When I was 19, I went to college in Texas, where I met my boyfriend Preston. It was 2023 and I had big plans. After finishing my degree in criminal justice, I wanted to go to law school. I wasn’t in a rush to get married or have kids. My mum had drilled into me a fear of getting pregnant at a young age. I was on the pill and careful with contraception.
In May 2025, I took a trip to London, returning to campus in August after the summer holidays. I noticed I was slowly gaining weight; by January this year I’d gained 10lb. I put it down to my late-night snacking and lack of exercise.
But then on 20 February, after I had returned to my apartment following my morning class, I felt cramps in my lower stomach. At 1pm, I took some ibuprofen.
At 6.20pm, I felt a sudden urge to go to the toilet. After sitting there for a while with nothing happening, I stood up, assuming I was constipated. Then, I felt something strange happening between my legs. I looked down and saw something bulging out of me. I froze. I thought it was a tumour and that I was going to die.
But then I felt the urge to push – and suddenly there was a baby’s head between my thighs. I was terrified, but primal instinct took over. I waddled to my bedroom and grabbed a clean towel. I laid it down and dropped to my hands and knees. The adrenaline was pumping so hard that I don’t remember feeling pain. Three quick pushes later, I was able to grab my baby. Laying her on the floor in front of me, I rubbed her chest to help her cry. I did it all without thinking. Then I called 911.
I explained to the operator that I’d just had a baby I hadn’t known I was pregnant with – I have no idea how I remained so calm. The operator asked if I’d had a girl or a boy. I hadn’t registered the fact I’d had a daughter.
He stayed on the phone for the three minutes it took the paramedics to arrive. In that time, I took a picture of the baby and sent it to Preston. I told him I’d just given birth and he needed to get to the hospital. When the ambulance arrived, all I could think was: how am I going to tell my mum?
At the hospital, the baby and I were both checked over. When Preston came running through the doors, he was in shock. We tried to get to grips with what was happening. A doctor explained I’d had a cryptic pregnancy, when a woman has no idea she’s pregnant. The placenta had been at the front, making it harder for me to feel any movement.
I realised she must have been conceived just before I went to London. But apart from the weight gain, there hadn’t been any other signs. I’d continued taking the pill and had my regular bleed each month; there’d been no morning sickness, cravings, bloating or tiredness.
Given Preston’s and my ages and finances, we thought adoption would be best. But the next day, he walked into my room with a stuffed animal, and he’d clearly been crying. He wanted to keep her. I was relieved – I felt the same. We named her Navie.
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We were discharged four days later and went to live with Preston in his apartment. We didn’t tell our parents until Navie was eight days old. At first, my mum didn’t believe me, even when I showed her Navie on FaceTime. It was only when I held up my hospital bracelet that she realised it was true. She cried tears of happiness. I’d had nothing to be worried about.
Two weeks after giving birth, postpartum depression hit me hard and Navie and I moved in with my mum for a few weeks. After that, my connection with Navie grew. I loved taking care of her, even though it was a steep learning curve.
I had to pause my studies, but I’ll be back at college this autumn to graduate in December. Now, I look at Navie and think, “I can’t believe I carried you for nine months and had no clue.” Motherhood at 21 was never my plan. But she’s shown me that the biggest surprises can turn out to be the greatest blessings.
As told to Kate Graham
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