This is the arrival of James Tiberius, photographed by Evoke Art Photography.

My pregnancy was straightforward and healthy – it was a bit of a journey for me, just in the basis that I’m used to connecting spiritually to my babies very early in pregnancy, yet little James and I never felt that connection while he was within me.

I spent the 9 months consciously acknowledging him, chatting with him, and connecting to him in every physical way I could – with the hopes that we might find some sort of spiritual connection. Yet it was to no avail, the baby growing within me was my little physical being, The spiritual connection was to come during labour.

This pregnancy was another step for me to claim my power as a birthing woman. I had never gone into labour without some sort of assistance: my first son was induced – a hospital delivery – about as far from a natural childbirth as I could travel.

My second, home water birthed babe was gently encouraged with a stretch and sweep. A beautiful, natural labour and childbirth, but still helped along by gentle intervention.

I knew I wasn’t broken, and was determined to prove it. Thursday evening, of the 19th of August, I had an overwhelming urge go go for a run. So, pregnant belly in hand, at about midnight, in all of my enormous glory I ran around our block.

My husband made jokes about the water in his glass trembling as I returned up our street. I then had a shower, and snuggled up in bed with my beautiful family.

I was awoken Friday morning at around about six with some familiar sensations – nice, strong, contractions. I turned over, trying to sleep, but was so excited that perhaps, just perhaps I HAD gone into labour all by myself.

Half an hour or so later, I snuck out of bed, hopped in the shower, and texted my three best friends to let them know today was the day, and to light their candles and begin holding the space for my birth. I also called my gorgeous photographer friend Fiona, so she could organise care for her little one.

The boys woke up, and life went on as usual in our house, with me plodding around in the loungeroom and leaning over my fitball when I needed it, my husband rubbing my back, and lovely warm heat packs being brought to be constantly.

Then time for me stopped – I have no real idea of how long things took – Fiona arrived, and bless her heart started playing with the boys and entertaining them. I had a shower, or two… insisted the pool got filled, and called my midwife.

Labour for the next however long was a little scary for me- it felt different to my previous labours, and I found I couldn’t just settle into it. I knew if I went to the toilet it bring on stronger contractions, but I was so terrified of the sensations, I put it off for as long as I could.

Finally, I found my courage, went to the toilet and my waters broke, allowing James to finally move down.

Off the toilet, into the loungeroom, the most powerful sensations I’ve ever felt. There was fear again, fear of the pain, then the realisation that holy cow! I needed to push. With the support of my gorgeous husband, and my beautiful midwife I clambered into the pool.

Time stood still, I gently birthed James’ head. Into my own hands, feeling his divinely soft hair swishing in the water. Then, I leant back, and his shoulders and body slid into his daddy’s waiting arms.

I did it… I went into labour alone.
I birthed my baby and caught him!

I spent a few days post birth being annoyed at myself for the fear I felt – but now in perspective, it’s all been part of my journey with James, and a new step in motherhood for me.