I’m sharing my birth story because so much of my work as a women’s wellness coach is rooted in this experience. Pregnancy and birth are profoundly vulnerable chapters, and the stories we hear about them often shape our expectations — for better or worse. My birth was not perfect, but it was empowering, informed, and deeply supported, and it taught me what women need in moments of transition: advocacy, preparation, and trust in their own bodies. Telling this story is my way of gaining clarity and offering encouragement and hope to the women I work with.
My birth story - Baby Payne
I went into labor at 2:30 a.m. on my due date — July 8, 2020. It was the height of the Covid-19 pandemic, and I’d been told the day prior that birth teams of any kind — including my husband — wouldn’t be allowed to come with me to the birth center. “The rules are changing every hour, though, so we’ll let you know,” said the labor and delivery nurse who’d called me that day.
An intense cramp woke me up, and I immediately thought, “That didn’t feel like Braxton Hicks! This is happening!” I quietly got out of bed, got on my birth ball and started hip circles; I curb-walked up and down the stairs, slept for a couple more hours on the couch, and at 7:30 a.m., I woke up Chris. “Babe, I’m in labor.”
“Well,” he said, eyes still closed, totally unsurprised, “It is your due date.” The peace and ease with which he received this information helped me double down on my own calm.
Of course, I was a bit emotional and disappointed that my husband, my mother, and my doula weren’t currently being allowed to support me during labor and delivery. But I knew time was on my side, it was early labor, and I had faith the rules would change in time for my baby’s delivery.
My baby… I’d had the strongest feeling I was having a boy since the first positive pregnancy test. We decided not to find out the sex, to let this be one of life’s biggest surprises — but I nearly knew I would birth a son.
And I wanted all that for myself — the miraculous, transformative, life-affirming event. If I was going to do this, I was going to do everything in my power to keep this sacred time mine. I was going to be in the driver’s seat. So I began my preconception research. I spent two years reading everything I could and listened to well over 500 birth stories from women around the world — soaking up best practices for mental, physical, and emotional wellness during pregnancy and birth.
Chris and I talked for hours about the benefit of having a doula to support both of us as we became parents — to advocate for us, to help us avoid unnecessary interventions. Around our fifth wedding anniversary, we felt ready and decided to “just see what happened.” We were in a good place, and we were blessed to conceive right away.
To be admitted to the birth center at St. Thomas, a woman has to be at least 5 cm dilated. So you go to hospital triage first and a nurse checks you. Unfortunately, this was a cold and disappointing event — I was only 2 cm dilated. The midwife on call told me to go home, that this was my first baby, that this baby wasn’t coming anytime soon. She even said it was prodromal labor! She left the room.
Amandine got right in my face and said, “Put everything she just said out of your head. This baby is coming tonight.”
An Unexpected Hotel Stay
It was 10 p.m. We decided to check into a nearby hotel and labor there. Amandine opened her suitcase of tricks, sent Chris to bed — told him he needed rest to keep up his strength for what was to come. She then put me through a circuit of exercises and positions meant to bring the baby down. I was lunging, squatting, squatting in garland pose, circling my hips, inverting on hands and knees and shaking my hips in the air, resting in between. When I needed a break, Amandine lay with me in the second bed, and during contractions — which were definitely intensifying — I got on all fours while she applied counter pressure to my back.
And it was all working. Around midnight, my contractions were about four minutes apart. She woke Chris and then got into bed to sleep awhile herself; she told Chris to wake her when my contractions were two minutes apart.
That time… that precious twilight time. Chris and me, laboring together in the living room of that hotel room — him whispering all the affirmations we’d practiced, helping position me to be more comfortable. It kept me in the zone. My eyes were closed, I’d entered labor land, and I felt no fear.
At 3 a.m. Chris announced my contractions were two minutes apart, and they were INTENSE. I could no longer sit — couldn’t even be still – the pressure was insane. Chris woke Amandine; she popped up out of bed and had us packed and heading to the lobby in less than five minutes. They brought the vehicles around while I labored in the lobby, vocalizing “ooooopppppeeennnn,” low and deep as I’d been taught.
The night manager, a 50-ish man, stood wringing his hands, watching me. He said softly, “Ma’am, I wish I could help you.” I always laugh at that memory and appreciate his kindness and concern.
Finally Admitted to the Birth Center
Amandine and Chris got me into our truck. I was in the front seat but on my knees facing the back, clinging to the headrest and keeping up my vocalizations. The worst part was having to go back to triage to get checked again… but the nurse confirmed I was a five and could be admitted to the birth center. Praise God. I took a deep breath.
The no-partner, no-birth-team rules had apparently changed overnight — Chris was allowed to be with me. Amandine was on a list of approved medical support people at our birth center, so she was allowed as well.
When we got into our room at the birth center, Amandine somehow already had the birth tub full. She knew this was a comfort measure I’d really wanted. She had the overhead lights off, battery-powered candles lit, a hair tie ready for my wild prenatal-vitamin-infused mane, and lavender oil in the air. It was like a spa.
Amandine advocated for me when the nurse (wearing full hazmat) wanted to give me an IV — Amandine knew that wasn’t necessary at the time, and that I didn’t want to feel tied down or encumbered; I wanted to move freely. The nurse agreed and just inserted a port in case of emergency.
I’m usually pretty modest, but I was naked within minutes, easing into the warm water of the tub. I knew I could stay there until it was time to push, but then I’d have to get out of the water. Chris and Amandine were my champions, applying counter pressure, soothing me through the worst pain I’d ever felt. Around 5 a.m., I felt my body start to shake and push on its own. I was excited and calm, despite the pain ripping through my body.
Transition
Chris and Amandine helped me get into the big double bed. I labored through transition on all fours and then bent over one side of the bed. At some point during transition, I ripped off my mask and no one made me put it back on.
I’d been having contractions for 28 hours at this point — really tough ones for the past three hours — and I was getting tired. I was ready, excited, exhausted from the pain, nervous to push, but still supported and held. I felt no need to speak or answer questions — my trusted team was my voice.
I flipped to my back. Chris got behind me, holding me. A midwife arrived — the same one from the night before who had told me to go home, the one who’d told me I was in prodromal labor. She could have acknowledged she was wrong, but she didn’t, and I’ve let that go.
Around 6:30 a.m., Olivia — our angel of a labor and delivery nurse — checked me, told me I was complete, and that I could push if I felt the urge.
“Okay,” I said. “You all are going to have to tell me how — I don’t know how to do this!”
Though I’d wanted to deliver on all fours to minimize tearing, my instinct was to flip to my back.
A few minutes later, during the very worst of the pain — my midwife, Kayleigh, walked in. I swear a halo of light surrounded her. It was an otherworldly feeling knowing my team was complete.
Payne is Born
Speaking of light - the early morning light coming through the windows in the room was unreal - everyone kept talking about it.
The pain and burning, the pressure and pulling were indescribable. I felt contractions begin in my uterus and ripple through my entire body. Intermittent monitoring showed the baby was having mild heart decelerations, so we changed positions (back to all fours). When that resolved, I got back on my back, doubled down, drew strength I didn’t know I had, made sounds I didn’t know I could, and pushed that baby down.
Chris held me tight, spoke affirmations, and Amandine offered soft guidance to both of us. She discreetly took photos, draped me with a sheet when I was cold, wiped my face with a cool rag — whatever I needed. I was her singular focus. In a time when my own mother couldn’t be there, I was immensely grateful.
When I stopped responding to questions entirely, Kayleigh whispered, “Let’s get a heart rate on Mom,” and it was in the low 60s. We all got a little chuckle out of that. I truly believe I was staying calm by tapping into my hypnobirthing lessons — not dissociating from the pain, but applying what I’d learned: that tension and high-pitched noises would prevent my body from opening. Relaxed muscles and low vocalizations would help my body open and bring my baby down.
After the strongest push I could muster, Amandine softly said, “The head is out,” and told me how much hair the baby had! Kayleigh asked me to slow down. I panted and gathered my strength. I gave one more big push, and Kayleigh said, “Ashley, reach down and pull that baby out!”
Our birth plan had included that wish — for me to catch the baby myself. I couldn’t believe we were in this moment.
My hands found their way to his little shoulders. I hooked my thumbs underneath and pulled that precious soul up onto my chest. Payne Thomas was born, and I became a mother.
“Angel, oh Angel, hi,” I said. He wasn’t crying, and I rubbed his back and spoke to him. Olivia came and rubbed his back with a towel and he began to whimper. I looked up at Chris, who was still behind me, in full on, new dad, tears and pride all over his face, mode, and I told him, “We did it.”
We were in our own world, fascinated by this little angel who just stared and stared up at us — he knew we were his parents. After a few minutes, the midwives said, “Well what is it, a boy or a girl?” They helped me lift him and I said, “It’s a boy. Chris, we have a son.” Through tears, and once the cord stopped pulsating, Chris cut the cord.
I had pushed hard for 90 minutes. Payne had gotten a little stuck under my pubic bone and had some bruising and swelling on his nose and upper lip. But he was beautiful, and he was ours, and it was completely surreal to be brand-new parents.
I delivered my placenta and Amandine stored it in a cooler for encapsulation. Chris and I cuddled Payne skin-to-skin in bed while Kayleigh stitched me up. I’d endured a second-degree tear — a big fear of mine — but in hindsight, it’s barely memorable.
A couple of hours later, Amandine cleaned me up and she and Olivia helped me to the bathroom. Then Amandine left to get my placenta to the woman who would encapsulate it. We stayed in the birth center about four hours total, just lying in the big bed, bonding, staring at each other and talking softly to Payne, and then we were admitted to the hospital. We went home the next day.
It was singlehandedly the most empowering, transformative experience of my life. I’d conquered my biggest fear and, by doing so, felt more in control, more womanly, like my life was just beginning — but from a more resourced and empathetic place. It was bliss — total bliss for several weeks.
My experience becoming a mother was so different than I’d anticipated before conception — so joyful, so life-changing in the best possible way. And I couldn’t have done it without my team: Chris doing whatever it took even before we got pregnant, phenomenal and supportive midwife care, Amandine’s wisdom and presence… the commitment to create an empowering experience that put me in charge.
It was more than I could have ever hoped for, and I’ll be forever grateful.