I soon realized that motherhood isn’t a phase you complete or a chapter you close, it’s a lifelong journey. Once a mother, always a mother. And no single article, book, or guide can ever fully capture it. It would take a lifetime… or maybe several blogs.

This blog is not here to explain motherhood, it’s here to share it. I’m sharing my experience as a letter to all mothers, especially about my labor and delivery, because that moment was unlike anything else in my life. It was intense, frightening, exhausting, strangely funny at times, and deeply unforgettable. Some experiences don’t ask to be analyzed, they simply ask to be told. This is why I felt compelled to write this story…..

Everyone back home was waiting for my delivery. My mother had flown all the way from India to Denmark and was living on borrowed time. Her return date was approaching fast, the baby, however, had no such urgency. My due date was 12th June 2025, but clearly my child believed deadlines were merely suggestions.

Nine days later after my due date, I experienced what I thought was my water breaking. At 10 p.m., we rushed to the hospital, hearts racing, bags ready. After a thorough check, the doctors calmly informed me that it wasn’t amniotic fluid at all, just normal vaginal discharge that often appears in the final days of pregnancy. In other words: false alarm. I went back home, still pregnant, slightly embarrassed, and very uncomfortable.

For the next two days, the same thing kept happening. I even called the hospital again and booked another appointment… and then canceled it. Why? Pregnancy logic has no explanation. That same day, I had plans to go to IKEA. Because nothing screams “about to give birth” like browsing furniture. Since the hospital was close by, I decided to drop in “just to be safe.”

That casual decision probably saved my baby’s life.

The moment they examined me, the atmosphere shifted. Faces grew serious. There was no amniotic fluid left. None. Everyone suddenly looked nervous, including me but I don’t know how, my husband was calm. I guess this man doesn’t have many expressions. Nevertheless, the hospital quickly realized their earlier mistake and admitted me immediately around 9 p.m.

Because there was no water left, I had to be induced with oxytocin. I already knew pain and I were not on friendly terms, so I tried laughing gas. Every single time I inhaled it, I vomited. Apparently pain mixed with that smell is a strong “No.” Next came the epidural, which in my case worked mostly as emotional support rather than actual pain relief.

Soon I was attached to everything imaginable: an oxytocin drip controlling my contractions, an epidural needle in my back, tubes everywhere. My husband stayed right beside me, helping me move around like a human science project. Sitting hurt. Lying down hurt. Standing hurt. Existing hurt.

By morning, my nurse’s shift was ending at 7 a.m., and both of us were deeply invested in finishing this before she clocked out. After 11 long hours of active labor, we finally succeeded in delivering a baby boy.

But the story wasn’t done yet.

My placenta refused to come out. During attempts to remove it, the umbilical cord snapped in the middle. The nurses began murmuring in Danish about a surgeon coming in to remove it by hand. Unfortunately for my mental health, I understand some Danish, and that was enough to send me into full panic mode.

Thankfully, they injected me with medication that loosened the placenta, and after one successful pull, it finally came out. But with it came a sudden gush of blood, more than anyone liked. More injections followed. More waiting. Eventually, the bleeding stopped.

After what felt like a personal bloodbath, the nurse placed my baby on my chest. I looked at him, inhaled deeply, and said the first thing that came to my mind:

“Why does he smell like eggs?”

The room erupted in laughter. Everyone nodded. Apparently, I wasn’t wrong.

I ended up with second-degree stitches, but within an hour I was walking around the room. My mother and my husband’s father visited, phone calls and congratulations started pouring in, and we were moved to a private room for the next days.

Our baby turned out to be very kind, he slept well from the very first night. I, however, woke up constantly to check on him. At one point, I looked at my hand and froze. It was completely pale. No color. No blood. My body looked swollen, lifeless, with dark circles under my eyes. I barely recognized myself. It scared me deeply.

I went back to sleep hoping tomorrow’s version of me would look more alive.

The next day, I decided I didn’t want to stay in the hospital any longer. I wanted to go home. I wanted my mother. Because yes…a mother also needs her mother.

When we finally reached home, we were greeted with a traditional Hindu aarti, celebrating the baby’s first steps into our little nest and our new life as parents. In that moment, all the exhaustion, pain, and chaos melted away, and everything felt just a little brighter..

People often say childbirth is magical. People say you forget the pain.
I remember every single detail. Every contraction. Every tube. Every moment. And no, I don’t think I will ever forget that pain, even though the stitches have healed…..