The Pool Turned Red
A father’s view on free birth, fainting, and why the body still knows better than "the system."
The pool turned red.
Blood, shit, fluids — all of it swirling together while Cassie screamed from somewhere ancient and raw. Luka sat nearby playing with his trains like it was the most normal thing in the world. And honestly, it should be. Because this is birth. Not the sterilised, shift-change version you get under fluorescent lights, but the kind where the body still calls the shots — no clipboards, no countdown clocks, no doctor trying to wrap things up before lunch…
The Prestige Program That Wasn’t
They sold it like a golden ticket — “chosen” for the Wollongong midwife program (the MGP program). It sounds prestigious, supportive, even sacred. In reality? It’s a funnel into the machine…
With Luka, we thought we were doing it right. A midwife assigned, promises of continuity, the option of a home birth. But what we got was bureaucracy dressed as care. By the end, Cassie’s home birth option was pulled away, her body marched through “the cascade of intervention,” doctors quoting stillbirth statistics every hospital visit and she ended up in an emergency C-section.
Looking back, it wasn’t even about Cassie. It was about covering themselves. Home birth removed, liability reduced, neat little numbers logged. Her body wasn’t seen, her instincts weren’t trusted — she was just managed, de-prioritized. Luka came through “fine” a perfect C section… but Cassie’s body and spirit carried scars. And we both knew next time, we weren’t handing our lives to that system…
Facing Death Instead of Outsourcing It
Here’s the thing most people don’t want to say out loud… birth is risky. It always has been.
And when you choose to free birth, you’re forced to face that risk head-on. Cassie could die. Tomi could die. (Of course the risk of death is present in a hospital and some people assume that is safer).
For me, as a man, that was the line in the sand. I had to sit with my own fear of death. Not dress it up with “she’ll be right, mate” bravado. Not outsource it to a white coat. Actually sit with the possibility that the people I love most could leave me in that very room.
That’s a reality the hospital system papers over with fear-driven marketing. “Better let us handle it, just in case.” But their safety is often just control in disguise. And if you never face the truth — that death is in the room with life — you never get to meet the real depth of birth. For me, owning that possibility stripped away my ego and left only presence.
Blowing Up the Pool, Losing the Liner
Our “birthing suite” wasn’t stainless steel and surgical lights. It was a groundsheet from Bunnings, stacks of op shop towels, and a blow-up pool in the living room.
I lost the liner, of course. In the hospital, that would have triggered a cascade of forms, liability statements, and a subtle undertone of panic. At home? Our doula shrugged and said, “Use it anyway.” Done. No one died from missing a liner.
The prep wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest. Cassie’s parents scavenged towels like warriors preparing for battle. We had a splash rug, buckets, candles, a hose snaking from the kitchen into the pool. Every item was chosen not to meet a policy, but to make Cassie feel safe and supported. And the truth is, that’s what birth really needs… safety, not sterile procedure.
Cassie in the Portal
When labor took over, Cassie crossed into the portal.
The sounds that came out of her weren’t polite. They weren’t Instagram -worthy affirmations whispered over candles. They were guttural, primal, torn from the depths of her body. The kind of sounds that make some people uncomfortable because they’re too raw, too real.
And I’ll be honest…
I loved it. To me, that’s the real music of life. The sound of lineage roaring through the body. The reptilian, unfiltered edge that no machine could replicate.
Watching her, I felt pride and awe. This was Cassie stripped of performance, stripped of politeness — just raw woman, raw mother, raw life force. If you’ve never heard your partner like that, you don’t know them fully. That portal opened not just for Tomi, but for me too — to see her power unmasked…
Rocket Baby Tomi Arrives
Our doula leaned in… “There’s the head.”
Normally, you expect the in-and-out dance of crowning. A slow, stretching rhythm. But Tomi had other plans. One moment he was half-visible, the next he shot out like a rocket, in 3 uncontrollable pushes… the body took over…
It stunned us all. Cassie gasped. Our doula nearly missed him. I was grinning like an idiot — our son had arrived with velocity.
It was messy, shocking, fast. The pool went red, the air filled with Cassie’s silent shock of completion, and Luka sat by the pool to see his brother appear in the flesh. And that’s the beauty of it… no secrets, no mystery — Luka got to witness life arrive, raw and unfiltered. Meconium and all… That’s an education no school will ever give him…
Fainting, Blood Loss, and Holding the Line
Then came the test.
The placenta didn’t follow. Minutes turned to hours. Cassie tried to push it out and fainted, again and again… her body cold, her eyes dilating out, drifting in and out of consciousness. I held her in my arms, talking her back into consciousness. Watching the woman I love fade in and out was brutal.
In a hospital? This would’ve been full panic mode. Alarms. Surgeons swarming. Probably a slot in theatre rushed through so someone could tick “retained placenta” off their training log before heading to lunch.
At home, there was fear, yes — but there was also space. Space to hold her, to breathe, to let her body dictate the pace. For me, this was the crucible… do I collapse into panic, do I speak fear or do I trust my Living Signal? Do I outsource authority again, or stay rooted in sovereignty? And choosing trust cracked something open in me — a deeper layer of presence than I knew I had.
Placenta - Late but Whole
Eventually, her body did what it knew. Out came the placenta, (almost 17.5 hours later) beastly, beating, life giving and intact.
I checked it. It was complete. No fragments left behind. It was heavy — the kind of thing you hold in your hands and realise just how much life has been carried in a body.
That moment, holding the placenta, was grounding. It wasn’t just afterbirth, as the system dismisses it. It was the final act of creation, the bridge between worlds, the raft for Tomi. And letting it come in its own time — instead of forcing it on a timetable — honoured both Cassie’s body and Tomi’s entrance.
Community > Compliance
Postpartum is where the system breaks women.
Ship her home with Panadol, tell her “no heavy lifting,” and leave her starved of support. That’s how you get postnatal depression.
We weren’t doing that. Our community rallied. Meals dropped at our door. Teas brewed, Ayurvedic soups delivered, Luka cared for. Cassie lay flat and let her body rebuild.
The difference was night and day. Instead of rushing to perform “back to normal,” Cassie was nurtured. Her body healed at its own pace, her spirit held by community. And that’s the piece no hospital can provide — because true healing isn’t about compliance. It’s about being carried by the people around you.
Men: Ground Yourself or Get Out
Men — this bit’s for you.
If you collapse into fear, the space collapses with you. Your job isn’t to play the hero. It’s to be the anchor.
Ground yourself.
Face death. Don’t bypass it.
Don’t leak your fear into the room.
Trust her. She knows.
And seriously — inflate the pool early and don’t lose the liner.
Being a man in birth isn’t about holding the baby at the end for a photo. It’s about holding the fucking container. It’s about knowing that your fear, your contraction, your panic — all of it bleeds into the room. And if you’re not grounded, you’re not present. You’re a liability.
The Body Knows. Always.
Birth isn’t about convenience. It isn’t about timetables, or stats, or who’s clocking off the night shift.
It’s about alignment.
Tomi entered the world in blood, fluids, fainting, and trust. Messy, terrifying, sacred. And that’s why he arrived whole.
Because the body knows. Always. And once you’ve witnessed that truth, you can’t unsee it. You can’t go back to believing the lie that authority knows better than instinct. The body knows. Always. And trusting that changes everything.
Postpartum. Becoming Someone New
But here’s the part most people miss… birth doesn’t end when the baby arrives. It’s not “job done and get on with life.” Birth cracks you open — and then postpartum asks, Who are you now?
Cassie wasn’t the same woman she’d been the day before. She was softer in some ways, fiercer in others. Her body had torn and healed, fainted and risen, bled and restored itself. And in that process, she wasn’t just recovering — she was becoming someone new.
Friends sat with us, blessed us, reminded Cassie she was allowed to rest. She didn’t have to perform. She didn’t have to “bounce back.” She got to sink into the new version of herself, to meet her body again after carrying and birthing Tomi.
I watched her cry some days — from exhaustion, from hormones, from sheer awe at holding another life. I watched her laugh too, in the small in-between moments, when all of us are together as famila… or doing our up close kiss-train. Mwahhhh. It was messy, but it was for us.
Maiden to Mother
There’s a saying that birth takes you from maiden to mother. And it’s not just poetic — it’s biological, psychological, spiritual.
I saw Cassie step into that shift. She wasn’t “back to herself” — because there was no going back. She was different now. Wiser. More embodied. More willing to say no. And that’s the gift of doing it on your own terms… you don’t just get a baby at the end. You get a woman who’s more herself than she’s ever been.
That doesn’t happen when the system rushes her or more specially, doesn’t listen, is overwhelmed and not present to the rhythm of life. It doesn’t happen when she’s stitched up, sent home, and left to hold the weight of motherhood alone. It happens when she’s trusted, supported, and allowed to walk through the fire without being interrupted…
The Family We Became
And for me? I became different too. Seeing Cassie faint and rise, bleed and heal, roar and rest — it stripped me back. Made me trust life in a way no philosophy or book ever could.
Luka became different too. He saw his brother arrive. He saw blood and screams and then love. He saw that birth is not something to fear, but something to honour.
And Tomi? He came into trust, not fear. Into a room where his mother knew her body, his father held the line, and his brother welcomed him without secrecy.
That’s the family we became through his birth. Not managed, not compliant, not ticking boxes. Aligned.
In Closing
Birth didn’t just bring Tomi into the world. It brought a new Cassie, a new me, and a new family into being.
That’s what happens when you stop outsourcing life…
A Blessing for Birth
May every woman remember the wisdom in her body.
May every man learn to hold the line without trying to control it.
May every child see that life begins in blood, in trust, in mess, in love.
And may we never forget and forever remember —
the body knows,
the mother knows,
and when we trust that knowing,
life comes through whole.
