By 
From the first signs to the initial embrace, my daughter’s birth spanned an intense 75 hours – three days and almost four nights, with minimal sleep beyond brief ten-minute intervals. Although it sounds daunting, and certainly far longer than any childbirth class had prepared us for, those days were surprisingly the most cherished of my life.
In those prolonged hours, time seemed almost frozen. Even amidst the experience, I was profoundly aware of its importance, and certain moments remain etched in my memory with vivid clarity, a result of the depth of emotions tied to the occasion.
Contractions began subtly on a Monday evening after a stroll with a friend, who was also near her due date. Ironically, it seemed that our walk – or maybe the hot chocolate we had shared – had initiated labor for us both. At five days before my due date, I had not expected labor to start early, especially as I’m generally a bit late myself and thought my baby might follow suit. Holding out for a Valentine’s birth, I had already chosen names accordingly, but that wasn’t to be.
That night, I felt the first contractions. My husband promptly began packing his bag, although mine had been ready for weeks. Unable to sleep, I watched TV as snow fell outside, envisioning the story I’d later tell our child about the snowy night of their birth.
The following three days blurred together. Contractions persisted with ten-minute intervals, and I relied on various ways to cope – bracing myself against walls, using my TENs machine, and finding support from my family, who had joined us, transforming our anticipation into shared excitement. By Wednesday, after a sleepless stretch, we went to the hospital only to learn I was 2 cm dilated. Despite exhaustion, I held onto hope that labor would soon progress.
I tried every trick to hasten the process – walking, curry, raspberry leaf tea – yet the contractions became intense without any significant progress. The next day, I was admitted to the hospital’s birthing center, where the view of London’s landmarks brought unexpected calm, as though I’d arrived at a luxury retreat. I relaxed in the birthing pool until my contractions waned again, and the midwives suggested more active measures.
After discovering my baby’s position was delaying progress, I prepared for an epidural, but events soon escalated. I focused entirely on labor, with each contraction bringing me closer. Hours later, and nearly delirious, I was told I was fully dilated and ready to push. Two hours later, with a final effort, my daughter was born.
Eliana arrived at 12:46 a.m. on February 6. Holding her, I watched Big Ben’s hands moving against a clear winter sky. Despite the arduous journey, meeting my daughter was only one reason those days remain unforgettable; they also marked a time when I proved my own resilience, a triumph that instilled in me a powerful self-belief.
With that newfound strength, I felt ready to face anything life might bring – once I managed a few uninterrupted hours of sleep.
