On an early October Monday, we arrived at Homerton Hospital in the quiet pre-dawn hours, carrying two hospital bags and an empty car seat. A flutter of nervous energy filled me as I thought about the day ahead. Though I was scheduled for a caesarean, this was uncharted territory for me—I’d never had surgery, and this was my first experience with childbirth. What I did know, however, was that I was ready to see the end of my pregnancy and finally meet our daughter.
The hospital wing felt like it was still caught in the depths of night. The sun hadn’t yet risen, and the room was filled with women and their newborns, already a step ahead of us, offering a glimpse of the day we were about to begin. I was grateful to have my husband Nathan by my side, as we changed into our hospital gowns and found moments of laughter to ease our nerves. We were in this together, waiting for the next chapter of our lives to unfold.
The hours of waiting for the procedure felt endless. Finally, we were called in, and I was wheeled—Nathan beside me—toward the delivery suite. As we waited just outside the operating room, my anxiety grew. The months of preparation, fears, and uncertainties all coalesced into this singular moment. I tried to stay calm, concentrating on one thought: we were about to meet our daughter.
The operating theatre, smaller and brighter than I had imagined, was filled with a surprising number of people. Each member of the medical team was quietly confident and focused on their task, bringing our child into the world. The warmth of the staff, made all the difference as they patiently explained every step of the process, putting me at ease.
As the spinal tap took effect, Nathan held my hand tightly. We both knew this was the moment that would change everything. After what felt like no time at all, we heard the unmistakable sound of our daughter’s first cry as the doctors lifted her into the world. Her skin was still translucent, as the oxygen hadn’t fully reached her, and she looked almost otherworldly. Relief washed over me—she was here, safe and sound.
Nathan followed her to the side of the room as the team continued their work. From my position, all I could see were her surprisingly large feet. This was it—our daughter was finally here. One of the photos Nathan captured in that moment shows her looking up at him for the first time, warm, tiny, and utterly perfect.
Once the procedure was completed, she was gently placed onto my chest. The sensation was pure magic—I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she peacefully dozed in my arms. Nathan’s photos from those quiet first hours tell the story of stillness and calm—the calm before the storm of sleepless nights and new parenthood—and the overwhelming love that enveloped us in those early moments.
The time that followed, in recovery, was a mixture of exhaustion and elation. My body was sore, and the recovery process was challenging, but also filled with the joy of holding our little girl. Watching her tiny face take in the world around her, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I am so thankful to have these photos—an intimate record of the most special, vulnerable moments as we brought Lyra into the world.
9 months is a long time, especially when you’re growing a human inside you and navigating all the physical and mental changes that come with it. For me it felt like all of a sudden we were booking a taxi to pick us up the following morning and take us to Hospital, for Simone I know this moment had been on her mind a lot. It’s one thing growing a human and developing that understanding, it’s something else entirely trying to comprehend how they are going to come into the world.
It’s that anxious uncertainty I think comes through in some of these images as we wait to go into theatre. That wait is also filled with midwives, doctors and consultants giving us gowns, stockings, scrubs, going over forms and double checking details.
We arrived just after 7am at about mid day we were collected and taken through to wait in another room before going into surgery. Within the ward you certainly felt and knew you were in a hospital but I think it wasn’t until we were both led into the theatre room amidst all the blue and green masked staff surrounded by bright lights and beeping equipment that I realised quite how big a procedure this was. Brave is probably not a strong enough word to describe how I felt about of Simone at that moment whilst she underwent the epidural followed by different techniques to get the drugs flowing and an almost comedic amount of cold spray to check it was working sufficiently to proceed.
Our daughter was born at 13.13, Simone smiled, laughed and cried all at once whilst I was given a can of pop to stop me fainting.
