Georgia's Birth Story by Kathryn Perkinson
I have two tiny torn pieces of paper on my bedroom dresser, tucked under the changing mat. I keep them there because they make me smile– a reminder of how full of life and fiery my daughter is, how strong I am, and how beautiful birth is. The first reads PERKINSON, KATHRYN. Admitted: 10/13/2024 17:57 MDT. The second reads PERKINSON, GEORGIA. Admitted: 10/13/2024 18:00 MDT. We got into the car to go to the hospital at 5:55 pm. Two eternal minutes later, I was admitted. Three minutes after that, our second baby was born.
There’s something exquisite and terrifying about giving birth a second time. I’ve experienced my own strength, far beyond what I believed possible. I’ve thrown up on my husband and I’ve been held by him in the shower and the parking lot and the car and collapsed into him at my breaking point when my heart and body were bursting open. I have held the small miracle who grew in my body over nine months, and I’ve watched my husband weep as he kissed his tiny head for the first time. I’ve known a power and a love I didn’t know possible.
But I also know how much it hurts. When my first contractions started, I felt alarmed by their intensity. What if I couldn’t handle the pain this time? I know that I can do it, yes, but I also doubt if it was just luck before. If I somehow got away with it, but this time I would need more intervention. I remember how blazing fast my first birth was and wonder if I can handle anything longer than that. I remember the complete incontinence and weeks of diapers afterwards and feeling like I was living in someone else’s body. I remember the clogged ducts, all of the clogged ducts, and running on less sleep than I imagined possible.
As the birth of our daughter approached, I realized I wasn’t doing anything to prepare. Just two years prior, I had spent the entirety of my first pregnancy readying my body, mind, and soul for birth. I read books, meditated daily, and visualized the transformative birth of my dreams. I felt every flutter of little feet, documented each week’s growing bump, and put together a beautiful, thoughtful nursery,
But this time was different. I had a two year old to chase. The dishes, laundry, and garden to-do list seemed never ending. I had extra work to do for maternity leave. Our son stopped sleeping through the night, my husband hunted many late nights and early mornings, and the summer heat extended long into September. I knew a baby was coming, but I was too tired, too hot, and too sweaty to prepare.
To be clear, I did some basics– I moved my body as much as I could, I really focused on a high protein, nutrient rich diet, drank a lot of electrolytes, and I went to most of the OB appointments. I don’t take for granted how blessed we were to have my good health and the baby’s.
For me, low level anxiety lingered going into the experience for a second time. I had an amazing birth the first time around. Would this experience be empowering and beautiful too? Or would it be different?
You’ll hear both sides of birth narratives— people saying that we are totally in control of the outcome of our births, and people saying that it’s all a crapshoot. My belief is somewhere in the middle. In so many ways, birth is just a mirror of life. We can influence a lot, and simultaneously so many things are outside of our control. Birth, like life, demands our openness and trust and hope. And ultimately they require our surrender.
It seems to me there’s a delicate balance of preparation and surrender. We can do a lot to impact the readiness of our body and our baby’s path into the world. We also need to surrender to all that is outside of our control. Our babies are their own people, and we need to respect their decisions and know they’re making choices that are best for them. We cannot control or manipulate a birth just like we cannot control or manipulate life. Both are beautiful, delicate, and we can set the stage. Then it’s in God’s hands.
My first OB stopped practicing just before this pregnancy, so we found another. Fine is the best word I can think of to describe them. I didn’t love seeing a different provider every time, they often appeared stressed, seemed to force a lot of elective inductions, and the office felt disorganized. But it was the option I felt the most comfortable with given living in rural Wyoming, so we went with it. Could I have the birth I wanted with a provider that I felt lukewarm about?
Then I had an idea– my best friend and former doula was now a midwife. Could she do a homebirth with me? She was the most competent medical provider I had ever met, and I’d trust her with my life and my baby’s over anyone else.
No, she said. She not only wasn’t licensed in Wyoming, but she wouldn’t have all of the equipment she’d need just in case. But maybe she could fly out and be my doula again. She only had a five day window, so I hoped with every cell in my body that our baby would decide to come earthside in those five days.
Lo and behold, two days after Courtney’s flight landed in Wyoming, I could tell something was changing. My belly was hard with painless contractions every few minutes for hours. By the afternoon, they got closer together, longer, and started to have sensation. We were staying in a small house with friends coming and going and two toddlers running around. I knew I needed some space and quiet. My gut knew that with a little peace, our daughter would feel safe to come. I drove to another house across the street from the hospital at 4 pm and went for a walk with Jake. He wanted some coffee, anticipating a long night. We left the house and started a slow walk towards a cafe down the street. Within a few blocks, I knew we needed to turn around. It was about to get real.
We walked home and I started to feel true contractions at 4:15. I texted Courtney over the span of three minutes:
“I think this is turning into early labor?”
“Borderline painful”
“OK its painful lol”
“Should we tell the hospital I’m coming tn?”
“Ok def in labor!”
I strolled around the house trying to stay upright to get labor going. Courtney walked through the door, the perfect mix of calm grace and buzzing energy. She had told me earlier in the day that the baby was a little asynclitic– kind of crooked– and that it would benefit us to try to straighten her out in early labor.
I stepped into the tub. Jake stood by me smiling, relaxed, telling me I was doing a great job with our playlist “babyzen” humming over the speaker. Courtney diffused frankincense and guided me through a few simple movements to get the baby into better alignment. The tub was heavenly. I felt weightless and powerful, like I could take a deep breath and almost smile through the contractions. Courtney told me to lean back and lift my hips up, swaying them from side to side for a few contractions.
I wanted to stay in the tub indefinitely, but it was almost too comfortable. The intensity of my contractions decreased, and Courtney suggested I get out and upright to try to get into active labor. So I got up and walked around, using the large wooden bed posts and Jake’s shoulders for support as I took deep breaths through the contractions. We get to meet our girl! I got back into the tub after a little while, once we were certain that the contractions were coming consistently and intensely. Courtney warned me that when I threw up we’d need to leave for the hospital.
Not long after, my low moans got louder and higher pitched. I called for a trash can and vomited whatever was left in my stomach. “We need to get you out and go to the hospital. Baby’s coming,” Courtney told me, firmly but gently. I asked if we could please stay a little longer? With my first, I had over an hour between throwing up and the baby being born.
“No, sweetie, we’ve gotta go.” “Can we just have the baby right here in the bath?” “No, let’s get you dressed and get in the car.” I inched down the stairs between contractions and knelt in the front seat of the car. It was 5:55. I felt my water break and needed to yell at the top of my lungs with each coming surge. They crashed over me one after the other for the thirty second drive to the hospital. We got out and I shakily walked into the building.
At reception, three women behind the desk were flustered as they tried to get the correct paperwork out. It was 5:57. I collapsed onto my hands and knees.
“I NEED TO GET INTO THE WATER!” I yelled as the pain became unbearable. Ten seconds later, a woman handed me a glass of water.
“Get into the wheelchair, honey.” “I can't, it'll hurt too much.” “Get in now.”
I got in and she started running. Jake and Courtney were running next to me telling me I was so strong and we'd get to meet our baby soon. “SHE’S COMING!” I yelled, as if they didn’t already know that. “We know babe, you’re doing amazing!” “NO, THERE’S A HEAD, SHE’S COMING NOW!” I was still wearing my t-shirt dress that carried me through pregnancy. I could feel my body bear down involuntarily and the mass of her head left my body. The wheelchair stopped. I stood up in the stirrups and pushed my hips forward for one last surge as the rest of her body left mine. Jake and Courtney caught her at the same time and brought her to my chest.
Perfect, pink, breathing. An angel from heaven, squishy, wet, and tiny, in my arms. “You’re real!” I told her as I kissed her messy head and the wheelchair started rolling again. I looked to my husband– “we did it! And it’s OVER!” It was 6:00 pm.
I wear my favorite necklace almost everyday– a simple gold chain with a moon and a star on it. Augie, my first baby, always looks at it and I tell him he is my moon. Born on an August supermoon during a thunderstorm, his calm glowing presence lights up a dark night. And my Georgia Grace is our star– who came into this world like a shooting star, fiery, bright, and every wish and dream come true.
Kathryn Montana Perkinson is a mama, writer, and pre and postnatal fitness expert living in Lander, Wyoming. Find more at kathrynmontana.com and @kathrynmontana. Her online prenatal fitness course for athletes will launch soon! Follow @themountainmethod for updates!