I watched the midwife's face throughout the night as she transitioned between knitting, resting, massaging, performing acupuncture, checking dilation and fetal heartrate. Calm, knowing, confident, radiating strength and experience.
Birth is one of life's certainties. It's primal, spiritual, earth-shattering and mind-blowing. I've been lucky enough to experience it twice as a mother and once as a photographer.
My family and I live most of the time in Sweden, where birth is led by midwives the majority of the time. Despite this, homebirth is quite rare, with around one per cent of births being planned homebirths. In Australia, the rate is even lower, at around half a per cent.
My mother was born at home, which might have contributed to her choice to have my brothers and I at home as well. My own family history certainly led me to feel more drawn to the idea of giving birth in my own home, which I did with my second child Otto, now two-and-a-half years old.
When, after this empowering experience, I was asked by an acquaintance if I was interested in photographing her homebirth, I jumped at the chance. The birth was assisted by the same midwife who was present at my own son's birth, which made the opportunity even more appealing.
Birth photography is on the rise as the topic and experience of birth becomes less taboo and more celebrated. Capturing the emotion and strength of birth is a privilege, but it comes with challenges.
Being on call for up to five weeks can cause anxiety, and sessions can be lengthy. I photographed this birth for 11 hours.
In the early hours of the morning, I stood poised over the inflatable pool, desperately spinning my focus ring in the low light of the loungeroom as a little being swished into the world, creating a family and ending a long, dark night of intensity and anticipation.
