Meghan Trainor is sharing more about her scary birth story.
In her upcoming book Dear Future Mama, the pop star, 29, opens up about her son Riley, whom she welcomed via cesarean section in 2021 with her husband, Spy Kids star Daryl Sabara, 30.
When Riley was born, he struggled with breathing issues and spent several days in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) before he was healthy enough to go home. And now, Trainor is revealing she suffered post-traumatic stress disorder following the birth.
The "Mother" singer was diagnosed with PTSD after the birth, when Riley was rushed to the NICU with Sabara while Trainor was left being sewn up on the surgical table.
"Usually when you're being sewn up for 45 minutes, you're like, 'Look at my gorgeous baby. We did it. This is everything.' But I was laying there alone," Trainor tells PEOPLE. "In the moment, I was so drugged up, I was calling my mom, and she's crying on the phone, like, 'Are you okay?' And I was like, 'We're fine.' And then when I tell people what happened, they're like, 'Jesus Christ,' and I'm like, 'Yeah, that was kind of messed up, right?' "
Once home with her husband and baby, Trainor realized something was wrong when she began having nightmares and flashbacks to the C-section.
"I couldn't go to sleep at night. I would be in tears and tell Daryl, 'I'm still on that table, dude. I'm trapped there. I can't remind myself I'm in bed and I'm safe at home,' " Trainor says. "I had to learn how traumatic it was."
The Grammy winner sought help from her therapist, whom she says told her: "So, you know how you cry every night when you go to bed and you feel the pain, even though there's no pain left, and it comes back to you? It's chemical reactions in your brain. Something's off, and we have to open that up and heal that wound."
Through therapy, "I just worked through it," Trainor adds. "Time heals all."
Now, the "All About That Bass" singer and Sabara are expecting their second child together, due this summer. But first, Trainor will welcome her first literary baby, Dear Future Mama, a pregnancy, birth and new motherhood guide (out April 25) inspired by her experience bringing Riley into the world.
Below, read an exclusive excerpt from the book about Trainor's traumatic birth.
CHAPTER 17: HERE COMES RILEY
Surrender became my mantra, and with that surrender, I felt less fear and more excitement. Don't get me wrong—I was f---ing terrified about that surgery, but I was excited that I knew exactly when we were going to meet our baby. I wouldn't be waking Daryl up in the middle of the night or racing to the hospital. The countdown became epic for the whole family. We made a countdown on the calendar in our bathroom and every day we'd cross off another number and say, "Nine days until we meet the baby!" "Eight days until we have our baby!" "Seven days until I have this baby!"
The last week was torture, not just because I was excited to meet him but because I was in so much pain. I felt like my stomach was going to explode and I couldn't stand without my feet feeling like they were on fire. I complained any time I had to take a few steps. We were all placing bets on how big the baby would be. I thought he'd be at least nine pounds. Daryl had been packing the hospital bag for forever, and every day packages from Amazon arrived. The pandemic was raging and we were afraid to go anywhere, and every day I saw a new YouTube video about "what I really used in the hospital." Let me tell you this:
I learned absolutely nothing. They were all wrong. I love influencer content, but it's designed to sell you an aesthetic, and childbirth is not aesthetic, y'all. Maybe I'm just jealous, but I'm not the kind of person who is going to pack multiple outfits for a surprise outfit change. But watching all this stuff made me want to be that person, and so I bought a ton of stuff that I absolutely didn't need. The only things in my bag that I'm glad I had were a blanket and a pillow, because I'm picky. Every person and each pregnancy are so different that trying to get advice about what you will want for an experience you've never had before is useless. Besides, the hospital will have what you truly need. That's kind of their job.
When February 8 rolled around, we woke up feeling more excited and nervous than we ever had in our lives. This was like Christmas morning in February. We were going to meet our baby today! My C-section was scheduled for noon, but I had to get there two hours early like I was taking a flight. We hugged my family goodbye, and I told everyone, "Next time I see you I'll have a baby!" I was feeling excited and strong even though I couldn't believe I was going to have a baby without my mom there. My mom is my best friend (sorry, Daryl), and I do everything with her. I always imagined her there by my side when I became a mom, but instead she just walked me to the car and waved goodbye with tears in her eyes while we drove off to officially become parents.
Instead of the frantic drive to the hospital that you see in movies, where the woman is screaming and the man is dripping sweat, we rolled into the hospital with our packed suitcases like we were leaving to go on vacation, ready to meet our baby. If you're imagining this as a glamorous moment . . . nope. When we pulled into the parking lot, we were a mess: the car door nearly shut on my head while I was trying to help Daryl pull out our luggage, and we were so visibly nervous that the couple parking next to us stopped and asked if it was our first time. They were heading in for their third C-section, and it didn't look like they were moving in. The mom told us — so nicely — that we didn't need to bring in all our stuff right away, just what I actually wanted with me in the room for the procedure. Thank God they were there, or I'd have walked in with an empty stroller and a car seat. They were so comforting; they walked in so naturally that it made us feel less nervous. They were like undercover angels for our special day.
Walking into the hospital was like stepping up to a counter to order lunch.
"Hi, I'm Meghan, I'd like a C-section today."
"Of course. Have a seat and we'll be right with you."
They walked us down the hall to our room, and a woman rushed by us in full-on labor, screaming and clutching her belly and back. Very chill and not at all stressful. Honestly, it made me glad I wasn't going to go into labor. I'd just get numbed up, lie down, and get my baby.
In our little room, there was a bed but no shower. I was a little freaked out, thinking I would be here for the next few days, but, you know, surrender. But that was just the room where I got my IV while they prepared the surgical room and checked to make sure I wasn't having contractions. My nurse heard my entire life story, and I asked her a million questions about her life. It's so funny to think that these people are a part of the most important moments of your life and you never see them again, but I think of them like guardian angels. She made me feel totally comfortable and even took a photo of me and Daryl together, telling us, "This is the last photo of the two of you before you become parents!" It was time for the biggest moment of our lives, and all we had to do was just walk down the hallway to the surgical room. The entire experience is so surreal: it's a huge deal and no big deal all at once.
I went in alone to get my epidural, which is basically a huge needle that goes into your spine to numb you from the ribs down. I'd seen a ton of YouTube videos and Instagram posts where people freak out about this, but it really wasn't that bad. Surrender, I told myself. But then they asked whether it was okay for the residents to do my epidural, and for the first time in my life I stood up for myself. I love doctors, and a teaching hospital is an incredible thing, but I was not comfortable with anyone learning on me during my first C-section.
When the (very young) doctor walked in, I didn't think about the giant needle; I just distracted myself by cracking jokes about how young he looked. He was a very good doctor, and I'm sorry if I hurt his feelings, but I was nervous. He looked so young I thought they may have ignored my request, but he assured me he was fully qualified.
I loved being in a room of (mostly) women, and I reminded myself that if anything felt weird, I'd say something. I had a shooting pain down my right leg and immediately told them what was happening, and they adjusted something that made it go away. Surrender.
You can't lie on your back while the epidural is kicking in, so I was kind of awkwardly sitting up, asking questions like "Oh my God, what if I pee?" They laughed. I already had a catheter in and didn't even feel it. The epidural was already doing its job. Once I was nice and drugged up, they finally let Daryl come in. He'd been in the hallway listening to a song I wrote for him years before called "You're Worth Waiting For." It's never been officially released, but he had it on his phone and I love him for how sentimental he is.
You're worth waiting for, baby you're worth waiting for
And I'm grateful I ain't got to wait no more
You're worth waiting for
While Daryl was looking at me like I was the most amazing woman on the planet, the doctors started to do their thing. Dr. Solky introduced me to everyone, told me what everyone's job was, and reminded us what we were all here to do: deliver a happy, healthy baby boy. It felt a little bit like being a slab of meat, or an extra in Grey's Anatomy. I could hear them confirming all the tools they'd need, even though I couldn't see anything because of the big sheet they put between my head and my torso. I had told the anesthesiologist that I wanted to know when the surgery was beginning. I heard what sounded like a Dremel tool whirling and he looked down at us and said, "Okay, they're starting." Dude. I thought it would be a quiet little slice, not some loud-ass power tools.
I don't want to scare you, so if you're not into the details, skip the next part: you can smell yourself. Like, your burning skin. I'd been warned about that smell, but there is nothing to prepare you for it. It's . . . not a good smell, and it will stick with you for a while. But honestly, I can't remember it now; I just know that it was pungent.
Daryl gripped my hand like I would be pulled away from him. I couldn't feel any pain, but I could feel myself being yanked around down there. Daryl kept me present and grounded.
A C-section is an intense experience: you are fully awake and know that someone is opening your body to take out your child, and you can feel people pulling and yanking . . . but you can't see a thing. But Daryl could, and he stood by my side for every minute. His eyes locked on mine made me feel safe and alive. On his phone, he played Justin Bieber's "Anyone." This version hadn't come out yet, but we had the demo on my phone from the original writer, and we sang every word to each other, shaking in fear and smiling.
It felt like I was there for hours, but seven minutes and a giant pop later, I heard Dr. Solky ask if I wanted to meet my baby. This is a moment that will live in my mind forever. Above the blue curtain that separated my head from the surgical team, a tiny face arrived, perfect and round. He opened one eye, and my heart stopped. It was like when they raised Simba up in The Lion King.
"Whoa," I whispered. "He's actually beautiful."
I said actually because he didn't look like my cousin had, because he hadn't had to squish through the birth canal. (Bonus for C-section babies: they're extra pretty right away.) He was perfect and gorgeous. Our Riley was here. They whisked him back over the curtain, and after a few minutes I realized that I hadn't heard him cry.
"Why isn't he crying?" I asked, and I saw Daryl's face change as he looked over to where our baby was being worked on by the doctors.
DARYL SAYS:
Everyone who works in a delivery room or the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) should be an actor. Riley wasn't crying, and you could tell something wasn't right, but everyone was smiling at me and nobody looked worried. Even the guy who was tossing Riley around was smiling while he said, "Usually we'd hear more noise and his breathing is a little shallow." My number one priority was to make sure Meghan got skin-to-skin contact with Riley right away, and it felt like I was failing. She was drugged out of her mind and I didn't want her to worry, so I did my best to try to stay calm.
"It just takes a minute sometimes," they told me, and in my drug haze I just thought, But I want to hold him. I really, really wanted to hold him and get skin-to-skin contact right away, but after ten minutes they told us he needed to go to the NICU.
"Can she see him, please?" Daryl asked.
The energy in the room was tense, and someone told me there wasn't time, but that sweet angel of a nurse brought my baby over to me and set his warm little body right on my chest. It was exactly what I'd been dreaming of for all those months. I put my finger on his cheek to make sure this was real and that I was awake. Daryl took a photo, and they whisked him away. I'd held him for maybe six seconds. Daryl's face was panicked, but as freaked out as I felt inside, the drugs I'd been given for the surgery wouldn't let me panic.
"Do you want me to stay with you or go with Riley?" he asked. I had at least forty-five minutes to be "sewed up," so I asked him to stay with me, but the doctor spoke over me.
"Dad," she said, "you should go with your baby." I was devastated. Good thing I was drugged, or I'd have jumped up with a gaping hole in my belly and run right after them.
The drugs kept me from panicking, but they didn't keep my heart from breaking. I was alone, without Daryl or Riley, and I wasn't sure if my baby could even breathe. Would he be okay? Would Daryl be okay, up there on his own with this crisis? The drugs and the stress made it seem like everything was happening in slow motion. I didn't feel pain, but I could feel the sensation of every tool inside me. I felt and heard a suction tool up by my ribs. I could still smell my own burning flesh. I felt nauseous and light-headed, but the moment I mentioned it to the anesthesiologist, he made it go away. Science is crazy.
Daryl had left with both our phones, so there was no more music, just the sound of tools inside my body. My doctor tried to lighten the mood by telling me my insides were beautiful, but I couldn't laugh. I tried to get myself to take a nap to make the time pass faster, but I knew where I was and the reality I was facing, and it was too scary to fall asleep.
When it was over and they put me on a rolling bed to wheel me to my room, I heard the weirdest thing: "All About That Bass" blasting from another surgical room. I was still drugged as hell, so I started dancing with my arms and telling everyone it was my song. My nurse laughed. I guess another mom had heard I was there and blasted my song to help celebrate my delivery. Whoever you are, that was iconic, and I will never forget it. Thank you.
In the recovery room, it was just me and my angel nurse. She was so calm and so reassuring. She called the NICU to check on Riley for me and had them send Daryl down to my room to bring me my phone. He burst into the room and told me, "He's beautiful, he's perfect," and then ran back to the NICU with his phone and FaceTimed me so I could see Riley. He was not nine pounds; he was seven pounds, eight ounces. I cried when I saw all the tubes and cords connected to him. He felt so far away. But I was also distracted by his beauty and by the fact that he was a real person out in the world. I couldn't wait to hold him, rock him, nurse him, kiss him.
Surrender, I reminded myself, surrender. I was still feeling no pain, and I FaceTimed my family to tell them that having a baby was no big deal . . . except that Riley was in the NICU for respiratory issues. My mom was panicking and tearing up on the phone, but I kept telling her it was "fiiiiiiine!" I think I felt fine because of my nurse. She didn't judge me when I said I was jealous of the couple next door who had their screaming baby in the room with them, or when I got sad because I didn't have photos to send the friends who texted to check in on me, knowing it was the date of our C-section.
This is where I owe that angel nurse a big, huge thank-you. I know I said it about a thousand times while we were in the hospital room, but I can't possibly say it enough. Wherever you are, I hope you know that your presence and your kindness got me through the scariest parts of that day (and frankly, my life). Thank you for getting Riley into my arms, for laughing at my jokes, and for making me feel like everything was going to be okay. Riley was being taken good care of, and so was I.
THE RECOVERY
I imagined spending the days of C-section recovery holding our baby while glowing with joy. But instead, we both spent two days recovering on different floors of the hospital. It was torture to know that he was so close and yet out of my reach. I had blood in my pee (sorry, but it's true) and I had to wait until I was peeing clear to see my son. I chugged that cranberry juice like I was at a frat party, and when my pee was finally clear, Daryl was allowed to wheel me up to the fourth floor. Every single bump ripped through my body like an earthquake, but I had to see my baby.
Daryl wheeled me through a maze of tiny babies with serious medical issues, past families whose babies might not make it home. It was a real reality check. Finally, we saw Riley. He was in an incubator, connected to what looked like hundreds of wires, but I didn't see any of that. I saw our baby — a tiny Daryl — and I was completely in love.
"We have to have more," I told Daryl, slipping my hands into the incubator to feel our son's heartbeat.
This was the first day I got to hold Riley — really hold him — and I didn't want to let go. I took my shirt off and held him against my skin, and felt his little ribs rise and fall under my hand. But those wires snapped me back to reality real quick. It was like a movie. If the heart rate monitor shifted even a little bit, an alarm would blare and I'd feel like he was about to die. The nurses would just push a button and turn it off like it was no big deal, but it's jarring (especially when you're still drugged up).
Every day, Daryl would wheel me up to see our boy, and we'd spend hours looking at him, singing to him, and eventually holding him. He was so small, and there were so many cords, we both felt like we'd break him if we picked him up. But he was surprisingly sturdy for a tiny little guy, and holding him was absolute heaven.
I would have spent every minute in the NICU, but I had my own healing to do. Standing up and sitting down were even harder than they'd been when I was at the end of my pregnancy. Daryl would help lower me to and hoist me off the toilet, and he would take me for little walks, cheering me on and telling me how strong I was. I didn't feel strong. I used to do actual workouts, and now I felt like a champion if I could walk down the hallway? Mentally, I felt like the C-section scar could open up at any minute and all my guts could spill out. And then it happened. Or, it felt like it happened. I plopped onto the toilet to take my first pee after delivery and I felt something fall out of me. Something big. Something that made a splash.
I was freaking the f--- out, telling the nurse "I think something bad is happening." She was freakishly calm and said, "You're fine; it's normal." When I finally got up, there was a big-ass blood clot sitting in the bowl. I knew you could bleed after a vaginal birth, but I was not prepared for this to happen after a C-section. It seriously felt like I'd lost an organ, but apparently it was no big deal? Our bodies are amazing and crazy.
POST C-SECTION REVIEWS
Everyone — and their recovery — is different, but here were the absolute worst parts for me:
Pumping: The first thing I had to do when I got to my room was use a breast pump. I was shocked because I'd heard it takes a few days for your milk to come in, but apparently pumping helps it come in. I had no idea what I was doing. I asked the nurse if it was supposed to hurt so bad and she said, "Yeah, it's supposed to be uncomfortable." Wrong. After twenty minutes my left areola was bleeding and raw. Every three hours, I still had to do this, even though it was absolute misery and I was exhausted. 0/5 stars.
The pain: I'd told everyone that having a baby was no big deal and it didn't hurt . . . until it did hurt. When the pain came in it hit hard; I'd never had any kind of surgery or physical trauma, and it felt unbearable. I didn't have a baby to hold and distract me, so I really felt it. 1/5 stars.
Peeing: With a catheter, I loved peeing. I am lazy, and I could just lie there and pee? Heavenly. But once the cath- eter is out, a nurse has to watch you pee for the first time (seriously). And I couldn't do it. Like, physically the cathe- ter had made my body forget how to pee. It felt like it took fifteen minutes for me to even get a little tinkle, and the pain from the C-section made my body shake uncontrol- lably. Plus, you know, that blood clot came out while I was peeing. 2/5 stars.
Wearing a diaper: If it weren't for the pain of trying to take it on and off, I probably would have actually liked this. Again, I'm lazy, and the diaper was kinda comfortable. 3/5 stars.
RILEY'S RECOVERY
The NICU is a really special place. No parent ever expects that their child will be there, but the people who work there have dedicated their lives to helping these little babies survive and thrive. It was hard, though. He'd been inside me for thirty-nine weeks and now we were separated by a few floors in a hospital. We weren't sure how long he'd be there, but there were a lot of babies in the NICU who were really struggling, and Daryl and I felt blessed knowing that what Riley was going through was survivable. There's a solidarity among the parents in the NICU. The energy is quiet and low, and we didn't speak to the other parents, but we'd all give one another the look and the nod as we walked by. I see you.
We would get to bring our baby home soon, and not all of the parents in the NICU would get to do that. We didn't have a clear timeline on when, though. "It's up to Riley" seemed to be the reply, and that was not a very satisfying answer. I wanted to be told a date and a time when his respiratory issues would clear up and he'd be good to go. Surrender, I tried to remind myself, surrender.
Our pediatrician came to meet Riley the day after he was born and assured us that a lot of babies go through this and that Riley would make progress and come home to us. It took five days in the NICU to finally get Riley cleared to come home. Five days of visits where he was covered in cords and tubes, and where I had to stay in a wheelchair. As much as possible, we held him to our chests, skin to skin, and talked to him. On his last night, we begged for him to be able to stay with us in our room so we could have a practice run at life as a family of three. We learned to change him, bathe him, swaddle him. We all snuggled in the hospital bed together and talked about how beautiful he was. And the next morning, we packed our bags and headed home.
