Just weeks after passing her final midwifery exam, one expectant mother believed she understood birth better than most. She had attended countless deliveries, trusted her instincts, and carefully planned the peaceful home birth she had always envisioned. But when her son finally arrived, he challenged everything she thought she knew—and reminded her that even birth professionals are first and foremost mothers.
Babi had always trusted her intuition. Early in pregnancy, she was convinced of three things: she was carrying a baby boy, she would name him Lucca, and he would arrive around 39 weeks. The first two predictions came true exactly as expected. The third could not have been more wrong.
As forty-one weeks passed with no signs of labor, she remained optimistic. A membrane sweep wasn’t even possible because her cervix was still closed and the baby remained high. She tried every natural method she knew to encourage labor, refusing to use castor oil until it became her very last option.
By 41 weeks and 5 days, she finally gave in.
After eating breakfast, she drank the famous Midwives Brew—a castor oil mixture she had watched work countless times as a student midwife. She waited.
Nothing.
Hours passed.
She took the second dose that afternoon before heading out for a walk with her husband Joey. As they talked about how their lives were about to change forever, mild cramping slowly appeared. Joey noticed the contractions becoming surprisingly regular before she even did.
For the first time in days, hope returned.
Back home, Babi happily prepared snacks for the birth team, organized supplies, and settled into the excitement of finally meeting her son. Around 8:40 p.m., her water broke. Contractions intensified, though she could still talk through them easily.
One unusual thing stood out immediately.
She couldn’t stay still.
Every contraction forced her to walk.
Her midwife, Andie, arrived around 10 p.m. and found Babi already 4 centimeters dilated, stretching comfortably to six. Labor appeared to be progressing beautifully.
The rest of the birth team—including their doula and birth photographer Dallas—headed toward Gainesville.
Soon labor changed dramatically.
Babi paced nonstop through every room of the apartment, unable to remain seated for even a moment. Walking became the only way she could cope.
Ironically, the birth tub she had spent months imagining became one of the biggest surprises.
She climbed in while it was only half full.
Almost immediately she begged Joey to help her out.
The warm water intensified every contraction beyond anything she expected.
Back on her feet, she continued pacing until she finally stopped, leaned against the bedroom dresser, and tearfully admitted she couldn’t continue.
Another examination revealed encouraging news.
She had reached 8 centimeters.
That single number gave her enough determination to keep moving.
Over the next several hours, labor blurred together.
Favorite songs played softly in the background.
Her husband shadowed every step she took.
Her birth team quietly supported her while she instinctively followed her body.
When pushing finally began, she tried virtually every position imaginable.
The toilet.
The bed.
Hands and knees.
Squatting while gripping the bed frame.
She eventually felt her son’s head with her own hand.
Surely he would arrive soon.
Instead, time kept passing.
Her contractions gradually weakened.
Despite everyone’s efforts—including changing positions, pumping, catheterizing her bladder, and every technique her experienced midwives could offer—Lucca simply stopped descending.
After nearly two hours of pushing, Babi asked how long it had been.
She still wanted to continue.
But by 6 a.m., the entire birth team quietly came to the same conclusion.
It was time to transfer.
The decision devastated her.
She had come so close to achieving the home birth she had dreamed about for months.
Yet as both a mother and an emerging midwife, she understood something equally important.
A calm, non-emergency transfer is always safer than waiting for a crisis.
Her home birth team carefully packed the car, cleaned the house, and reassured her they had truly done everything possible.
COVID restrictions meant only Joey could accompany her into the hospital.
The rest of her birth team stayed behind, lending them a camera so they could continue documenting Lucca’s arrival themselves.
Ironically, the one thing she had always feared most about hospital birth happened anyway.
The car ride.
Every contraction made it feel as though her son would be born before they arrived.
At the hospital, staff initially doubted she was fully dilated.
That changed instantly when they watched her involuntarily pushing during contractions.
She was admitted immediately.
At that point, Babi laughed through her exhaustion.
“If we’re already at the hospital,” she told Joey, “then let’s do the full experience.”
She requested an epidural.
After days of labor, several hours of uninterrupted sleep transformed everything.
Pitocin strengthened her contractions.
She began pushing again.
Once more, Lucca’s head descended.
Once more, progress stopped.
Hours later, with every reasonable option exhausted, the doctor gently recommended a Cesarean section.
This time there was no hesitation.
Both parents wanted exactly the same thing.
A healthy baby.
At 3:44 p.m. on November 2, Lucca was born.
But celebration lasted only seconds.
Instead of hearing his first cry, Babi heard someone quietly announce his APGAR score was 1.
The room fell terrifyingly silent.
Medical staff immediately began full resuscitation.
She barely caught a glimpse of her son before he was rushed to the NICU.
The carefully imagined first moments—golden hour, delayed cord clamping, uninterrupted skin-to-skin, immediate breastfeeding—vanished instantly.
Instead, she and Joey remained in the operating room holding hands and crying together without knowing whether their son would be okay.
Soon Joey was allowed into the NICU while Babi remained in recovery.
Through a video call, she watched doctors explain that Lucca needed breathing support, antibiotics, IVs, and CPAP assistance.
Having previously worked inside a NICU herself made the moment even more painful.
She understood every machine surrounding her son.
She also understood every possible risk.
Unable to leave recovery until the next morning, she counted every hour through the night.
Finally, at 6 a.m., she entered the NICU.
There lay her tiny 6-pound, 11-ounce son.
Perfect.
For the first time, she held him in her arms.
She heard his cry.
She breastfed him.
Every fear and every disappointment suddenly faded beneath the overwhelming relief of finally meeting the little boy who had already changed her life forever.
Lucca remained in the NICU for three days before finally coming home.
Looking back months later, Babi often joked that her son had been her true final examination as a midwife.
He had taken her through nearly every kind of birth imaginable.
A planned home birth.
A hospital transfer.
An epidural.
Pitocin augmentation.
A Cesarean section.
A NICU stay.
And perhaps most importantly, he taught her lessons that no classroom ever could.
She learned that birth cannot always be controlled.
That surrender sometimes requires greater courage than persistence.
That success is not measured by sticking to a birth plan, but by making loving decisions when plans must change.
For Joey, watching his wife navigate disappointment while never losing sight of their son’s needs revealed a different kind of strength.
Despite everything unfolding differently than planned, she never stopped being Lucca’s fiercest advocate.
Together, they discovered that sometimes the birth we need bears little resemblance to the birth we imagined.
And for a newly qualified midwife, that became the most valuable lesson of all.
