A Positive Birth Experience

By Courtney McIntosh | Photography by Bree Castel of Iris and Me

In the weeks and days leading up to her arrival, everything felt suspended. I was nervous, but ready.

I had a booked induction date sitting in my calendar. A safety net. A plan. A “just in case.” Knowing it was there gave me peace, but deep down I hoped my body would begin on its own. And it did.

What I did not have, though, was a detailed birth plan. I did not go in attached to a specific outcome. No checklist. No rigid expectations. I went in open. Open to whatever would unfold. I trusted my team. I trusted my body. I trusted that however she arrived would be the right way for us.

My first birth had been induced. My second happened so quickly I nearly delivered in the car. So this third time, I lived in anticipation, wondering how her story would unfold. Would it be calm? Fast? Chaotic? Would we make it to the hospital? Third babies have a reputation.

I had pre-labour niggles for about a week at 37 weeks. Tightenings that came and went just enough to keep me alert. Enough to send me into Google spirals despite this being my third baby. It does not matter how many times you have done this, you still analyse every sensation and you find yourself looking for any sign that she is coming. You convince yourself this tiny cramp must be the beginning.

I had a stretch and sweep at 38 weeks, already a couple of centimetres dilated and very ready to meet her. I knew they do not always work, so I tried not to attach too much hope to it. Forty-eight hours later, labour began, nearly two weeks before my scheduled induction.

There was something deeply affirming about that. My body choosing its own timing. My baby deciding when she was ready.

It was school holidays, which felt like perfect timing. I could take the boys to my parents’ house so James and I could be present and ready. Pre-labour started in the afternoon around 5.30pm, I was lying in bed when the contractions shifted from “maybe” to “this is it.”I remember talking to her quietly and said “I am so ready. Let’s do this.”

It all started slowly. A tightening which I recognised. It was a rhythm and a knowing. I laboured at home for about four hours. Dim lights were on. My playlist was playing softly. I was even finishing off a few emails between contractions to distract myself, which feels mildly ridiculous in hindsight, but it helped. The waves were manageable. I was breathing through them. Riding them. Feeling completely inside my body.

Because of how quickly my second birth unfolded, I did not want to leave things too late so we arrived at the hospital around 10pm whilst things were still manageable. I was 3 to 4 centimetres dilated. Not extraordinary, but steady and I knew my body was building in its own time.

My waters had slightly broken, likely a small tear in the sac. After discussing with my obstetrician, my midwife broke them properly. I knew what that meant. The intensity would rise. And it did.

There is something powerful about stepping willingly into that next stage. You know it is going to hurt more. You know there is no turning back. But you also know you are closer.

It was now past 1am. Both my boys had been born during the day. Labouring overnight is a different kind of endurance. You are riding contractions while profoundly tired. It is primal and raw and humbling.

I tried to eat a few lollies for energy but the smell made me feel sick. So we stuck to electrolyte water and my hypnobirthing meditation.

In the room was my husband, James, my midwife, my obstetrician, Dr McCaffrey and my dear friend Bree, capturing the birth on camera. Having my birth captured was something I debated, but knowing this was my last baby, I wanted to honour it fully. I wanted to remember it. I am so grateful I did. Bree was already a close friend, but witnessing someone hold space for you in that moment binds you forever.

Around 3am, I questioned whether I should get an epidural. The pain was very intense. I did not feel the need to prove anything. Birth is not a competition. But something in me felt we were close so I chose to stay with it.

Transition hit hard. The kind of intensity that makes you momentarily forget why you agreed to this in the first place. The contractions were no longer waves I could gently ride. They were consuming. All-encompassing. My body was no longer something I was calmly breathing through, it had taken over completely.

There is a point in labour where you feel like you are standing at the edge of something vast. You cannot turn back. You cannot pause. You cannot negotiate your way out of it. The only way through is through.

I remember feeling both overwhelmed and deeply aware. A strange combination of thinking I cannot do this and knowing I already am.

This was the moment Mila and I had to work together. I had carried her for nine months, but now we were a team in a different way. Every contraction was her moving down. Every breath was me creating space for her to arrive. It was raw and primal and completely instinctive.

And even in the intensity, I never felt alone.

Then pushing began.

And here is the detail no one romanticises. While pushing, I got the most aggressive leg cramps. In both legs. At the same time. As if labour itself was not enough, my calves decided to make their own dramatic entrance. I remember half laughing, half crying, thinking truly, is this necessary? But somehow, it made the whole experience even more human and quite hilarious looking back! 

Pushing felt eternal, though in reality it was not long at all. It wasn’t long before I heard the words I’d been longing for, “Your baby is right here, Court”

Time slowed. I reached down. I felt her head. And in one final, fierce push, she was there on my chest. 4:33am.

Her hair. Her beautiful face. Her tiny hands and feet. The room felt loud and silent all at once.

And it will never be lost on me the immense pain a woman can endure in birth. The depth of it. The primal, body-splitting intensity that feels at times almost impossible to comprehend. It is real. It is consuming. It demands everything of you.

And yet, the moment she was placed on my chest, something shifted in an instant. The pain did not slowly fade. It disappeared. Replaced by something electric and overwhelming. Relief. Love. Euphoria. A flood of hormones so powerful it almost felt surreal. The body that moments before was shaking and roaring became calm, steady and soft.

It is extraordinary how quickly the memory of the pain softens. How the body allows space for joy to take over. Not because the pain was insignificant, but because the reward is immeasurable. One minute you are convinced you cannot possibly endure another contraction. The next, you are holding your baby, thinking I would do it all again for this exact moment.

That is the magic of birth. The pain is real. But so is the power. I had done it. We had done it.

She was safe, she was perfect and she was ours.

Now, five weeks in, we are in the sleep-deprived trenches. The 2am feeds. The heavy eyelids. The kind of tiredness that deeply humbles you and the wobbly days where you wonder if you will ever ‘have it all together’ again. But there is also stillness. Gratitude. A deep awareness that she is my last baby.

This birth felt positive not because it was easy, but because I felt supported, connected and strong. Because I trusted my body. Because I was surrounded by people who believed in me.

She is my last baby. There will be no next time. And honestly, I cannot imagine a better way to finish. It was a birth that was a wild, powerful, beautiful way to close the birthing chapter of my life and an incredible reminder of what women are capable of.

And if sharing this offers even a small sense of hope to someone feeling nervous about birth, then it feels worth putting into words. Birth is intense. It is unpredictable. But it can also be positive, empowering and deeply transformative. Your body is wiser than you think.

I also want to express a huge thank you to Dr Kieran McCaffrey and the incredible team at the Mater Hospital, Sydney. I felt supported, respected and safe every step of the way. Should you be in Sydney and looking for an obstetrician, I truly cannot recommend Dr McCaffrey and his team highly enough.