Mikki-Michelle's Birth Stories
Mikki-Michelle's Birth Stories - From 1st to 2nd child
JOOLZ PARENT STORIES
''Then, suddenly, "HEAD! HEAD!" I shouted. A "plop," and there she was..''
Two births, two very different journeys: Mikki-Michelle shares the raw, powerful moments of bringing her daughters Loá-Loé and Sumi-Sumé into the world—each arrival unforgettable in its own way.
Loá-Loé’s Arrival
On Thursday, October 27, 2022, Saam and I stepped out for dessert. At this stage of my pregnancy, walking had turned into waddling, so we didn’t go far. We settled into a cozy little Italian spot in Amsterdam, Ceppi’s, surrounded by young, lively people, buzzing with anticipation for their night out. We soaked in the atmosphere, talked about the baby, our plans, and how our lives had changed since we moved to Mexico earlier that year.
After dessert, we walked home, and for the first time, I felt what seemed like mild period cramps. Convinced that our little one was still weeks away, I reassured Saam that it was nothing—just normal late-pregnancy sensations. But at 2:30 AM, I woke up to a much more intense cramp. "Ah," I thought, "so this is what they mean when they say it’s ‘starting to stir.’" The cramps weren’t unbearable, but they were strong enough that I had to breathe through them. I found comfort sitting on the toilet—it somehow helped me ride the waves.
By 6 AM, Saam called our amazing midwife, Daniela. She calmly told us to start our day as usual, and she would check in later. I tried to distract myself—thought about baking a cake but ended up just lying on the couch, uninterested in anything, not even a show.
At 2 PM, Daniela called again, and when she asked how I was, I broke down in tears. The contractions weren’t yet consistent, but they were already so painful. "How am I going to do this when it really starts?" I thought. Daniela, sensing my emotions, reassured me: "I hear tears, so I’m coming over for tea." And just knowing she’d be there soon gave me a sense of calm. When she arrived at 4 PM, she confirmed what I deep down already knew—labor hadn’t truly kicked in yet. She left us with some oils: musk to stimulate contractions and jasmine to help me sink into my own bubble. She suggested we move to the bedroom, where everything was set up for the birth.
From 5 PM onward, everything intensified. My body led the way, and I followed—moving from bed to bath to bed again. The warm water felt heavenly but didn’t help with contractions. I tried the shower. At this point, the contractions were in my back, legs, and belly, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I grunted, moved, breathed—it was like something primal took over. And then, I hit the breaking point. I locked eyes with Saam and sobbed, "I can’t do this anymore. Stop this. I can’t do this anymore." He knew it was time. He called Daniela, set up the birthing pool, dimmed the lights, lit candles, and put on music. When Daniela arrived, she suggested the bath again, and this time, it was exactly what I needed. I floated between contractions, drifting in and out of my own world. And then my waters broke.
The final stage began. I felt the pressure, the intensity, the undeniable urge to push. There were no measurements, no interventions—just absolute trust in my body. With each contraction, I let go. I felt her descend, felt her head. I roared like a warrior, fully surrendered to the moment. Then, suddenly, "HEAD! HEAD!" I shouted. A "plop," and there she was, her tiny head between my legs. A few more contractions, and I reached down, lifted her onto my chest. Pure magic. At exactly 40 weeks, she was here: our daughter, Loá-Loé. 24 hours of labor, raw, powerful, and unforgettable. And through it all, Saam—my rock, my love, my everything—never left my side. Daniela, my guiding light, gave me the space to birth on my own terms, trusting my instincts, my body, my baby. I couldn’t have done it without them.
Sumi-Sumé’s Arrival
And then came Sumi. A completely different birth—faster, rhythmic, grounded.
On October 13, around 7 PM, the contractions began. Saam was putting Lo to bed while I was tidying the kitchen. I always made sure the house was spotless at night, just in case labor started. And this time, it was happening.
By 8:30 PM, the intensity picked up, but I could still breathe through it. When Saam came back, I told him, "I think it’s starting." That mix of excitement and nerves filled the air. "Should we start filling the pool? Should we call the midwife?" Saam suggested we try to rest first. I lay next to Lo, rubbing my belly, whispering to Sumi. But the contractions kept coming. There was no sleeping now.
By 9 PM, I told Saam: "Call everyone. This is happening." We rang my in-laws to come stay with Lo. By 10 PM, my midwife, Caroline, arrived. I was bouncing on my birth ball, next to the pool, now slowly filling with water. I am an independent birther—I don’t like too much talking or touching. I just need to be. Caroline respected that. Meanwhile, Saam was still in and out, settling Lo, managing logistics. When my in-laws arrived, he was finally fully by my side. And I needed him.
The contractions were powerful but spaced out, giving me time to breathe. When Caroline suggested I get in the pool, I hesitated. Is it already time? It felt so much easier than my first birth—so empowering, so in tune with my body.
In the water, I couldn’t stay still. I swayed, moved, held onto Saam. Then, the pressure changed. "Can I push?" I asked. "If you feel the urge, go with it," Caroline replied. And just like that, my body took over.
But this time, the pushing felt different—painful, like she wasn’t fitting. I had intense cramps in my legs, couldn’t find a position that felt right. "It doesn’t fit! It hurts so much!" I cried. I felt her head descend, then retreat. Again and again. The pain was overwhelming. Then, suddenly, I had to get her out. Within 20 minutes, she was here. My baby girl, my Sumi-Sumé.
I climbed out of the tub, utterly drained. But before I could fully process it, Caroline’s face changed. "Mik, something isn’t right..." And in that moment, the world stood still.
The words hit me like a brick. A total rupture. The words echoed in my head, but I couldn’t quite grasp them. I knew it was bad—but how bad? What did it mean for me? For my body? For my recovery? And then came the words I dreaded: “You need to go to the hospital. Now.”
The one place I didn’t want to be, not after such a beautiful, powerful home birth. Chaos erupted. Calls to the hospital. The ambulance. Getting Sumi ready. And then, 20 minutes later, I was lying in the back of that ambulance—alone. No space for a car seat, no room for my baby or Saam. Just me, racing toward the unknown. It was the longest ride of my life, filled with questions I didn’t want to ask. How bad was it? What would happen? Would I ever fully heal?
And then—Saam, Sumi, and Caroline appeared at the hospital doors. Thank god. Seeing them filled me with relief. My love, my newborn daughter, barely an hour old, and my midwife, who had guided me through it all. Not long after, I was on the operating table, being stitched up while my gynecologist reassured me: Everything will be okay.
And somehow, it was.
I held Sumi against my chest, letting it all sink in. Later that afternoon, we were home. And in the days that followed, I began to see this rupture—this unexpected, unwelcome detour—not just as a setback, but as a gift. Sumi had been stuck, searching for the right angle, and through our dance—me swaying in the water, her trying to find her way—my body made space for her. It helped her come earthside safely.
My body didn’t fail me. It saved us.
It was raw. It was intense. It was healing. And I have the most beautiful, healthy daughter to show for it. This dance was just the beginning of our journey together.
We did it. ❤️
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