When yasmin met ollie
The most exhausting, empowering, and emotional day of my life.
It was full term. And I already felt overdue. My daughter, Noa, had arrived two weeks early, so every day after 37 weeks felt like I was being strung along by time itself. Waiting. Hoping. Overthinking. Every little twinge had me wondering is this it? and every silence had me second-guessing everything.
That day, I had a stretch and sweep. It was just as invasive as people say it is. But second time around, you lose that wide-eyed modesty. I didn’t flinch. I just wanted things to get moving.
Later that day, something felt off. I realised I hadn’t felt the baby move much and by 4pm, I knew I hadn’t. I rang the hospital, and they told me to come in. I called my husband. My family stepped in to look after Noa, and we headed off with nothing packed, just a gut feeling and a whole lot of nerves.
We sat at the hospital for what felt like hours. The Matildas were on and thank god for that distraction. Eventually, a doctor came to see us, did a scan, and everything shifted.
There was barely any fluid left. My waters hadn’t broken, but the baby was surrounded by almost nothing.
“You’re not leaving the hospital until your baby is born.”
I remember looking at my husband and just nodding. We knew what that meant. Everything changed in an instant. I went from feeling like I was wasting everyone’s time, to being told this was serious; we were staying.
The induction process began. I had the balloon inserted and let me tell you, that pain deserves more of a warning. I had the green whistle, clenched teeth, the whole thing. I was not expecting it to hurt that much. But I got through it.
Hours passed. Still no contractions. No progress. No sleep. Eventually I was moved to a birthing suite. I told my husband to go home, get some rest, come back in the morning. It felt like we had time to burn.
Of course, the minute he left, things started moving again. The nurses came in and said they were going to break my waters to get things going. They did. But still… nothing. No contractions.
I sat in that room, alone and wide awake, waiting. Just waiting.
But then, he came back.
My husband walked back in before they gave me the oxytocin. He’d had a gut feeling too. He couldn’t sleep. He said he just wanted to be there in case something happened.
The second I saw him, I melted. I didn’t realise how tense I’d been until he walked back through that door. His face, his voice, his hand in mine, it anchored me. I didn’t want to do any of this without him, and thank god I didn’t have to.
At 7am, they finally came in and started the drip.
And that’s when everything flipped.
The contractions hit hard and fast. There was no warm-up, no gentle ramping up, it was instant, overwhelming, all-consuming. I tried to use my breath work, my birthing comb, the oils I’d brought. But it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with a tea towel.
I asked for the epidural. I’d had it with Noa and it was magic. I needed relief.
This time… it didn’t work properly.
My left side felt everything, the full force of every contraction. But the right side was numb. It was the most disorienting, frustrating feeling, like my body was split in two. I shifted around, clicked that little button a hundred times, but the pain kept crashing in.
We asked for someone to come back and check it. While we waited, the midwife suggested checking how far along I was.
I was ready.
The relief was immediate, but so was the fear. I knew what was coming, and I could feel every inch of it. I got onto my knees, arms over the top of the bed, bracing myself.
I pushed. I don’t even know if I did it at the right times, I just had to push. I was beyond tired. My body was screaming at me.
Then everything changed again.
The midwife’s tone shifted. My husband’s face dropped. I didn’t notice it at first, but the room had gone quiet in that loud kind of way. The baby’s shoulders were stuck - shoulder dystocia.
It was urgent. There’s a small window to get baby out safely.
I didn’t know that at the time, but something in my body knew. I said, “I want to be on my back.” The nurses helped me move gently but quickly.
“I just need to push,” I told them.
But I was spent. Shaking. Scared. I wanted to give up.
Then the midwife knelt beside me, looked me straight in the eyes, and said softly but firmly,
“Yasmin. You’ve got this. Breathe.”
I did. I breathed. And I pushed.
And then, he cried.
Ollie James Johnson. Born into chaos and love and fierce determination.
The second I heard that sound, I collapsed into relief. I pulled him straight to my chest and latched him on without hesitation. He was here. He was safe.
And this time, I was present.
With Noa, I was in awe but in shock. I didn’t fully process what had just happened until much later. But this time, I knew. I felt it in my bones. I held him close and soaked him in.
No fog. No fear.
Just love.
Just us.
What do you wish you knew before birth?
I wish I knew how much of a mental game birth is. That it’s not just about contractions and breathing, but surrendering to something bigger than you, and still somehow staying grounded.
If you could, would you do anything differently?
Honestly? I don’t know if I’d change anything. It was messy, painful, and nothing went exactly to plan, but it brought me to Ollie. And that makes every twist in the road feel right in its own way.
What did your partner do that really helped during labour/birth?
What helped the most wasn’t anything dramatic, it was just knowing he was there. The way he held my hand, the way he looked at me like I was doing something incredible, even w
What advice/honest truth would give a mama-to-be about birth?
Birth will humble you. You can plan every detail, prep every bag, take every class and it might still go sideways. That doesn’t mean you failed. That means you gave birth. Let go of the perfect picture.