Courtney Brown
After Charlotte’s accidental homebirth — a fast, three-hour labour that unfolded on our bathroom floor before anyone could make it to us — it felt only natural to plan a homebirth for Jack. That first experience taught me that home was where I felt safest and most held. For this birth, I wanted to lean into that sense of trust and continuity — to birth in familiar light, to shower in my own space, to crawl into bed with fresh linen and my baby in my arms. Knowing Jack might be our last baby, I wanted the experience to feel soft, safe, and deeply ours.
Pregnancy
Pregnancy is when I feel most alive in my body. Ours has been a journey shaped by infertility, so pregnancy fills me with an incredible sense of gratitude. Fortunately for me I don’t have to wrestle with the typical pregnancy side effects and instead have the space to marvel at what my body creates — the quiet, constant work it does to grow new life. I’ve been lucky to feel strong, beautiful and capable through each stage of pregnancy, both for Lottie and now Jack. I held complete trust that my body would birth Jack just as it had birthed Lottie — with power and natural instinct.
The lead-up
We’d sold our home a month before Jack’s birth, so there was a tender sense of closure in knowing this would be our last big moment within these walls — the first home we bought and renovated as a couple, the home that was a safe harbour during lockdowns and the home that witnessed Lottie’s first cries. It felt perfectly full circle.
We were ready. Birth affirmations hung on the walls, the birth playlists were made, the freezer was filled with nourishing meals, the TENS machine and heat pack were within reach, and we’d been practising our breathwork. My pelvis was feeling the weight of those final weeks — Jack was sitting low and ready.
The day of birth – 39 weeks + 4 days
It was a golden autumn day — everything glowing amber. Nathan had the day off, and we spent it together as a family of three. Lottie was full of spark and delight, climbing at the playground, stringing together new sentences. It was one of those days that feels light and expansive — and I remember thinking, if Jack came today, it would be the perfect ending to this perfect day.
That evening, after we tucked Lottie into bed, we started a new series on Netflix. Around 8:30pm, I began to feel faint, familiar niggles. After a big bowel movement (exactly how Lottie’s labour had begun!), I suspected things might be stirring but expected it would be early morning before anything serious began.
By 9:15pm, we were in bed and I’d called the Mama Triage line to touch base and I texted Amy (my primary midwife) to flag that the tiniest of niggles had begun. I played a podcast to help me rest, but my mind was already alert and open to what was coming.
Around 10pm, I asked Nathan to pop out to Coles for medjool dates — a last-minute birth snack! When he returned a little while later, the niggles hadn’t gone away. Trusting my instincts, I called my brother to collect Lottie and let the triage team know things were moving. I also sent a quick text to our birth photographer, Leah, just in case.
As soon as Lottie was picked up, my body responded. My breath deepened, the sensations became rhythmic and strong. The affirmations I’d practised began to loop through my mind — bigger the burn, bigger the breath and match the pain. I swayed on the birth ball, heat pack pressed to my belly, TENS humming, soft lighting filling the room.
When sitting no longer felt right, I stood and leaned over the island bench, letting gravity guide me through each surge. Soon the pressure shifted deep into my pelvis, and I felt the unmistakable urge to poo — the moment I knew Jack was close.
From here, my body took over completely. Nathan was on the phone with Veronica from the triage line, relaying updates as I moved instinctively to the toilet. Amy was at another birth, but two midwives were on their way. Veronica stayed on the line, calm and steady.
Nathan helped remove my leggings just as I began to feel the crown of Jack’s head. I dropped to all fours — the same position I’d birthed Lottie in — and my body began to push on its own. I asked Nathan if he had him, and he shouted that Jack was en caul — still inside his amniotic sac. With the next push, Jack’s body slipped free, bursting his own waters as he entered the world.
Born at 11:52pm, pink and crying, Jack arrived safely into his father’s hands and my waiting arms. We were overcome — the shock, the joy, the quiet disbelief that he was here. Leah arrived soon after, capturing our first moments together, followed by Ellie and Veronica who gently took over our care.
The placenta came easily this time, with some gravity, a little reassurance, and Jack at my breast.
Afterbirth
That first shower — warm, grounding, in my own familiar space — felt like the most exquisite reward. Fresh linen pyjamas, clean sheets, the hum of the washing machine already working through towels from the night. It was everything I’d hoped for — simple, intimate, perfect.
I remember our first morning with Jack in a romantic way. It unfolded in sunlight, with coffee brewing, favourite breakfast waiting, Jack curled beside me in bed as our midwife arrived for our first visit. It was one of those moments where everything felt still and whole. The chapter of Jack’s birth — born at home, surrounded by love — is one I’ll carry with quiet pride and immense gratitude for the rest of my life.
Feedback
Jack’s pregnancy and postpartum is one of the highlights of my life. I am proud of both of my births, but the opportunity to feel safe and confident going into birth and postpartum is such a gift, which was facilitated by the MAMA model of care. I am deeply grateful for the care provided by Amy, Bee and Bridget. I truly wish all birthing mamas could feel as empowered, respected and valued as I have felt.
Hoping for a positive home birth?
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