47. Earthside: Montgomery’s Story
Baby Montgomery’s story truly began days before he ever arrived earthside.
On the evening of January 25th, Steffanie reached out sharing that she felt crampy on and off. Nothing demanding attention, nothing asking to be named—just subtle whispers from her body. I encouraged her to move through her evening as normally as possible, to rest early if she could, and to resist the urge to analyze every sensation. When I checked in again later that night, the rhythm was the same—present, but unchanged.
The following morning, she shared that she’d woken early with those same on-and-off sensations. Early labor has always been tricky for Steffanie; without intensity or pain, it doesn’t easily register as labor to her body or mind. And yet, beneath that uncertainty, she carried a quiet confidence. She felt hopeful—certain, even—that she would be meeting her baby that day. I reminded her to nourish herself well, to rest deeply, and to tend to herself with care.
As the day unfolded, the sensations ebbed and flowed. At one point they slowed, and I asked her not about her cervix or contractions, but about her heart. Did she feel peaceful? Restless? Frustrated? Blissful? I gently invited her to surrender—to allow this birth to unfold with curiosity and mystery. I held a quiet knowing that this birth might not look like her others. She felt drawn to movement, though walking felt tedious. Instead, she moved slowly, intuitively, paying close attention to her baby.
Later, she shared that she was still cramping and sensed her cervix might be more anterior. Baby was moving beautifully. She had a feeling things would pick up as evening approached. When I asked how these sensations compared to Braxton Hicks, she said they felt more purposeful—more like early labor—yet without pain, she struggled to claim that title. I encouraged her to stay out of her head, to surrender into her normal, and simply be with what was.
That night, nothing became clearly timeable. I suggested the Miles Circuit before bed, planting gentle encouragement without urgency.
Several days later, Steffanie reached out again—this time with a different energy. Bloody show had appeared, contractions were present, and she felt confident: this was baby day. When I called to hear her voice, she sounded steady and grounded. Her waves varied, but she didn’t need to focus deeply through them yet. Everything felt calm. Normal. Right.
As the day progressed, she mentioned increased bleeding. I called to clarify, and she assured me it was still bloody show—nothing alarming. Baby continued to wiggle happily. Eventually, she grew sleepy and decided to nap.
I chose to move closer, parking just minutes from their home, staying nearby but not intrusive. When I checked in with her husband, Zac, he shared that this labor felt familiar—like her others—and that he didn’t sense birth was imminent just yet.
Later, Steffanie shared that Zac had checked her cervix, estimating around six centimeters, which aligned with how her body felt based on past births. She could walk and talk through her waves, even though she didn’t particularly want to. Sensations felt low, pinchy, deep in her pelvis, sometimes in her bottom. She followed her instincts—knees wide, feet together, swaying, belly-dancing movements—anything that invited baby downward.
Listening to her body, watching her movements, and hearing her descriptions, I had a strong intuitive sense that she was guiding her baby through the midpelvis, hovering around station zero. The waves weren’t lengthening much, but they were deepening. Strengthening.
When I arrived at their home, Steffanie was resting in bed, working her way inward. Another doula friend, Theresa, arrived shortly after. The house held an easy, light energy—laughter, conversation, patience. At one point, Steffanie asked Zac what she should do next. He suggested a nap, and we quietly gave them space.
The evening moved gently. There was walking, swaying, chatting. Then, without announcement, Steffanie slipped back into her room, turning inward once again. Zac later shared that she was really moving along now—“doing her thing.”
Eventually, she disappeared fully into labor land. Restless. Breathing deeply. When frustration surfaced—when baby still felt high—she met it head-on, moving her body, releasing anger, letting emotion rise and fall. Her body began to tremble. Legs shaking. Tears flowing. Breath deepening. Sounds emerging. Emotional release came in waves just as real as the physical ones.
Sometime after midnight, we all rested.
When morning came, so did conversation—and with it, profound emotional uncovering. Deep wounds surfaced, especially surrounding her parents. There were massive releases. We walked outside. Ate together. Tried inversions, the birth ball, flying cowgirl. We talked about what her intuition was asking for. We tried homeopathy.
Later, Steffanie and Theresa went to the chiropractor. When we reunited, labor had returned with presence. Emotionally, Steffanie was loosening her grip on control. I reminded her that this birth was a refining fire—shaping her into the mother she needs to be for this baby. That refinement was healing old wounds. Transforming her. Like walking a labyrinth—toward the center, through the veil, and back again.
“I am doing a new thing.” Kept repeating in my mind.
This baby was a gift. A gentle companion in her grief. A doorway for forgiveness. A path toward healing.
As the afternoon unfolded, baby moved lower. The atmosphere shifted—subtle, earthy, unmistakable. Though we were still chatting and moving, something had changed.
Eventually, Steffanie entered the tub. The sensations turned unmistakably primal. When she reached down, baby’s head was right there—so close it could be felt with a single knuckle. She began breathing her baby down.
For a while, she moved in and out of the tub, changing positions, listening closely. When her waters finally released, everything aligned. The room grew quiet. Focused. Sacred.
And then—baby.
Montgomery was born gently, powerfully, into his mother’s hands.
January 31, 2026 at 9:35pm
5 pounds 10 ounces & 19 inches
I watched a woman birth fully in her own power—rooted in her body, anchored in her intuition, and guided by a deep, unwavering trust. She did not look outside herself for permission or validation. Her body was not rushed, measured, or managed. There were no clocks dictating her worth, no expectations placed upon her pace, no fear projected onto her process. There were no threats disguised as concern, no urgency manufactured where none existed. The lights stayed soft. The space remained quiet. No hands entered her body without invitation. No authority loomed over her. No one interrupted the sacred rhythm unfolding before us.
I watched obedience and surrender intertwine—a woman leaning into the new thing God was doing (Isaiah 43:19). She released control layer by layer, trusting that what was being asked of her was purposeful. She allowed the refining fire to shape her, not resisting the work happening within her heart as much as within her body.
There was trust—thick in the air. Patience that did not waver. Laughter woven between waves. Long stretches of stillness where nothing needed to happen except being. There was room for emotion to rise and fall freely, without judgment or correction. A baby was born without disturbance, without fear, without spectacle—received only by the hands of those who loved him, greeted only by the voices that had prayed him earthside.
This is how birth should be.
This should be the normal.
Montgomery Lee
January 31, 2026 at 9:35pm
5lbs 10oz & 19”
Stay Wild & Free,
-Brandy
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