My Journey to Motherhood: Giving Birth to My Firstborn Roméo at 22, from Los Angeles to Costa Rica

At 22 years old, I embarked on the greatest adventure of my life, giving birth to my first son in the enchanting and untamed beauty of Costa Rica. Moving sight unseen to a small fisherman’s village on the Nicoya Peninsula, I left behind the fast-paced world of fashion as a model agent and traded it for the simplicity of barefoot days, humid nights, and the rhythm of the ocean. I was three months pregnant, newly in love, and utterly unprepared, but my heart sang with the possibility of something extraordinary.

Montezuma, with its dirt roads, a single village phone, and its vibrant yet simple way of life, became my home. We ran a lively open-air restaurant called Muy Nice, where world music filled the air and locals gathered to dance under the stars. I slowly acclimated to my new life, learning to embrace the natural flow of things. From the heat to the bugs, and even to the absence of the comforts I had once known, everything about this life demanded surrender and trust.
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During my pregnancy, I dreamt of giving birth in a serene brook, or on magical land under the care of a wise community. Those dreams shifted, as life often does, to a beachside property owned by an incredible family living like modern-day Swiss Family Robinson. With my partner, my dearest friend Luciana, and the strength of my own instincts, I prepared to welcome my child into this world.

Luciana was my anchor. Though she had no children of her own, she radiated strength and became my unwavering support. Together, we found the perfect name for my child one sunny day as we bumped along in a jeep. Roméo, she declared, rolling the R with her unmistakable British-meets-Latin flair. It was perfect. My son was destined to carry a name full of poetry and love.

The night Roméo was born was a dance of chaos and magic. Under the light of a full moon, my water broke just as my partner and friend had ventured to the local disco for the full moon party. With no phones and the urgency of labor building, fate intervened as a car passed by. I flagged the driver down, and word was sent. Soon, my team was by my side, packing me up for the bumpy moonlit journey to the land where I would give birth.

Labor was relentless. I walked for hours, pacing up and down stairs to the sea, feeling the ebb and flow of each contraction like the waves I had grown to love. Birth is a pain unlike any other, it stretches you to the brink, then grants you a fleeting reprieve before pulling you back into the depths. I held on, trusting the rhythm of my body and the wisdom deep within me.

After ten hours of labor, beneath that luminous moon, I brought my 8.9-pound hunk of love into the world. Roméo was born alongside a colt and a litter of kittens—new life spilling into the night like a blessing from the heavens. We did it.
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And now, thirty years later, as I look at the man Roméo has become, I am struck by the wonder of that night. Life has a way of weaving together pain, beauty, and love in ways that leave us awestruck. Giving birth to him in such wild, untamed circumstances taught me that motherhood is an ocean, both fierce and nurturing, unpredictable and constant.

Roméo’s arrival was the first chapter of a love story that would change me forever. As I reflect on that night, I carry the gratitude for every contraction, every choice, and every soul who walked alongside me on that moonlit path. Roméo, you were my firstborn, my great initiation, and the one who showed me what it means to surrender to the flow of life. Thank you for choosing me.