My Birth Story: Home Birth in France

To begin with, I would like to say that I was a perfect mother, an ideal mother before having a child! I hadn’t even thought about it; I would be a super mom with a top-notch stroller, bottles, and a little suitcase ready to take to the maternity ward as soon as the first contractions were felt. The mom you see in the movies.

How did I come to this decision?

But when my first child was announced, things happened differently. First, I imagined that the pregnant woman would be taken care of, that they would explain many things to me, be caring. Far, far from reality.

A glimpse of my visit to the witch gynecologist (I know they are not all like that, fortunately):

“Hello, we met a few weeks ago because I had the project of having a baby… (mother’s voice, filled with joy and starry-eyed)”

“Yes, and so? Are you pregnant now? Well, undress for an examination. (robotic, unhappy voice)”

Uh, that’s sobering… Is that not called a “happy event”? I didn’t expect her to jump for joy, but I would have thought a smile was a more normal reaction.

However, this memorable appointment allowed me to get regional documentation with a lot of blah that doesn’t serve much, and in it, there was a small section on water births. And it immediately appealed to me. Kindness, gentleness after this brutality!

However, between the pretty theory and the practice, as always, there is a gap! French establishments equipped with such birthing rooms are almost as hard to find as Waldo and his famous striped hat. So, this option was really not doable. But the idea of a different birth was starting to take root in my mind.

In the same small section that talked about water births, there was a line about home births. One line is not much, but it allowed me to start a second process. It’s a seed. One of our friends had given birth to her two children at home, so I began asking her multiple questions. Why such a choice? How does it work? and many other things… She explained that only one midwife takes care of prenatal care and childbirth. That the bonds formed are very strong, and the birth happens with more “gentleness” (in quotation marks, of course).

I couldn’t really explain why or how, but very quickly, this choice imposed itself in my mind. It’s what I desire; it’s what my body is asking for. Which is quite strange because I am a “chronic worrier,” to use my doctor’s terms. Home birth, I need to know more. Like water births, regions in France are not equal because very few midwives practice them. But oh joy! My friend sent me the contact information of two midwives near me, along with plenty of links about what we will now call home births (not to be confused with unassisted childbirth, where the woman is a warrior and decides she wants to give birth without a midwife, without the obligation of medical follow-up, etc.).

Before making my first appointment, my husband and I discuss it. He admits to being quite surprised, not necessarily enthusiastic at first, but he trusts me and says he supports me if it’s the choice I want to make.

Then things happened quite quickly; I met Julie, the first midwife, and then Françoise, the second. Indeed, they work together in the same office, and I feel even more sure of my decision. They express so much gentleness and love for this little baby, they listen to me, and answer every question that bothers me (us <- the dad also has plenty of questions), even the most insignificant. They answer patiently, without judgment, with simple and reassuring answers. When I leave these meetings, I feel serene and fully confident. I feel ready to fly.

I am far, light-years away from the frightening, guilt-inducing speeches I had to endure when I talked about my choice to my horrible gynecologist. When Julie and Françoise listen to the baby’s heartbeat, they play with him, they smile, then gently wipe my belly. They take care of this little being. My gynecologist had spoken during the heartbeat listening, then told me that my baby probably had a malformation, and even my tears hadn’t managed to stop her words… Visits where I didn’t really feel like flying T_T (I never went back, naive but not a masochist)

When you choose a home birth, several things are complicated. First, dealing with people’s remarks who know everything about everything. It ranges from “A childbirth without an epidural? Well, good luck” to “I think it’s a big risk, but well, you do as you want,” implying that I, as a mother, am throwing a tantrum endangering my child’s life. I never understood why I received so many mean remarks, almost a hatred for home births, probably a fear of the unknown, I don’t know.

I am physically quite fragile, so that adds a little layer. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to, it’s very tiring after all.” Woo-hoo, what encouragement! Keep it coming! But I know what I am capable of; I know that my husband supports me, and I know that the midwives around me are not reckless and take no risks. I am registered at the maternity ward; they have my file in case of transfer; the midwives give me real examinations (yes, yes) and validate or not the home birth project around the 8th month. And even then, if the birth happens on very specific dates. I had the feeling that no one had thought that maybe, as the mom, I might be the one best suited to think about my baby, the one who knew my strengths and weaknesses the best, and especially the one who didn’t want to take any risks for her baby.

Small parenthesis: Home birth or maternity, it’s simply different, and it responds to different needs with the same goal, the birth of our child. I won’t get into the debate of better or not; home births meet the needs of some women, and maternity meets the needs of others. It’s just important for me that each woman can make her own choice. End of the parenthesis.

The Day of the Birth

Now, I’ll take you into our intimacy, make you little mice, witnesses of the arrival of this wonderful baby. So, become tiny and on tiptoes, let’s go back to the night of February 13th to 14th, 2012. It is 4:30 in the morning when I get up for my “usual” bathroom break. As I lie back down, I feel a strange sensation, like light period pains quite regularly. These are small contractions; I’m glad because I think labor is approaching. I try to go back to sleep, but I’m too excited, and I look at my clock every time the pain is felt. These waves come every 7 minutes. I know I should sleep, but I can’t. When the alarm clock rings, I look at my husband and ask him if he’s ready to be a dad.

In the morning, I have an appointment with a speech therapist. I’ve been meaning to do this assessment for months, so I called Julie to ask for advice and tell her that a little work is starting. She reassures me, saying that if the pains are not intense, I can go to this appointment while taking precautions in case my water breaks.

I feel very serene, and I can tell that the future dad is starting to stress a little. I ask him to go grocery shopping during my appointment; he also has to stop by work to pick up some things. He doesn’t want me to drive and drops me off at the speech therapist’s office. We agreed that I’ll call him when I leave if I don’t feel like walking home.

The appointment goes well and lasts almost three hours. The speech therapist is not reassured when she sees me noting my contractions getting closer. I remain calm and try to reassure her; no, I won’t give birth in her office. End of the assessment, when I leave, my husband is there in the waiting room. Worried and excited!

We go home, and I call Françoise. I tell her that the contractions are now closer together, every five minutes. But the pains are still really light, like waves of period pains that come and then leave me alone. She tells me that sometimes contractions quickly settle into a very regular rhythm, but it will be the intensity of the pain that will mark the progress of labor. In the meantime, she advised me to eat a good plate of pasta and try to sleep because, according to her, the birth could take place in the evening. We will call her as soon as the pains get stronger.

My husband is very caring; I feel like a princess. He prepares a plate of pasta for me, an infusion with raspberry leaves, dried fruits… We have set up a small mattress in the living room, right next to the fireplace, and I feel good in that place for now. I haven’t decided on the exact location of the birth. I lie under the duvet to try to take a short nap and watch Totoro. I manage to fall asleep, and when I wake up, the contractions are indeed more intense. So, I decide to take a little bath to relax. It’s when I get out of the water that a contraction really hits me. I sit down and breathe calmly, always accompanied by my husband. I keep telling myself, “It’s only a few seconds, it’s normal, and it will pass.” Françoise had also told me that I absolutely had to recover and recharge between each contraction to hold up over the long haul. I get dressed again, and we go for a little walk on the terrace. Again, the waves return with more intensity. When I walk, they come every minute.

I lie down, and the contractions fade away; they settle again into the rhythm of five minutes. So, my husband calls Françoise and explains the situation. She will be there in less than an hour. In the meantime, I continue to rest.

After that, things are very blurry in my mind. Indeed, once Françoise arrived, I felt like my brain disconnected. I could let go. My body was doing the work; I was naturally anesthetized. I only have flashes of memories, small flashes that remain (a friend will say later that it’s just because I have nothing in my head).

So, I share my memories with you in the style of Perec’s “I Remember.”

I remember intense pains always in waves that lifted my body like a storm inside. To this, Françoise offered me a hair comb to hold firmly in my hand, pressing on acupuncture points. I didn’t let go of it until the birth.

I remember watching Disney’s Robin Hood, but I often closed my eyes.

I remember my dinner, a plain yogurt with good brown sugar in it, but I couldn’t finish it.

I remember that during a contraction, Françoise broke the water bag.

I remember the sensation of warm liquid starting to flow and my husband and Françoise bustling to change the pads to keep me always dry.

I remember lying down on the mattress and feeling my husband’s ever-watchful presence by my side.

I remember that his scent calmed my pain.

I remember being afraid of disturbing the neighbors when I started to scream when the waves got stronger. (but in the end, no one heard anything).

I remember the first pushes, a strange feeling that I didn’t quite master.

I remember saying that I couldn’t do it.

I remember that Françoise put me on my side and lifted me with cushions.

I remember clinging to my husband, wrapping my arms around him, and finding in him all the comfort I needed. He will later tell me that I also “stabbed” him in the back with my comb.

I remember thinking during the pushes that I preferred to be in my place than in my husband’s. I heard him inhale and push with me. I felt his energy, and I thought that while I had the pain, I also had a lot of respite, which was not his case. My senses were heightened, my eyes closed all along, my body let itself be guided, our little baby was also doing its job, and I encouraged it.

I remember Françoise telling me she could see his head, and I remember the strange sensation of putting my hand on his little skull.

I remember that this sensation greatly intensified my pushes, and what I remember most is my husband’s phrase, “He’s out.” I hadn’t felt him come out of me, but I opened my eyes again and saw that Françoise was holding a little white being. She immediately placed it on my belly and covered it with a warm towel. I had a little baby, we had a baby, together, we had made it. This little being was there, on me, unreal and wonderful.

And suddenly, I feel contractions again, and for a few seconds, I wonder if there is a second baby. Françoise reassures me again, saying it’s the placenta. I no longer expected to feel these pains, and I found them much more unpleasant than the ones during childbirth. I felt a big ball come out of me, and then nothing.

After that, my mind came back to reconnect, and I share with you some memories: my husband looking at him, this perfect baby, a beautiful baby, especially for us, who often find that babies have a really funny look. Me, holding this little being. Me, asking my husband to help me completely remove my top that was just pulled up. Me, feeling the warmth of this little baby close to my heart. He is there, smelling good, and my whole body feels an incredible sense of well-being.

Time passes, even though it seems to have stopped. Françoise is in the bathroom carefully examining the placenta. After about thirty minutes, we end up wondering whether this little baby is a girl or a boy. My husband lifts the towel and tells me he thinks it’s a boy but he’s not sure. When Françoise returns, she lifts this little baby completely for some examinations and discovers a little girl. Our child is born, a little girl with light hair, a little girl born to the music of Bob Dylan, our little fairy.