“I Thought I Had Birthing Hips”—A Birth Story

You read about birth plans and think: okay, I’ll prepare, but my body will know what to do. I really believed that. I’d done the stretches, practiced the breathing, and figured I’d just roll with it.

Spoiler: I did not roll with it. My body had other plans.

I went in to be induced, assuming it would be straightforward. Instead, the process stretched across four full days—four days of waiting, failed attempts, painful procedures, and being served food that was not good for a t1d.

One induction method didn’t work. The second gave me a bad reaction. I was in pain, stuck in a holding pattern, and still no baby in sight.

So I sent my (then) non-husband home to check on our cat and get some rest, thinking nothing was happening. But just after he left, I was told we were moving to a delivery room. Pitocin was starting.

And that’s when it got real.

The contractions were sharp, constant, overwhelming. I’d had mild ones before, but this was something else entirely. I screamed through them. I couldn’t manage the pain. When they finally got the epidural in, I could breathe again. The nurse and doctor were incredible. I even encouraged my husband to nap and the nurse helped him build a little bed on the floor.

But when it came time to push, everything stalled.

I was nearly at 10 centimeters, but he wouldn’t come. Despite my so-called “birthing hips,” my body was just too small to deliver him easily. His heart rate dropped. Fast.

A new shift came on—new doctor, new nurse. The vibe changed instantly. The nurse snapped at me about her morning. The doctor told me we were hitting the time limit for pushing. When I asked about using a vacuum, he said flatly, “I want to go home.” That line still echoes.

A full team rushed in. They used the vacuum. They pushed on my belly. He would crown and then slip back—again and again.

Finally, at 7:32 a.m., he was born. Five days after we started.

He was blue. He wasn’t crying. I kept asking, “Why isn’t he crying?” He had fluid in his lungs and was whisked away with my husband following close behind.

I stayed to deliver the placenta and catch my breath after the marathon. Only later did my husband tell me how close things really got. How scary it was. How dangerous it felt.

It wasn’t the birth I envisioned. It was long, painful, and traumatic.

But it was the beginning of our story—with our son. And he was beautiful.