From monthly toxoplasmosis tests in France to runny eggs in Wales, a wonderfully warm ultrasound in Argentina and eventually giving birth in the Netherlands, Melody discovered that pregnancy may be universal—but the way we approach it certainly isn’t.
I’m Melody. I’m from France and I live in Alkmaar in the Netherlands. I am the mother of a daughter and I’m currently pregnant with my second child.
My first pregnancy was a little unusual: we spent almost all of it backpacking between the UK and South America before arriving in the Netherlands when I was eight months pregnant. I eventually gave birth to our daughter here, two and a half years ago.
I was lucky. My pregnancy was very smooth, with few symptoms and enough energy to keep travelling. The birth itself went smoothly too, despite the fact that I had done very little preparation.
But travelling while pregnant gave me an unexpected window into something I hadn’t really thought about before: just how differently pregnancy and birth are approached from one country to another.
Wait… I’m allowed to eat that?
I had my first ultrasound in Wales and my first-trimester ultrasound in France. In France, I also met with a midwife who gave me a timeline of the important checks I would need while we were travelling.
So every month, wherever we happened to be, I diligently found a laboratory to have my blood checked for toxoplasmosis.
Then I arrived in the Netherlands, eight months pregnant, and was basically told: there’s no point in continuing those monthly checks.
It was a relief—but one I wish I could have had a few months earlier!
Food was another source of confusion.
In the UK, I discovered the British Lion mark on eggs and was told that eggs carrying it were considered safe to eat with a runny yolk during pregnancy. Even knowing that, sitting in a restaurant eating one just felt wrong after everything I had previously been told.
And that became a recurring theme. Foods and risks that were treated one way in one country could be approached completely differently in another. The Netherlands, for example, felt stricter about certain fish and prawns than what I was used to in France.
While travelling in South America, there were other things to think about too: street food, mosquito bites, diseases. Especially during my first pregnancy, not always knowing the local recommendations—or which risks I actually needed to worry about—could be stressful.
When the rules keep changing as you cross borders, you do start wondering which ones you’re supposed to follow.
The same pregnancy, very different cultures
It wasn’t only the medical recommendations that changed. The way people interacted with us around the pregnancy could feel completely different too.
In Argentina, for example, the person doing my ultrasound was incredibly warm. At one point she simply announced, “Oh, this is a little girl!”
She hadn’t asked whether we wanted to know the sex of the baby.
Luckily, we already knew and were happy to know, so it wasn’t a problem for us. But I remember thinking how surprising that was—and how differently it could have gone for parents who wanted to keep it a surprise.
Then, when we left the room, she hugged me like a sister.
I loved the warmth of it. And I remember thinking: this would never happen in the Netherlands!
The Dutch approach felt much more reserved and careful about boundaries. Even around finding out the sex, there seemed to be clear rules about when professionals would or wouldn’t tell you, regardless of what might already be visible on an ultrasound.
There were cultural differences outside the consultation room too.
In South America, people sometimes genuinely couldn’t understand why we wouldn’t tell them the name we had chosen for our baby before she was born. Some were even a little upset about it.
Something that felt completely normal and personal to us suddenly seemed very strange to somebody else.
How many weeks pregnant am I, exactly?
One of the funniest things I discovered through all of this was that, despite pregnancy being such a universal experience, there didn’t always seem to be universal agreement about some of its most basic details.
How do you count the weeks? When exactly is a pregnancy considered full term? How far past a due date should you go? What happens when you do?
At one point I had been given two different due dates, and nobody could really tell us which one was the “correct” one.
Depending on where we were and who we spoke to, the answers and approaches could be different.
I found that fascinating. You imagine pregnancy as something quite objective and medical—surely there is one way to calculate all of this? Then you travel and realise that there can be different guidelines, different thresholds and different philosophies surrounding the same pregnancy.
Arriving in the Netherlands—and learning to trust birth
Perhaps the biggest difference for me was the overall philosophy around pregnancy and birth.
Coming from France, I was used to the idea of pregnancy being followed within a more medical framework. My experience of the Dutch system felt very different.
There seemed to be a strong trust in pregnancy, in the woman giving birth and in the physiological process itself. The fact that giving birth at home can be a normal option, and that midwife-led care plays such an important role, was quite surprising to me.
And I loved it.
I felt lucky to be in the Netherlands when it came time to give birth.
In a way, stepping outside the French system helped me trust the natural process of pregnancy and birth more. I felt peaceful and connected to what my body was doing, rather than constantly thinking about everything that could potentially go wrong.
Of course, I say this knowing that I had a very straightforward, low-risk pregnancy. My experience could have been completely different if complications had arisen.
But for my pregnancy, that trust was something I really valued.
This time, I’m discovering another side of Dutch care
I’m now pregnant with my second child, and this time I’m experiencing an entire pregnancy within the Dutch system.
That has given me another perspective.
During my first pregnancy, we were moving around so much that I had to keep figuring out what came next, where to go and which recommendations to follow. Now, I’m experiencing how reassuring it can be to have consistent, structured care.
I really like that my midwife appointments and ultrasounds are organised within the same practice. I don’t have to constantly work out what I’m supposed to do next. I feel taken by the hand.
And perhaps because of my first birth, I can enjoy that reassurance without losing the trust I developed in the natural process.
If I could change one thing about giving birth in the Netherlands, though, it would probably be the uncertainty around hospital availability.
If you are planning a hospital birth without a medical indication, you don’t necessarily have a guaranteed place at a particular hospital. We didn’t have any problems ourselves, but I’ve heard stressful stories from parents whose preferred hospitals were full and who had to try several before finding somewhere with space.
I think I would have appreciated being able to plan that part more in advance.
And then there’s kraamzorg
One part of the Dutch system that deserves a mention of its own is kraamzorg—postnatal maternity care at home.
After an uncomplicated hospital birth, you can be back home remarkably quickly. For someone coming from a country where you might expect to stay in hospital longer after giving birth, that can be surprising.
But then you come home to a system where a maternity care professional supports you during those first days with your baby.
That combination—the quick return home and the support waiting for you there—is something I really appreciated.
What travelling while pregnant taught me
Looking back, I think the biggest thing I learned was that there isn’t one universal way to experience pregnancy.
Everywhere we went, people were caring for pregnant women and babies. But the rules, the risks people focused on, the way professionals communicated, and the assumptions around pregnancy and birth could be completely different.
Travelling made some parts of pregnancy more stressful. At times, I wished there had simply been one set of rules I could follow.
But it also made me question things I might otherwise have accepted without thinking.
My first pregnancy taught me to trust the process more. My second is teaching me how valuable consistency and structure can be.
Maybe my ideal is somewhere in that combination: feeling supported and reassured, while still having confidence in pregnancy and birth rather than approaching them primarily through fear of what could go wrong.
And if I had one piece of advice for another international parent preparing to give birth in the Netherlands?
If you’re hoping for a hospital birth, be aware that your preferred hospital may not necessarily have availability when labour starts. And be prepared for how quickly you might be home again after an uncomplicated birth.
But most importantly: enjoy the kraamzorg!
Birth Across Borders is a Parentally Unfiltered series sharing personal stories of pregnancy and birth away from home. Because birth may be universal—but the systems, cultures and expectations surrounding it are anything but.
This is Melody’s personal experience of pregnancy and maternity care across different countries. Practices and recommendations can vary by healthcare provider, individual circumstances and over time.
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