After having had a terrifying first birth experience, when I brought my daughter Ariane into the world, I had made up my mind that my next child would be born under much different circumstances. Unfortunatly, the plans I had made for a quiet, natural, at home birth were not to be...at least not the quiet and at home parts.

Ariane was just a year old, when my new husband and I (we married just 5 days before her first birthday) decided that we would like to have our second and final child soon, so the children would be close in age. After 3 months of trying to become pregnant, I was diagnosed with ovarian cysts. I was terrified this would cause infertility problems, however my surgeon assured me he would do everything possible to save my ovaries.

The surgery was scheduled and performed all within a week of my being diagnosed. As I was awakening in the recovery room, my first question to the doctor was "can I still have a baby?" He didn't even have to answer, but still said with shining eyes, "Just give yourself a few weeks to heal, and I know you will be pregnant soon." This man was a saint, and indeed, two months later, I stood in my bathroom crying as I beheld a positive pregnancy test.

I cautiously approached the idea of homebirth with my husband...only to be greeted with a vehement NO WAY! My husband is a very warm, loving and PROTECTIVE man, and all the "what ifs" were just too much for him to bear. So, knowing I could not do this without his full support, I set out to find a midwife who was open minded, and would allow a natural, non-intervention birth in a hospital.

This new plan came to a screeching halt, as I was told by my insurance company that they do not cover the cost of a midwife. This made no sense! Doctors were MUCH more expensive than midwives, yet they would not spring to cover the services of a less expensive alternative? On the road again, I began to call and interview as many O.B. doctors as I could. I finally found a practice of 5 doctors, which was headed by a kindly, grey haired man, who said all my wishes would be granted in delivery... as long as no signs of fetal distress were detected. Knowing this was the best I would be able to find, I went ahead and began my prenatal care.

Seven months into the pregnancy near disaster struck...preterm labor. A middle of the night rush to the hospital showed that I was having contractions 5 minutes apart and I was 3 cm. dilated. Fortunatly my water had not broken. After a night in the hospital on I.V. medications, my labor was stopped, and I was sent home with medications and orders for bedrest for the remaining 8 weeks of my pregnancy. And so the countdown began.

1:00 am July 3. I awaken to use the bathroom, and find when I wipe that my mucous plug had fallen. HOORAY! It was the actual due date! I finish my business, and crawl back into the far too warm family bed (this IS July in the south!) to snuggle up with my daughter. I am far too excited to sleep, so I just try to meditate and relax. About thirty minutes later, I begin noticing that my "braxton hicks" contractions have become QUITE noticable, to the point that I needed to breathe through them. Timing them, I find they are ten minutes apart, and it is time to call my husband at work. Patrick works graveyard shift as a Security Guard, posted at a hotel. Thankfully, this left him the freedom to rush home to his family.

Now home, Patrick calls our babysitter, who lives right across the street from the hospital, and informs her that we are on the way over to drop Ariane off. Yes, we are in labor, he announces! He tosses my bag in the car, buckles a very sleepy Ariane into her carseat, and tucks a very pregnant and laboring wife into the front. And we are off!

The ride to the hospital was a nightmare! On the other side of a very large city, we had to cross over an ancient, VERY BUMPY bridge to get there. Not comfortable at all for a woman in labor, I will assure you. At this point I had been in labor two hours, and in hindsight, most likely about 5 cm. dilated. Needless to say, on every bump, it felt as if the baby were going to fall out.

We pull up in front of our friend's apartment five minutes later, and she meets us outside at the car (bless her!), so we can get going to the hospital quickly. As we hand a very sleepy baby to our beloved sitter, I kiss her goodbye, and whisper "when you wake up, you will be a sister!" Ariane smiles sleepily, and tucks her head into Jen's shoulder and promptly goes back to sleep. Patrick heaves my elephantine bulk back into the car for the trip across the street, and into the dreaded hospital. When he pulls up to the entrance, I begin to cry. "I don't want to do this here" I tell him. He reasons with me gently, that I am doing this for his peace of mind, but if I really don't want to be here, he will take me home. Always mindful of my partner's feelings, I agree to go in.

Now I am in the delivery suite of the hospital, and it so far, quiet. Then the nurse first tries to bully me into a hospital gown (I refuse), then try to start an I.V. (I refuse again). Finally, exausted with arguing with me, she grants my wishes, and has another nurse assigned to me. When Irene enters the room, I know right away, that this woman is a saint. She allows me to labor in my own gown, so that I am comfortable, and says that she already called the doctor who confirmed that no I.V. is not necessary. That said, I lie back, so that she can attach monitors (only for five minutes, to have an idea of my progress) and examine my cervix. SURPRISE! My contractions are now 3 minutes apart (Labor time: 2 hours, 30 minutes) and I am seven cm. dilated! The nurse agrees with me, that birth is going to be soon, and leaves to call the doctor. She is only gone for about five minutes, when she comes back in, wheeling a warmer bed and a tray of surgical instruments (shudder!) for "just in case" (see! this is why I didn't want to BE THERE!). She turns her back to me, to get everything set, still secure in the knowledge that I have at least an hour before delivery. Suddenly, I begin to feel INTENSE pressure on my perineum. I could feel the baby's head pressing down. She was crowning! I am doing a rapid blow, trying desperatly to not push, knowing if I did, I would tear to pieces. I grab my husband's arm, and he looks at me and says "WHAT?". I cannot say a word. I simply point between my legs and continue to blow.

The poor man is clueless....he says, "Yes love, I know it hurts, just keep breathing." Good heavens! I grab him by the hair and shove his face level with my vagina and his eyes widen...our baby is now born to her nose! Patrick yells for the nurse, she turns, and the baby flies out and across the bed, all of its own accord, and without a single push. I cannot help but laugh as the three of us suddenly grapple with a very slippery newborn, as it is bouncing and sliding around the bed, to keep it from falling off. The nurse gets a good grip (she never even got her gloves on) and hands our new baby to us. She is beautiful! Did I say she? Yes! We have a new daughter! I bring her to my breast as Irene and Patrick cover us with blankets. And to think, the doctor never even made it to the hospital until 45 minutes later, to announce I was intact (no tears) and the baby was in good health.

Patrick had to admit afterward that this comical birth proved to him that I could have done this on my own, but he was happy for the peace of mind being at the hospital gave him. Both of our daughters are the light of our lives now, and soon, when we begin to try again for a third child, we will finally plan the long awaited home birth.