The birth of my daughter was 18 hours long. I remember thinking “never again” for about 17 hours. I do not, however, remember the pain.

I pushed for 5 hours, every time a set of three pushes with a rather satisfying cry.

I try to find a proper adjective to add to the word “cry,” something that resonates with the strength, the urgency, the power, the absolute bestiality and yet humanity of it. But I can’t.

The baby got stuck at some point, and my partner was suggesting a C cut. It never hit my mind, this idea. I was going, and I couldn’t stop. Energy came from somewhere inside me, even when it seemed endless. I remember that, ironically enough, the only word I said in between pushes was “Mamma.”

So my partner stood by me for 18 hours, giving me water, honey, support. Cleaning the mess of human liquid I was squirting all over. I saw him crying because of my pain.

When Irene was born, it felt like a fish swimming away from my womb, and my partner would describe how sudden the change of my face was, from pain to enlightenment.

She was born. I didn’t see her, as she was immediately taken away because she had suffered during the birth and had to have her lungs cleaned. I told my partner “proteggila,” as he left to follow the nurse. It didn’t feel like panic of fear, I was sure she was strong. I just wanted her to be with us, at least one of us, from the very first moment in this world.

And then she arrived into my arms, all pink and awake, and I cried the most white and new cry I ever had. She was a fighter, pure and immaculate.

This is it.

What an amazing birth story, strong mama! Please leave a comment below for new family of three Ilaria, Stefano, and Irene.