In His Time: Arden’s Birth Story

They say second babies often come early. Tanner was convinced ours would, especially with the increasing discomfort and pain I was feeling toward the end. I wasn’t so sure. Ida had arrived two days past her due date, and I assumed this baby would follow suit.

We were both wrong.

More than anything, this birth was a mental journey.

With my first pregnancy, I wanted to prepare mentally—but never fully committed. I assumed my research and the countless birth stories I had read would carry me through. This time was different. About two months before my due date, I began listening to Christian Hypnobirthing tracks—at first every few nights as I fell asleep, then eventually multiple times a day as labor approached.

Two weeks before my due date, I also visited a massage therapist and doula recommended by our birth center. I had been dealing with significant piriformis and sciatic pain, and her initial two-hour session included both conversation and bodywork.

That conversation shifted something in me.

I realized just how much tension I was holding—how my fear of pain, and especially of tearing again, was living in my body. She guided me through visualization exercises and helped me develop a mantra:

Soft. Loose. Open.

She encouraged me to connect mentally and emotionally with both my body and my baby, preparing us together for labor.

When she shared that none of her clients had torn during birth, I felt a surge of hope. That fear had been weighing heavily on me, I realized how much I was holding onto it in my body, and I left determined to approach this birth differently—more intentionally, more peacefully.

I saw her once more, two days before my due date. (A massage initiated my labor last time, perhaps this could do the same, I wondered..)

Though my mom, brother, and grandmother had arrived weeks earlier to help out with my growing discomfort, my dad arrived closer to my due date on March 9th (my official "due date" was March 13th). Having family nearby was a gift, especially as my body slowed in those final weeks. But when my due date came and went, tension quietly grew.

My dad, a former obstetrician, couldn’t help but slip back into his training. He checked in often and voiced concerns about going “post-dates.”

Technically, pregnancy isn’t considered overdue until 42 weeks—but the moment you pass 40, the pressure begins. Questions. Suggestions. Warnings.

And yes, there are real risks to consider. But perspective matters. For example, while statistics may say the risk of stillbirth increases between 41 and 42 weeks, the absolute numbers remain small. For me, it came down to a choice:

I could fixate on fear, or I could trust the design of my body.

I chose trust.

However, we were close to the edge. If I had gone one more day, I would have been required to transfer out of my midwife’s care and into a hospital birth.

The home birth experience we had carefully prepared for—the one I had done so much work to step into—would have shifted completely.

That reality sat quietly in the background of those final days. And in the end, it didn’t push me into fear—it pulled me deeper into trust.

Still, even as I stayed grounded—walking outside barefoot, listening to the “Naturally Inducing Labor Relaxation” and “Encouraging Scriptures” hypnobirthing tracks, and praying through each passing day—the tension around me began to creep in.

On the morning of March 25th, I gently told my dad we needed a reset.

No more medical talk. No more checking in. Just a day to relax and enjoy.

We made plans and drove to Boulder, wandering Pearl Street, where I treated myself to a cozy postpartum outfit. That evening, we shared an incredible tapas dinner that reminded me of Spain—and yes, although stuffed, I still happily ate the majority of the two desserts I ordered.

I had a few light contractions that morning and again on the drive home, but nothing consistent.

Still, I remember thinking after dinner:

If this is it, I’ve fueled well.

March 26

6:30 a.m.

I woke up feeling like I needed to use the bathroom, but suspected it might just be early contractions. I tried to get more sleep.

7:15 a.m.

In the bathroom, I swayed through a couple of contractions.

7:30 a.m.

I started timing them. Slight nausea set in.

When I walked back into the bedroom, Tanner was still in bed next to a deeply sleeping Ida. I looked at him and said:

“We’re having a baby today.”

The contractions were steady.

8:24 a.m.

After about an hour of timing—roughly six minutes apart and lasting a minute—we called our midwife. She was finishing up another birth and would come once she was done.

We stepped outside into the warm spring morning, not wanting to wake the house. I stood barefoot in my bathrobe, grounding myself as I looked at the lovely pink blossoms forming on our tree.

Soon, Ida woke and joined us—sleepy, barefoot, her hair wildly tousled. I asked her if she was ready to meet her baby brother.

Back inside, we changed her and soaked in our final quiet moments as a family of three.

Not long after, contractions intensified.

My dad was up and when he passed by and asked how I was doing, I simply said:

“I’m having a baby.”

From there, things moved quickly.

The clear moments between surges quickly disappeared as they became more frequent and intense. Before losing all outside focus, I quickly texted my sister-in-law, and lovely birth photographer, “It’s happening!” (Tanner coordinated from there.) I Turned on my Christian Hypnobirthing tracks and moved into our room, bracing through contractions at the dresser. My mom, Tanner, and my brother rotated through applying counter-pressure on my hips, while my dad kept Ida occupied. Tanner and my brother worked to fill the birth pool.

8:53 a.m.

Tanner called our midwife with an update.

9:07 a.m.

Just under 15 minutes later, contractions were two minutes apart. He called again—they were on their way.

One of the midwives in training, coming from another location, was able to make it to us quicker. With a soothing and reassuring voice, she helped talk me through contractions.

At some point, I tried to use the bathroom again. A contraction hit while I was on the toilet—easily one of the worst parts of my labor. My mom helped me back up.

I moved to the floor beside the bed, kneeling with my head buried in a pillow as contractions surged. The other midwives arrived, just in time.

My face tingled, though my vitals were stable.

I cried out:

“I don’t want to do this again!”

Followed by a cry so loud it surprised myself.

Transition had arrived.

Birth

9:55 a.m.

The urge to push began. I felt my body bear down. The pool was ready, and this was my chance to get in.

9:56 a.m.

My team helped me into the birth pool. The warm water was immediate relief. I leaned over the edge, gripping it tightly, while Tanner sat on the hearth in front of me, offering his hand—and gentle reminders:

“Breathe.”

Soft. Loose. Open.

I repeated it in my head over and over, surrendering.

This time was different. I didn’t rush. I quieted and took control. I paused between pushes. When I felt the familiar burning, I reached down, touched his head, and slowed myself. I paused to gently rub where it burned before pushing again, repeating once more.

I listened to my body.

9:57 a.m.

His head was born.

One more push.

9:58 a.m.

His body followed.

I turned around, and my baby was placed into my arms.

“It’s a boy,” I joyfully exclaimed.

Arden was here.

The umbilical cord was short, so I couldn’t bring him all the way up right away, but I held him close as we both adjusted to the moment.

A small amount of bleeding prompted a quick dose of Pitocin, which I felt completely comfortable accepting given our trust in our midwife.

We moved to the couch, wrapped in warmth, soaking in those first moments together.

The Final Stages

Unlike Arden’s birth, the placenta took its time.

10:38 a.m.

After a couple rounds of herbal drops to help the placenta release, and eventually a second dose of Pitocin, with some gentle traction, it was delivered—just under the one-hour window required to avoid a hospital transfer.

As we laid there, I started to snack and chug electrolytes.

Some continued bleeding, combined with my naturally low blood pressure, led to a brief catheterization to help my uterus contract effectively.

And then—relief.

No tearing!

Not a single stitch would be needed.

By late morning, the house was filled with the smell of food my dad had ordered in for everyone, and a quiet sense of celebration settled in.

Arden was officially welcomed:

8 lbs 13 oz, 20 inches long.

Later, I took my first trip to the bathroom—and immediately noticed how different everything felt this time. Easier. Gentler. Whole.

After a quick shower, I climbed back into bed, where we were left to rest, bond, and begin this new chapter together. What a blessing it was to be able to do it all at home!

Arden’s birth taught me something I hadn’t fully grasped before: surrender is not passive—it’s powerful.

Where my first birth required endurance, this one asked for trust. Trust in the Lord, in my body, and in the timing that was never actually mine to control. The waiting, the tension, the unknown—it all refined something deeper in me.

In the end, it wasn’t about doing more, but about letting go.

Soft. Loose. Open.

And right on time, he came.

Mama: @dabblingwild