Beth | two physiological births, MGP, unmedicated hospital birth, family centered home birth

Beth came to birth preparation the way many of us do — through curiosity, a little fear, and a lot of listening. Having been diagnosed with PCOS (now renamed PMOS as of recording!) around the same time she and her partner Paddy began thinking about starting a family, Beth threw herself into understanding her body. She began seeing Chi, a traditional Chinese medicine practitioner and acupuncturist at the Body and Brain Centre, and credits her with transforming her relationship with her cycle.

“She was asking me about consistency, how it started — all of these things I just hadn’t been that attentive to in myself.”

It was the beginning of becoming an advocate for her own health — something that would serve her enormously in both pregnancies and births.

Bernie’s Birth — The Mercy Hospital, Melbourne

Beth tried to access the midwifery group practice for her first pregnancy but missed out due to an administrative error — something she reflects on with gentle regret now that she knows the power of continuity of care. She received shared care through the Mercy Hospital and, despite not having a known midwife with her in labour, speaks warmly of every midwife she encountered throughout her pregnancy.

She hired a doula for both births, and emphasises how transformative those prenatal sessions were — not just for birth preparation, but for thinking carefully about the kind of family she and Paddy wanted to build together.

“Birth and parenting — it’s so inherently political. It’s personal, but it’s very political. And it’s a real privilege to be as conscious as we can in how we parent.”

Beth went into labour with Bernie in the early hours of the morning, waking to a popping sensation and what she suspected was a bloody show. Typically, she sent Paddy back to sleep (“this could go on for days”) and spent the next few hours lying awake in the dark, listening to the birds, submitting her tax return, and quietly buzzing with the knowledge that today might be the day.

Her doula arrived around midday — and the moment she did, Beth burst into tears. Labour had been building steadily at home, with Beth on all fours on her birthing mat, deep in her hypnobirthing breathing. The car journey to the Mercy was intense: contractions coming thick and fast, the seatbelt pressing exactly where she didn’t want it, and Paddy counting down the minutes on the phone to the midwives.

“I fucking hate the car. Just get me out of the car.”

At the hospital, things initially slowed — a common experience when labouring people leave the comfort of home — and Beth, after pushing for close to two hours and reaching what she now recognises as transition, asked for an epidural.

“I said to Paddy, I want you to make a fuss, because I need it now.”

The anaesthetist arrived, needle in hand — and promptly put it back on the tray when she heard Beth bearing down. Bernie was born on all fours shortly afterwards, falling gently onto the hospital bed and placed immediately onto Beth’s chest. The golden hour that followed — skin-to-skin, first feeds, that particular stillness after birth — was everything she’d hoped for.

The postnatal ward brought its own challenges: Paddy sent home for the night, a roommate loudly announcing her abundant colostrum supply, and Bernie losing slightly more than the threshold birth weight by day three. Beth leaned on her instincts, her sister’s reassurance, and a good friend who came over to help hand-express colostrum — a new level of friendship intimacy, as Beth cheerfully notes.

Quinn’s Birth — Home Birth, Joan Kerner Programme

By her second pregnancy, Beth had always been drawn to home birth. She’d been present at her sister’s third birth — a home birth through the same Joan Kerner programme at the Mercy — and the experience had stayed with her.

“It reminded me of how birth, like death, is just part of life. People were out on the street and she was having this life-changing experience.”

Beth was allocated the same midwife, Jess, who had attended her sister’s birth — a full-circle moment that brought her to tears when Jess gently touched her back to signal her arrival in the lounge room.

Quinn’s labour began quietly on a Thursday evening when Beth’s waters started leaking — almost exactly as she finished asking Paddy if they were ready for a baby to arrive. She sent him to sleep, lay awake listening to the same birds she’d heard in early labour with Bernie, and waited. By morning, Bernie was up and cheerfully watching the digger truck parked directly outside their lounge room window (there had never been construction on their street before; naturally, it began that day).

“Bernie kept saying, ‘sit on the ball, Mama.’ I thought Paddy would be my birth partner — it was Bernie.”

The morning unfolded beautifully: a big breakfast cooked by Paddy, the birth altar assembled with fairy lights and battery-operated candles (Bernie helped, and immediately began hiding the hypnobirthing affirmation cards around the house), and contractions gradually building. Beth’s dad, reliably on call since 37 weeks, had — on this one particular day — gone to a pub lunch with old colleagues and had to be gently redirected back. He arrived slightly flushed, asked how much longer it would take, and was dispatched to the park with Bernie shortly after two o’clock.

“What a funny thing to say, Dad. We’ll unpack that later.”

The moment the front door closed behind them, two enormous back-to-back contractions arrived. The midwives were already there. Paddy was told to fill the birth pool immediately. Beth had her head buried in the couch cushions and had absolutely no intention of moving.

Quinn was born at 3:20pm on the 20th of March, weighing 3.18kg — a satisfying numerical symmetry that Beth loved. Paddy caught her. Bernie and Grandpa were called back from the park. By bedtime, the whole family was home, Quinn was feeding, and everyone slept.

“I was just so surprised it had happened. In my head, I thought it would be 7:30 — because that’s when I had Bernie.”

Beth, who is neurodivergent, reflects that home birth offered her something she hadn’t quite had words for before: neuro-affirming care.

“I know what it sounds like here. I know what the lights look like. All of these elements are familiar to me. When safety means comfort, home made sense.”

The Joan Kerner Home Birth Programme at the Mercy Hospital is Australia’s oldest public hospital home birth programme. It is publicly funded — meaning, as Sophie notes, it didn’t cost Beth a cent. If you’re in the catchment area and curious, it’s worth looking into.

This is a beautiful episode for anyone preparing for a second birth, considering a home birth, or simply wanting to be reminded that birth can be calm, joyful, and entirely on your own terms.