Almost 10 years ago I gave birth to my first son. It was a 17 hour labor that I spent (mostly) by myself in our little bathroom surrounded by candle-light and fresh flowers. At one point, probably about 14 hours in, I remember thinking “I’m so glad there isn’t a doctor or midwife here as they’d probably be rushing me at this point.” It was a lovely freedom to be able to let my body release this baby at it’s own pace ~ a natural, organic pace that shouldn’t be sped up or slowed down. As my body went through those powerful, involuntary, shuddering pushes close to midnight, I told my baby, “As soon as I feel your head coming out, I’ll get off the toilet,” (yes, I labored for much of the time on the toilet as it helped me open up naturally). When I felt him coming out, I knelt down on the floor, grabbed the towel rack and called to my husband that the baby was coming. He walked in just in time to see me rip the towel rack off the wall just as the baby was crowning. A moment later, ChristoFinn slid out onto a pile of soft blankets on the floor. He gave a soft mewl to let us know he was breathing and then I picked him up, cradling him, and exclaiming “We did it! We did it! Oh my god, we did it!” My husband and I beamed at each other and then as we looked at our newborn baby boy, he smiled at us.