Forbidden Pregnancy + Celebrating Women (and the Ones We Birth)

International Women's Day March 8, 2025

Last weekend was International Women’s Day, but with a cyclone looming over South East Queensland, celebrations took a back seat.

Still, every International Women’s Day, I’m reminded of the incredible women that mothers are. Around this day 14 years ago, I became a mother myself.

Fourteen years ago, my own journey into motherhood began unexpectedly—just like so many before me

Babies Having Babies

At 34, I took myself on a solo day trip to Bahrain, where I promptly fell asleep in a movie theatre. A kind attendant woke me as the credits rolled, but the real wake-up call came later—I was pregnant.

Doctors told me it was now or never if I wanted a baby. And like any totally prepared, rational adult… I panicked and chose now.

The small detail? I was living in Saudi Arabia, unmarried, and carrying a pregnancy that—had it been discovered—would have had consequences.

So, swiftly off to the church during Ramadan we went, making it official in a way that was slightly more romantic as it was a legal loophole.

My husband and I, despite being well into our 30s, still felt like babies having babies. We loved our unencumbered, adventure-filled life—hopping on flights to far-flung places whenever we felt like it.

Settling down? That was for other people. But our families? Oh, they loved this. "You two need settling down," they said.

Sure. We’ll wing it. How hard could it be?

The Birth Plan (or Lack Thereof)

Now, I was in my crunchy granola phase—primarily raw vegan, only natural remedies, eyeing home births like they were the pinnacle of human achievement. There was just one problem: home births were illegal in Saudi Arabia.

So, hospital it was. I still refused most medical interventions, including walking all over the housing compound curb walking two weeks post due date, and the day before, my obstetrician was adamant he was going to induce me.

If you could see this heavily pregnant woman, stumbling while she curb-walked one foot on the top and the other on the bottom of the curb, it would have been a sight.

I did, however, accept Demarol and gas, once admitted after what felt like a long, painful labour. It didn’t seem to work, but my natural birthing coach assured me it would only impact me, not the baby, which was my reasoning for not taking an epidural. Spoiler: I opted for one with my second and it was bliss!

It didn’t take away the pain. It just made me feel like I was floating outside my body while in excruciating pain. Not exactly the deal I was hoping for.

After hours of pushing (and yelling and swearing), two midwives debated whether I needed a C-section. In the end, an episiotomy won out. Our baby was born.

And we didn’t have a name immediately for him. Despite growing a whole human for nine months, we still weren’t entirely convinced this was happening.

Welcome to Chaos

Thankfully, my mum had flown in from Australia to help us because, thank God, someone knew what they were doing. Shortly after, as it was the early hours, my husband went home to sleep, and I was left alone in a shared hospital room with a screaming newborn who refused to settle.

I tried breastfeeding. Cuddling. Everything.

I had insisted on rooming in—a concept I’d been coached to advocate for.

In Saudi hospitals, it was customary for babies to stay in the nursery, with mothers only feeding them when necessary. This was thought to be because the local mothers usually bred large families, and a stay at the hospital was supposed to be replenishing before they returned home.

But I was determined to do things the natural way.

By morning, the doctor told me I’d lost a lot of blood and needed iron supplements. Noticing my reputation as the raw juice lady (yes, really), he cut me off before I could protest:

"I know you’re the raw girl, but no juice is going to fix this."

Fine. I took the damn pills.

Then the lactation consultant came in, all business, telling me I needed to fix my technique. I was exhausted. My baby was always crying. I wasn’t bonding. And I was starting to feel like I’d been conned into thinking this was some magical, natural experience.

Motherhood wasn’t just a new chapter—it was an entirely different book, in a language I hadn’t learned, with no translation guide in sight.

I was navigating an identity shift so profound that I didn’t recognise myself. One day, I was an independent, adventurous woman, hopping on flights to exotic places; the next, I was someone’s mother, tethered to sleepless nights and endless feeding sessions.

And yet, even in the haze of exhaustion and self-doubt, this tiny person was teaching me something no guidebook or well-meaning advice could—how to love in a way that completely reshaped me

Breaking Down the Natural Myth

My well-meaning mum suggested a pacifier. My righteous self refused.

Formula? Absolutely not. I was convinced it was poison.

But weeks passed, and things didn’t get better. The baby never settled. I couldn’t leave my bed. Strangers were dropping by, and all I wanted was a shower and some damn peace and quiet.

A second lactation consultant weighed my baby before and after feeds. He barely had taken any milk.

The doctor prescribed Domperidone to me to increase my supply and instructed me to pump between feeds. Like, I had all this excess time and energy. So now, I was either breastfeeding, pumping, or crying.

Finally, after more weight loss, we made the heartbreaking decision to supplement with formula through a tube taped to my nipple to maintain attachment.

Sitting there, topless in my living room, lactation consultant on one side, husband on the other, I sobbed. My body had failed at something supposedly so natural.

And just when I thought I couldn’t be more humiliated, my husband casually let a friend in.

Naked from the waist up. Crying. Holding a baby with a tube stuck to my boob.

Welcome to motherhood.

Even in those early days—when he was unsettled, when I felt like I was failing, when I was exhausted beyond belief—there was never a moment I didn’t love him.

The love was there, fierce and unrelenting, even when I was too overwhelmed to recognise it. It wasn’t the instant movie-moment love, but a love that grew in the trenches, in the late-night rocking, in the learning, in the trying.

And looking back, I see it clearly: he was the greatest gift I never saw coming.

Lessons in Letting Go

Eventually, my baby gained weight, started to settle, and—perhaps most importantly—I let go of the all-natural-or-bust mindset.

I unfollowed the online purists who shamed anything less than exclusive breastfeeding. I stopped torturing myself over what should have been. And, in doing so, I found peace.

Because the truth is, motherhood isn’t just about biology or instincts. It’s about adapting, learning, and sometimes, making choices that go against what you once believed.

I didn’t plan to be a mum. But I didn’t plan not to be a mum. I wouldn’t change my kids or my family for the world.

They teach me. They challenge me. And they remind me—every International Women’s Day—that women are absolute powerhouses.

We birth. We break. We rebuild.

And sometimes, we do it all while topless in our living rooms.

My husband has said many times—and I completely agree—that this was God’s will. We hadn’t planned for him, we hadn’t expected this path, and yet, it was exactly the path we were meant to walk.

I didn’t think I was ready for motherhood, but maybe I didn’t need to be. Maybe the point wasn’t to be ready—it was to be transformed.

And 14 years later, I can say with absolute certainty: he was meant for us, and we were meant for him. The best surprises in life often are.

Motherhood wasn’t on my initial bingo card, and yet here we are.

On International Women’s Day, I always reflect on the strength of women—not just in boardrooms or on podiums, but in hospital rooms, in sleepless nights, in moments of raw, messy survival.

We are warriors, whether we birth babies, raise them, or choose not to.

So, tell me—what’s a moment in your life that made you stop and think, Wow, women are incredible?

Maybe it was in motherhood, or maybe it was somewhere else entirely.

I’d love to hear your story.

And if this resonated, hit subscribe and share, because these conversations about real, messy, powerful womanhood are worth having.

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