretty Woman, the movie that somehow followed me into every labor, and called Anita. Outside, snow drifted down in soft, steady sheets.

Of course it did. Weather has always carried the weight of our beginnings: hail when Rob proposed, a blizzard on our wedding day. It made perfect sense that our first baby would arrive wrapped in snowfall.

Rob bundled up and went outside to shovel the driveway and porch so Anita and her assistant midwife, Julia, could get to us safely.

Inside, the house felt hushed and expectant as I breathed through each early contraction and watched Rob through the window, pushing snow aside in the soft glow of the porch light.

I remember longing for him to come back in- having him next to me has always been my greatest comfort. Once he returned, I didn’t let him leave my side for the rest of the birth.

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Twelve hours of labor

Labor unfolded slowly and steadily over twelve hours.
I moved through our home, the bedroom, the bathroom, the living room on the birth ball, and finally our bed when exhaustion settled deep into my body.

Millie, our sweet dog, stayed glued to me the entire time, sensing exactly what was happening, offering her own quiet support.

Movies played in the background: Pretty Woman, then Neighbors- creating a surreal sense of normalcy as the intensity built within me.

At one point, I was sitting on the toilet in full surrender and whispered to Rob, “I can’t do this anymore.”
He looked at me with so much calm and said, “Okay. Then we can go to the hospital. You can get an epidural if you want.”

Instantly something fierce rose up in me.
“Absolutely not,” I said.
Pain has never scared me, but interventions always have. He knew those words would bring me back to myself. And they did.

The back labor was deep, sharp, unrelenting. Later, Anita told me Magnolia had been born with her hand up by her face, a nuchal hand, pressing directly into my sacrum the entire time. Her tiny fingers had been making themselves known long before her body arrived.

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The threshold of birth

Near transition, exhausted and wavering, I pleaded, “How much longer?”
A question every mother wonders at least once. Anita said something gentle but non-committal. The kind of answer you give when you truly don’t know.

I remember feeling unsure how I was going to keep going, like I was standing at the edge of something I couldn’t quite reach. Around this time I threw up as well, something that isn’t uncommon during transition, and it felt like my whole body was preparing itself for the final stretch.

When it finally came time to push, I remember being shocked by how exhausting it was, and how much longer it took than I thought it would. Each push demanded everything in me. I would gather every ounce of strength I had, thinking this must be the last one, only to brace myself again.

And then, after what felt like both an eternity and a single breath, she was finally here- our baby girl!

They placed her on my chest, warm and perfect, and I remember looking down at her sweet little face thinking,
Oh my gosh… is this really real? How am I going to take care of her?
It was that breathtaking mix of awe, disbelief, and brand-new love that only a first baby brings.

But almost instantly, in the way babies just know, she seemed to melt right into us. She slid seamlessly into our life, like she had always been meant to be there.

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The part I wasn’t prepared for- the placenta

I think most people skip over the part that after birthing your baby, you still have to birth their placenta. I had only heard it briefly mentioned and had always been told it was the “easy part”. That it just kind of slides out. But that was not true for me.

While labor and the birth of Magnolia itself were hard and exhausting, and yes, I definitely shared my fair share of cuss words, I was never scared. I felt present, strong, and somewhat steady through the waves. But birthing her placenta was another story entirely. That’s the moment when fear joined me.

There was something about seeing the blood, hearing Anita’s firm voice, and realizing I wasn’t prepared for this part. She looked at me and said, “You need to get this out.” I understood the urgency, stood up on the bed, squatted with the very last bit of strength I had left, and finally, finally, it released.

Rob cut Magnolia’s umbilical cord once it was done pulsing and fully white. A moment that felt both simple and sacred, the final physical tie gently releasing her into our world.

We had her placenta encapsulated, and I ate probably half of it before it became an unintended heirloom in our fridge…where it remained for the next five years.

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Afterbirth, rest, and naming her

I had lost more blood than ideal and felt the weakness settle in quickly, so I did exactly what Anita asked: I rested and stayed in and around our bed for two full weeks. Those days were slow and sacred, filled with nursing, resting, and learning the rhythms of our girl.

I loved those first couple weeks postpartum with just the three of us. Rob would go outside to pull dandelions in the yard while I curled up in bed with Magnolia, drifting in and out of naps and watching endless episodes of Fixer Upper. Every couple of hours he’d pop back in with food, sit beside us for a bit, and then slip out again so we could rest.

From the very beginning of pregnancy, Anita had been clear: the early days are meant for just mom, dad, and baby- a protected window of bonding, quiet, and slowness. No guests, no expectations, nothing to do but learn each other. I loved that so much. It’s a rhythm we carried into all our other births too. She held so much wisdom. Early postpartum is meant for rest- somehow our society has just forgotten.

We didn’t name her right away. It wasn’t hesitation- it was reverence. We wanted to feel who she was before choosing the name she would carry for life. I remember Rob’s grandma teasing us in those early days, saying Magnolia was going to go off to college still without a name. It made us laugh, but it also reminded us how deeply we wanted to choose something that fit– something that felt like her.

Her name had actually found us a few weeks before her birth, lingering quietly in our hearts if she was a girl, but we needed to see her first…to make certain it belonged to her.

So for nearly a week we whispered to her, watched her, studied the way she sighed, opened her eyes and curled her fingers. And with each passing day, it became clearer:

She was our Magnolia.
Strong and delicate. Rooted and gentle.
A name that truly felt like her.

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Becoming a mother

Even with the intensity: the back labor, the exhaustion, the long unfolding, I found myself longing, even just two weeks later, to do it all again. It was the most incredible and empowering day of my life. 

Birth changes you like that- breaking you open and filling you with a love so deep it softens every edge of memory.

Magnolia’s birth made me a mother.
She arrived in a snowstorm, just like all our biggest moments.
Her story is stitched into my body, into that cold April morning, into the home where she took her first breath, and into my soul forever.

A beginning I will treasure for the rest of my life.

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Why I Share Birth Stories- and Why Photos Matter

Looking back, I wish I had more photos from Magnolia’s birth- real, intentional images that captured the sacredness of those hours and the way everything felt as I became a mother.

We only have a few blurry snapshots, and though they’re precious, they leave so much of our story left untold.

I wish I could see the whole story, and watch it unfolded, with the clarity it deserves. I’ve collected the moments I remember, but I know countless little details have already slipped into the spaces of my memory.

We all deserve to clearly hold the story of the moments that almost break us, beautifully transform us, and lovingly carry us into a full new season of life- nothing does that better than birth.

Birth deserves to be witnessed, honored and remembered, not just in our hearts, but in the raw, wild, honest images that bring us right back to those tender moments. It’s the greatest honor of my work, and Magnolia’s story is where that passion began.

I deeply believe that birth stories need to be shared. Unlike the days of old, when women learned from sisters, mothers, aunties, and community, many women today don’t witness a single birth until their own. Birth has become hidden, and because of that, can feel unfamiliar, intimidating and misunderstood.

Telling birth stories helps bring birth back into the light. It helps us understand it, normalize it, and remember that our bodies are powerful and capable. I hope Magnolia’s story does that, even in some small way- offering another glimpse into the beauty, intensity, mystery, and strength that birth holds.

CLICK HERE FOR THE FULL BIRTH STORY OF OUR 4TH BABY, ROSEMARY LUNA