OUR HOMEBIRTH JOURNEY: A DAD'S PERSPECTIVE

The Dream Takes Root 

My wife, Olivia, had always dreamed of a natural birth outside the hospital. When our first child’s birth didn’t go that way, I knew her next pregnancy would be different. Sure enough, when she told me she was expecting again, she was resolute: this time, we’d have a homebirth, no matter what anyone said. Some folks warned her against a VBAC at home, but Olivia’s determination never wavered. 

We’d met Nichole from The Nest when she bought one of our dairy goats. Olivia clicked with her instantly, whispering to me that day, “If I get pregnant again, she’s my midwife.” Lo and behold, that’s exactly what happened. We signed up with Nichole for prenatal care and a homebirth. I’ll admit, I was nervous. We live far from any hospital, and the thought of EMTs taking forever to reach us gnawed at me. But at our first prenatal visit, Nichole sat us down, listened to every worry, and answered every question with calm confidence. Olivia and I left The Nest feeling like we’d made the right choice—she was our rock. 

Waiting and Worrying 

As a dad, I didn’t make many prenatal appointments. Work kept me away, and life’s chaos didn’t help. As Olivia’s due date neared, my nerves kicked into overdrive. But our baby had other plans. Olivia carried past her due date—way past, to 43 weeks and a few days. Those extra weeks brought challenges. Every few days, we trekked to UVA Culpeper for ultrasounds to check on Olivia and the baby. Each time, I braced myself, thinking, “This is it—they’ll keep us and induce.” But every scan was perfect, with our baby and Olivia acing their checkups. The only issue? We were still waiting. 

Nichole, ever the guide, told us to throw every old wives’ tale at this baby to kickstart labor. Olivia dove in—castor oil, spicy foods, homeopathic remedies, power walks, you name it. To our relief, it worked. Labor started slow, like a faint drumbeat building to something big. The next morning, Nichole and her assistant midwife-in-training, Hannah, arrived around 9 a.m. to check on things. When Nichole announced, “Yup, your baby’s coming,” a wave of relief hit me. After weeks of waiting, it was finally happening. 

Setting the Stage 

With labor confirmed, it was time to prep for a birth… in our living room. My main job? The birthing pool. I must’ve asked Nichole fifty times, “When do I blow up the pool?” It was basically my only task, and I was determined not to mess it up. She patiently told me—again and again—“Not yet.” While Nichole and Hannah grabbed lunch in town, Olivia and I got the house ready. I fired up the smoker, throwing on chicken and ribs. If we were in for a long day, I’d make sure our midwives were well-fed. 

The day felt oddly relaxed. Contractions came and went, but Nicole and Hannah’s calm presence made it seem almost ordinary. They returned by 2 p.m., and we gathered supplies, checked on Olivia and the baby, and just… hung out. It was surreal—like hosting friends, except we were about to meet our child. 

The Intensity Builds 

After dinner, things shifted. Labor ramped up, and we finally inflated the pool. Olivia climbed in, her face lighting up despite the growing pain. She’d been dreaming of laboring in that tub. But as hours passed, contractions grew fierce, and we hit transition. Olivia’s doubt crept in, just as she’d warned me it might. She’d prepped me for this moment, saying, “I’ll think I can’t do it—don’t let me give up.” So I stayed by her side, holding her hand, whispering encouragement, even if I wasn’t sure what to say. 

When the pain seemed unbearable, Nichole suggested Olivia try sitting on the toilet for a few contractions. We moved to the bathroom, then to our bedroom. There, Olivia’s resolve wavered. She was in agony, and I started to worry something was wrong. Her pain was so intense it shook me. When I got a moment alone with Nichole, I blurted, “Are we good? Is everything okay?” Her response was instant and steady: “You’ll know by my face if something’s wrong.” That calm grounded me. I knew I had to help Olivia keep going. 

Then, a turning point—Olivia’s water broke. The relief was immediate, giving her the boost she needed. We moved back to the pool, where contractions hit harder than ever. Olivia gripped me tight, squeezing and pulling with each wave. I felt helpless watching her endure such pain. All I could do was repeat phrases I’d heard in birth videos or from her—“Breathe it out,” over and over, probably 5,000 times that night. 

The Final Push 

Our baby started crowning, but progress stalled. She was right there, yet not quite out, even after several contractions. Nichole and Hannah guided us back to the bedroom, helping Olivia onto the bed. That movement shifted everything. On the next contraction, Nichole coached Hannah and me to support Olivia. Together, we helped her push, and our baby’s head emerged—a surreal, heart-stopping moment. The next contraction came fast, and with one mighty push, Olivia gave birth to our daughter, Lavender. 

But things weren’t perfect. Lavender came out so quickly there were complications. Nichole and Hannah sprang into action, clearing mucus from her mouth and nose and giving her oxygen. Olivia was hemorrhaging, and Nichole administered Pitocin to stabilize her. Their speed and skill were remarkable—no panic, just focus. I didn’t even realize how serious it was until later. To me, it felt like they did this every day, but I learned afterward this wasn’t a “typical” birth. Nichole’s years of experience and training turned a tense moment into something seamless, keeping us blissfully unaware of the stakes. 

A New Beginning 

Once everyone was stable, we weighed our girl: 10 pounds, 5 ounces. No wonder she was tough to push out! Holding Lavender, I felt a mix of awe and relief. The struggle of transition, the intensity of those final moments—it brought Olivia and I closer than ever. We were a team, tackling the hardest job together. 

This homebirth didn’t just bring us a daughter; it changed us. It deepened our bond, showing us a new level of trust and understanding. Becoming parents was life-altering, but doing it at home, with Olivia’s strength and Nichole’s guidance, was transformative in ways I never expected. Lavender’s birth wasn’t just her story—it was ours, too.