The Baby Links Social Club Story Series

Chapter 3: Birth & Brew

Chapter 3: Birth & Brew

It started with a circle.

No fancy PowerPoint, no sterile rows of chairs — just a circle of old armchairs, floor cushions, and a few mismatched stools pulled in from corners of the café. A tray of warm mango smoothies sat in the center, next to a bowl of cinnamon-dusted dates and a stack of tiny birth books with frayed corners.

The sun had fully risen now, spilling soft gold across the orange-and-green walls of The Baby Links. Light played through the leaves of the giant monstera behind the bar, making everything feel alive.

Eva stood near the bookshelf, cradling a cup of cinnamon chai in both hands. Her camera was off for once. This morning wasn’t for capturing. It was for being in it.

Ama moved through the room barefoot, her curly hair pulled high, bracelets dancing softly as she arranged small bundles of lavender and dried herbs near each seat.

Murmurs filled the space — midwives reconnecting, Obstetricians shifting in their seats, new mothers whispering to each other. The kind of hum you hear right before something real begins.

Eva stepped forward and smiled. “Welcome,” she said. “To those of you here for the first time — this isn’t a class. It’s not a panel. It’s a circle. Because that’s how we believe birth should be held — with no corners.”

A few people chuckled softly. The tension eased.

She continued, “There’s no expert at the center today. Just experience, curiosity, and care. We invite you to speak from your truth — whether it’s shaped by science, story, or both.”

Ama took over seamlessly. “This space is for every kind of knowing — clinical, cultural, ancestral. We don’t need to agree on everything. We just need to stay open. And drink something delicious while we do it.”

Laughter rippled around the room.

Then the stories began.

A mother spoke of her traumatic first birth, and how finding The Baby Links gave her hope for the second.

A young obstetrician, quiet until now, asked a midwife how she builds trust so quickly with her clients.

A doula pulled out a tiny knitted uterus and taught three Obstetricians the difference between emotional and physical dilation.

Someone cried.

Someone else offered tissues without saying a word.

And someone — maybe everyone — began to soften.

Eva watched from her chair, sipping chai, heart full. This was it. This was the work. Not fighting systems, but slowly stitching people back together — one voice, one story, one sip at a time.

Ama caught her eye and nodded.

The revolution had begun.

And it tasted like mango.

Hope you enjoyed today's blog post and hope to see you soon in one of our meet-up places