The Birth That Changed Everything

I birthed my second baby at Aastrika Midwifery Centre in Bengaluru in May of last year. Aastrika had the option of a water birth — although, honestly, I didn't think that was how I would birth. I have always been afraid of water. I'm not one to jump into a pool or the beach the second I see it. That fear has always been with me, and even in my birth plan, I had told my midwife that I'd likely just use water for pain relief and probably wouldn't get into the tub.

They say the second baby comes sooner. My first was born in his 38th week. My second was born exactly on his due date — I went all the way to 40 weeks. I had a stretch and sweep the day before my due date. I had high blood pressure before I conceived and was on medication; crossing 40 weeks wasn't recommended. My water broke later that evening. I was at home, called my midwife, and went to the hospital around midnight.

I honestly didn't even think it was necessary to go in then, because I didn't have any major pains — and my memory of labour pain from my first pregnancy was so vivid. But I went in, and my wonderful midwife, Tintu, kept me active the entire time. I was walking around, using the birthing ball — but I wasn't progressing much. She told me to rest while I could. Contractions had started, but they were quite mild.

And then suddenly, as I was resting, the pace picked up. So did my nervousness, because all the memories from my first birth came flooding back. I told Tintu I wanted an epidural. She said: "Go take a shower. You'll feel better."

I was in that shower for so long that the hot water ran out. By the time I stepped out, Tintu had filled the tub. The contractions were intense by then. We tried some exercises on land, but I just found it too hard to manage the pain without water. The relief the shower had given me simply wasn't being matched on dry ground. And so I suggested I get into the tub.

So I did. And I didn't come out until I had birthed Aanav.

Tintu did not leave my side for a second. My husband was right there too, giving me water, Snickers — keeping me hydrated. The water is kept warm, and there's a real risk of dehydration, so it's critical to keep drinking even when you don't want to. It was around 2:30 AM.

"After going through that experience, I felt like there was nothing — absolutely nothing — I couldn't do."

During contractions, the pain was absolutely intense. But the relief and calm the water brought between contractions is what kept me so grounded. I even managed microseconds of sleep. Tintu was checking dilation using a mirror and kept offering positive reinforcement: "You are being so brave, Vinita. You are so strong." I was feeling exactly the opposite — but she made me believe otherwise.

Before I knew it, I was at 8 cm. She told me then: "You are going to be fully dilated soon. Just remember — you are NOT going to push. You will tear if you push. You are going to breathe the baby out. I will guide you, and you need to listen. You'll feel the urge to just make the pain stop — but you just need to breathe the way I ask you to."

And then I was at 10 cm. Tintu said: "Okay, it's time. Imagine I'm holding a cake with a thousand candles in front of you, and you need to blow them all out. That's how you're going to breathe when the contraction comes."

And that's exactly what I did.

In no time, my little baby was out in the water — immediately lifted out and placed on my chest. I tear up every single time I think of that moment. It felt surreal and beautiful and like nothing I had ever experienced. I held my baby on my chest, my husband by my side, and I asked Tintu what the sex of the baby was. She said it didn't matter right now and she'd check shortly.

Soon enough — a boy. A baby brother for Viu to have as a lifetime companion.

The biggest surprise came after, when the doctor examined me on the bed and told me there was no tear. She joked: "This is my favourite kind of birth. I've had no role to play."

A birth with no tear. More support than I could ever have imagined. After going through that experience, I felt like there was nothing — absolutely nothing — I couldn't do.