This was my second pregnancy, and it was very different from my first. With Henry, I was practically Mother Earth, with minimal symptoms and an easygoing pregnancy. For both births, we decided to keep the gender a surprise, and motivator for the big day. This time around, I was far less earthly—I had nausea in the first trimester, awful headaches and migraines in the second, and, at our private 30-week scan, a surprise discovery that baby was breech. Thankfully, baby flipped by 36 weeks after much time spent upside down and burning moxa sticks!
My first birth felt informed but not medically supported. This time, I leaned heavily on my incredible community midwife and knew I wanted as little medical intervention as possible. My husband and I did a Hypnobirthing course with Amy to remind ourselves of what was possible and how to advocate for the birth we wanted. The most important mantra I took away from Hypnobirthing was to “do nothing.” With my first labour, I was so excited to meet my tiny human that I jumped straight into labouring when I should have been resting. After a 40-hour first labour with stopping and starting, early waters breaking, and understaffed facilities, I knew I needed a calm and focused “do nothing” approach this time around.
Since my first birth, I’ve been diagnosed with autism and ADHD. I wanted to ensure I felt safe and comfortable, minimizing any need to mask, especially when I needed to be in my own bubble of focus and peace. We opted for a home birth to enable this, and my community midwife was phenomenal. She made sure I was aware of all eventualities and, when making decisions “outside of guidance,” helped me cross the t’s and dot the i’s so the system could support me without unnecessary stress.
At the end of July, I had my final home visit with my midwife, who was concerned about baby’s heart rate being high. She referred us to the JR for monitoring, and within an hour, they reassured us that baby’s base heart rate was slightly higher than average but nothing to worry about. While it was stressful at the time, that information proved invaluable to the midwives who delivered Angus.
The week leading up to baby's birth, my mum was away on holiday and wasn’t due back until Monday. I so desperately wanted her to be there for the birth, but it didn’t seem likely. On Thursday, I developed lower back pain that continued into Friday, where I lost my mucus plug and experienced a few cramps—but nothing consistent. I spent Saturday soaking up the love from my husband and son, taking walks and baking together. That night, the cramps became more consistent and started to feel like contractions. I thought, This is it! But I reminded myself to “do nothing.”
We went through our evening routine, tidying the kitchen and living room just in case, then went to bed. I struggled to sleep as the contractions were becoming noticeable, but by morning, they’d eased off. On Sunday, we visited the garden centre, and I had to stop a few times to sway through contractions, though they remained spaced out. By the evening, they picked up again, so we followed the same routine: “do nothing,” tidy the house, and go to bed. The contractions even woke me a few times, but, yet again, by Monday morning, they had vanished.
At 41 weeks and 6 days, we accepted Granny Jenny’s offer to have Henry for the day. I took a relaxing bath with dim lighting, guided meditations, and candles. I even shaved my legs because, obviously, baby needed to be greeted by silky pins! At 2 pm, I went for a walk to encourage contractions, and by 4.15pm, I texted my mum friends: “It’s defo happening 🙌🏼 Last three contractions: 3:20, 3:50, 4:10.”
I called my mum, who had just returned from the airport, and told her things were starting to get exciting. She debated whether to unpack or drive up to us and decided to wait for my next update. That evening, after Henry returned, we went for a family walk around Brackley, picking blackberries and soaking in the summer evening. My contractions went from 10–15 minutes apart to every 3 minutes during the walk. It was such a special memory—our final evening as a family of three.
At 7 pm, we called the Horton Delivery Suite to let them know something was happening. We closed down the house, set up the birth pool, and prepared the spare bed for my mum. She decided to drive up that night and let herself in. After we got Henry to sleep around 9 pm, I greeted her at 10 pm before going to bed, remembering my mantra: “do nothing.”
At 1 am, I was no longer sleeping, just resting between contractions. By 2 am I found lying down too uncomfortable, so I started walking to the bathroom for each contraction and then resting in bed between them. By 3.15 am, I moved downstairs to labour without worrying about waking anyone. I put on my favorite comedy podcast and used the birth ball to ease through contractions.
By 4.45 am my contractions were 5–6 minutes apart. I called the Horton Delivery Suite, and by 5.15am, Jane, the midwife, was on her way, as was Ella, another midwife. I woke my husband, who inflated the birth pool and supported me through each contraction, reminding me, “You’ve got this. You’re doing incredible.”
When the midwives arrived at 6 am, they set up quietly and let me labour in peace. By 7.15 am, Henry came down for breakfast. He gave me hugs between contractions, even rubbing my back at one point. It was so special, and I felt so supported by my family and midwives.
By 8.45 am Henry left with Granny Jenny, but as everyone went to help with car seats and goodbyes, I panicked and lost focus. I cried out, “They’re leaving me!” Jane quickly stepped in, applied pressure to my hips, and reassured me, “You’re safe, Mandy. I’m here.” That grounding brought me back.
At 9 am, I consented to a vaginal exam and was 3 cm dilated, 50% effaced. Though I worried it might be a long labour again, Ian reminded me that things can change quickly and they certainly did. Contractions became more intense, and I leaned into my coping strategies, gripping my combs and moving between positions. At one point, I was standing against the wall, gripping my combs while Ian tried to fix the TENS machine cables. I’d turned it up, wondering if it was working, only to be jolted by the shock of it. “Fucking TENS machineee!” I shouted, ripping it off my back in frustration and going back to the ball. The downwards pressure in the following contraction was so immense I thought, “What the fuck am I doing in my living room with paracetamol and birthing combs?” i soon requested the birth pool or gas and air, Ella advised caution, but I knew I needed relief. By 9.45 am, Ian had helped me into the water, and the pressure immediately eased. I was most comfortable in a deep forward lunge and felt back in control.

Shortly after, my waters broke, and then a few contractions later I realised I could feel my body pushing on its own. I told the midwife team, and they simply said, "You're doing great, just keep going, Mandy." With the next contraction, it felt like my eyes were going to pop out of my head. Ella encouraged me to reach down to feel my baby’s head, and I almost couldn’t believe we were already at that stage. It felt so soft and magical—exactly the motivation I needed for the next contraction.
This was the only time the midwives stepped in with guidance. They calmly told me to take it easy, to pant instead of deep breaths, so I could birth the head gently. Then they asked who would like to catch the baby. I volunteered and with the next push, I had caught my baby in the water, lifting him to my chest. lan and I shared a moment of pure joy and peace “Henry has a baby brother” safely and calmly, at home.

One of my areas of "outside of guidance" was planning a home birth after experiencing significant blood loss during my first birth. Because of this, I had agreed to active management of my third stage of labour, meaning I would have an injection to deliver the placenta. However, as I stood in the pool holding my baby, I suddenly felt the natural urge to push again. To my amazement, my body delivered the placenta physiologically, without the need for the injection.
Once the placenta was birthed, we waited for the cord to turn white and lose its volume before it was cut. It felt incredible to have my body take over in this way, especially after my previous experience, and it was a deeply empowering end to the birth.

We moved to the sofa, where Angus latched beautifully for his first feed. I had a second-degree tear but was stitched up on the sofa with local anesthetic plus gas and air. By midday, the midwives had tidied up, and by 1.30 pm, We celebrated with a Domino’s delivery and shared the news with friends and family, whilst we waited for Henry to come home and meet his new best friend.

It was a magical and restorative birth. I felt in control, validated, and truly listened to. My midwives were incredible, always seeking permission and ensuring I felt respected. Thank you to Amy, my midwives, and my amazing family for making this birth everything I’d dreamed of.

At 42 weeks, welcome to the world, Angus Finn.
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