Protecting the First Moments: Admiring tiny fingers and toes

Kirsten and Mark’s Homebirth Story — Part 3

This is the true story of a homebirth I supported a couple of years ago. The names I have used are not their real names, and they know I have written this account (which I will be sharing with them).

The Quiet After the Storm

There’s a moment after a birth that I absolutely love.
The baby is here. The hard work is (mostly) done. And everything slows right down.

Kirsten was standing there, baby in her arms, still slightly stunned by what her body had just done. Mark was right behind her, arms wrapped around them both, his face a mix of awe, relief, pride and “holy shit, that actually happened.”

And me? I was one very happy doula.

This birth had been everything we’d hoped for - not because it was calm or gentle or textbook-perfect, but because Kirsten was in her power. She trusted herself. She was supported. She felt safe. After what they’d been through the first time, this mattered so deeply.

The Placenta: Still Part of the Birth

Something I’m always very mindful of - and something we talk about a lot during antenatal preparation - is that the birth doesn’t end when the baby is born.

The placenta matters too.

It often takes a while, and that’s completely normal. It needs the same conditions as labour itself: safety, warmth, calm, oxytocin. But in many births there’s impatience at this stage. Babies are wiped, wrapped, sometimes passed to partners, attention shifts, and the environment changes - all of which can interrupt the very hormones needed for the placenta to be birthed.

Here, there was no rush.

Kirsten settled back onto the sofa, baby tucked in close, skin to skin. Mark produced a gigantic smoothie, which Kirsten guzzled like a woman who’d just run the most intense marathon of her life (because she had).

The room stayed dim and peaceful. Voices stayed soft.

And when her body was ready, the placenta came.

Perfect. Whole. Intact.

Kirsten was fascinated - as many women are - as the midwife gently held it up and talked her through what she was seeing, checking it over carefully.

It was all exactly as it should be.

Protecting the First Moments

One of my roles as a doula, especially after the intensity of birth, is knowing when to step back.

This was their time now.

The three of them curled together, getting acquainted. Whispering. Admiring tiny fingers and toes. Breathing each other in. That soft, sacred bubble that forms around a new family in those first moments.

Birth is communal, but those first moments of becoming a family again are precious. They deserve to be protected.

So, I took a quiet back seat. Chatted gently with the midwives over hot tea and biscuits. Made myself useful without being intrusive. Scoffed my celebratory Mars bar!

The Tidy-Up and the Goodbye

Before I head off after a birth, I usually potter for a bit.
It’s part of my way of gently closing the space.

I gathered soiled towels and bedding and bunged them in the wash. Tidied the bathroom and the living room. Made sure there was food within easy reach. Checked in with Kirsten and Mark - emotionally as much as practically - answering questions, offering reassurance, grounding them in the reality of what had just happened.

Eventually, the midwives packed up their bags. I helped carry things out to the car, gave them both a big hug - because when you’ve shared something like that together, it feels wrong not to.

Knowing when to leave is always personal. Every birth, every family, every setup is different. This time, I stayed for another hour. Long enough for things to settle. Long enough for them to feel steady. Long enough to see them introduce their newest addition to a very excited big brother when he woke (yes - he slept through the whole thing, even the hollering!!!) and capture some special moments for them with Marks phone.

And then it was time for me to go. Lots of hugs and smiles.

Walking Back Into the World

I stepped outside into the early morning light, that strange liminal space where the world is waking up and everything feels slightly unreal.

Birds singing. Cars passing. People heading off to work.

And I always think the same thing at this point:
How the heck is everyone just… carrying on as normal?

Because inside that house, something enormous had happened. A birth had unfolded exactly as it needed to. A story had been rewritten. Trust had been rebuilt. A family had healed. I’ve just witnessed the most incredible thing…. how are you all just carrying on as if nothing has happened?!

I drove home buzzing, exhausted, full to the brim - knowing, once again, why I do this work.

I got in just as my household was stirring, made myself a brew and slumped into a chair, still buzzing but feeling the inevitable tiredness rolling in like a wave. I’d hang on in there for an hour, see the kids off, but once the house was quiet, I’d be “ear-plugs in and eye-mask on” for a few hours of sleep, with the relief of knowing I was no longer on call and didn’t need to have half an ear open at all times. Bliss. Pure dribbly-sleep bliss.

A Final Reflection

This birth wasn’t powerful because it was a homebirth.
It was powerful because of the preparation, the conversations, the trust, and the support.

Because Kirsten knew her options.
Because Mark knew how to show up.
Because the space around them was protected.
Because no one tried to rush, fix, or take over.

This is what happens when we stop trying to manage birth and start creating the conditions for it to unfold.

And if you’re reading this as a parent, maybe wondering what kind of birth feels right for you, I hope this story shows what’s possible when you’re supported to make informed choices and feel safe in your body.

But if you’re reading this with a different kind of stirring - that quiet pull in your chest, that sense of “I don’t just want to read about this, I want to be part of it” - then I want you to know something too.

Many doulas begin this way.

Moved by a story.
Shifted by the way birth can unfold when it’s respected.
Curious about the role of calm presence, advocacy, and deep listening.
Drawn to walking alongside families during some of the most intense, vulnerable, and transformative moments of their lives.

Being a doula isn’t about fixing or saving or leading births.
It’s about preparation.
Holding space.
Noticing what’s needed.
Knowing when to step in - and when to step back.

It’s about the conversations over coffee months before the birth.
The quiet confidence built through honest preparation.
The washing machine humming in the background at 5am.
The moment you walk back into the world afterwards, knowing something extraordinary has just happened while everyone else carries on as normal.

If this story has stirred something in you - whether as a parent, a partner, or someone wondering if this path might be calling you - trust that curiosity.

Birth changes people.
Sometimes, it changes the direction of their lives.

And it is always, always an honour to be part of.