When Romina found out she was pregnant in 2021, she was 39, homeless, and had no money. Like many scared and lonely women before her, she tried to ignore the pregnancy. “If you don’t think about it, it doesn’t exist—something like that,” she told me more than three years later.
By the time she noticed the physical changes, she had already been homeless for nearly seven years. Before that, she lived a stable, comfortable life in The Hague with a man she deeply loved. But he became controlling, she said, stopping her from working or seeing friends, spying on her, and eventually threatening her if she tried to leave.
She left anyway one night around Christmas 2014, beginning a dark chapter in a life that had already seen its share of pain. Her parents divorced when she was three. She endured years of sexual abuse by her stepfather. Her mother attempted suicide many times, finally succeeding in 2009. She grew apart from her two half-siblings and lost contact with her two young sons after entering that last abusive relationship, leaving them with their fathers.
Her ex had local political influence, so Romina felt her only option was to vanish into the city’s hidden world. The first night on the street was the worst—cold and rainy. She didn’t have enough for a hotel and saved what little she had for food. She walked and cried. After three sleepless days and nights, she finally slept in a parking garage.
For a woman alone, homeless shelters can be as risky as the streets. Except in winter, Romina preferred taking her chances outside. “It’s strange,” she said, “but only the first six months were really hard because you still have hope. After that, your brain just focuses on survival.” In her mind, all family and friendship ties faded. Her only concerns were finding food and a safe place to sleep.
We spoke over a video call because she was still nervous about revealing her location. She has a hearty laugh and speaks excellent English, which she says she learned from Netflix. With a mass of blond curls, red lipstick, and a forearm-length tattoo, she looked younger than 42.
During those years, she had two lifelines: an old school friend who let her shower and use the internet when his girlfriend was at work, and Tinder. She sometimes slept with men in exchange for a place to stay. She knew it sounded like sex work but said she only chose men she found attractive. With one, it was a “Netflix and chill” arrangement. They used protection, but she still got pregnant.
By the time she could no longer deny the pregnancy, the relationship was fading, so she decided not to tell him. She Googled, “pregnant, homeless, what now?” and found a name she’d never seen: Beschermde Wieg, Dutch for “protected cradle.” It was a foundation that ran “baby rooms” across the Netherlands, where mothers could anonymously give up their babies, with no judgment and no way for the child to find them later.
At the time, the anonymity appealed to Romina. She reached out for advice, since the foundation offered anonymous support. That’s how she connected with the women who, through information and steady encouragement, would help her turn her life around.
She paused our conversation to reassure—Her three-year-old son was calling for her attention in the background. Like most expectant parents who have inquired about baby rooms in the 11 years the organization has operated in the Netherlands, Romina ultimately decided to keep her child.
The founders and staff of Beschermde Wieg emphasize that their rooms provide a compassionate alternative to the more contentious baby windows—also known as baby hatches, life windows, or safe haven boxes—where a person can leave a baby in a secure compartment, often built into a public wall, and walk away. To the concern of many, this modern version of the medieval foundling wheel has reappeared since the early 2000s, spreading in both wealthy and poor countries.
Beschermde Wieg believes there are enough new parents in crisis—including victims of rape or incest, refugees, and the very young—that it is essential to offer the option of giving up a baby anonymously.
As Romina tried to express her thanks to the foundation, she briefly struggled to find the words in English. Then she managed to say that, at the time her pregnancy forced her to act, she trusted no one and had nothing to give. Without Beschermde Wieg, she would have either abandoned her child in an unsafe place or she would not be alive. “They saved us,” she said simply.
Infant abandonment and infanticide—often discussed together—are topics most people prefer not to think about. Even Sarah Blaffer Hrdy, an anthropologist and professor emerita at the University of California, Davis, who studied these issues for years as part of her broader research on child-rearing, finds them difficult to talk about now that she is a mother and grandmother.
Though rare, abandonment has been documented throughout history, with evidence suggesting it even predates the emergence of modern humans. Hrdy argues that men and women are naturally driven to maximize their reproductive success. Carrying a pregnancy to term is a major investment of resources, and usually the rational choice is to nurture and protect that investment. But sometimes circumstances make it rational—however painful—to let go. These circumstances can include economic policies that isolate new mothers from support networks, or social norms like a strong preference for sons. In her 1999 book, Mother Nature, Hrdy quotes a stark note from a Roman soldier to his wife in the first century BC: “If you give birth… if it is a boy, keep it; if a girl, discard it.”
No country systematically collects data on abandonment, making it hard to understand the detailed causes. Tragically, newborns abandoned or killed before being officially registered may go unnoticed. We do know that abandonment reflects shifts in socioeconomic conditions. Today, factors like abortion bans and crackdowns on illegal immigration are contributing to its rise. In the past, it was mainly due to lack of maternal care, stigma against single mothers, and poverty. Lorraine Sherr, a psychologist at University College London who studies abandonment, calls it a “lightning rod” for society’s problems, because it is during childbirth—when people are most vulnerable—that strains first and most dramatically appear.
So many dead babies—more girls than boys—were being pulled from the Tiber River by 1198 that a Roman church installed a rotating cylinder in its wall. A person could place a baby in the cylinder from the street and turn it into the building, anonymously abandoning the child. By 1400, foundling wheels were common across Europe. One can still be seen today at the Innocenti, a former hospital turned museum.In Florence, the wheel is covered by a grille originally intended to prevent people from placing older children inside. The names “Innocenti” and “Esposito” (which means “exposed” or “left out” in English) were once common surnames given to foundlings.
By the late 18th century, abandonment rates in many European capitals had peaked at a shocking one in four births. Sarah Hrdy has written about “epidemics of foundlings.” There were suspicions of misuse—for example, birth parents pretending to be foster parents to claim monetary compensation. As a result, baby windows began to be phased out and replaced in some countries with consignment offices where identification was required. Over time, maternity care and social services gradually improved. Contraception beyond abstinence became available in the 19th century, and legal abortion followed in the 20th, though not universally. Then, in the late 1990s, due to factors like the decriminalization of abandonment and growing academic and media interest, baby windows made a comeback.
A typical baby window is a secure opening in the wall of a building—often a hospital, clinic, fire station, or religious institution. Inside is a temperature-controlled cradle, and sometimes writing materials in case the person leaving the baby wants to include a note. They slide open the window, place the baby inside, and close it again. They then have a few minutes to leave or reconsider before the window locks and an alarm alerts staff inside.
Today, baby windows can be found worldwide, though they are most common in regions with limited access to contraception and abortion. The U.S. and Germany are exceptions, with about 300 and 100 windows respectively. Most countries have far fewer, and the UK and France have none—the UK does not allow anonymous birth, while France does. In 2024, Toyin Odumala, who was abandoned as a child herself, started a petition calling for baby windows in the UK after the highly publicized case of three siblings abandoned in the same area of east London over several years.
Sister Ancilla runs a home for mothers and babies on a quiet street in Krakow, Poland. Funded by a Catholic charity, the Family Accompaniment Foundation, the home currently houses four women and their infants. It also serves a second purpose: it has a baby window—known locally as a “window of life”—built into the street-facing wall.
The Krakow window was the first in Poland, installed in March 2006 at the request of Pope John Paul II. Three months later, it received its first baby, a girl. Since then, it has taken in 24 others—12 boys and 12 girls, including two sets of twins. The abandoned babies stay only a few hours at the home; the nuns care for them until an ambulance arrives and notify the family court to begin the adoption process. Still, some of these modern foundlings have left a deep impression on the sisters.
Sister Ancilla recounted one story from before her time: a premature girl was left in a shoebox, wrapped in an old T-shirt, with the placenta and umbilical cord still attached. Tests later revealed drugs in her system. “There was a presumption that it probably wasn’t the mother who brought the baby,” Ancilla said. “She wouldn’t have been capable.” The nuns suspected the woman might have been a sex worker. The little girl survived and is believed to have been adopted.
Poland has some of Europe’s strictest abortion laws, and the Krakow window—like dozens of others across the country—is promoted through churches and welfare associations. Over the years, local media have quoted police spokespeople discussing these initiatives.It is claimed that the number of infanticides has decreased in the Krakow region since the installation of baby windows, suggesting that these devices are saving lives. Similar claims are made by Swiss Aid for Mother and Child, the nonprofit organization operating six of Switzerland’s eight baby windows, and by Safe Haven Baby Boxes, the company that supplies all such devices in the United States.
However, the data does not strongly support these assertions. Factors such as rising incomes—which may reduce poverty-related abandonment—or decreasing stigma around unmarried motherhood could be responsible for the decline in infanticide in Poland. Sherr distinguishes between babies abandoned with the intent to let them live and those abandoned to die. Most experts agree that baby windows have little effect on infanticide rates. Forensic psychiatric evidence suggests that women who kill their newborns often conceal their pregnancies, experience extreme emotional distress during birth, and act in a state of panic—making it unlikely they would plan to use a baby window. While these devices might reduce the number of babies abandoned in unsafe conditions (some of whom may die accidentally), the evidence for this is unclear at best.
In Poland, around 700 babies are relinquished in hospitals each year, compared to fewer than 10 via baby windows. The hospital route is safer and offers medical support, though it is not anonymous. It is uncertain what would happen to those 10 babies if baby windows did not exist and if women were better informed about their rights and options. They might be abandoned in dangerous places, or their parents might instead choose formal adoption.
There is even evidence that baby windows may increase child abandonment—the very issue they aim to prevent. When Denmark considered introducing them, the government commissioned a study on their impact in 10 high-income countries. The researchers concluded in 2021 that baby windows actually raise the incidence of abandonment, leading the Danish government to reject the idea.
This finding aligns with historical research from Italy, which showed that abandonment rates fell after the closure of “foundling wheels” in the 19th century. These wheels provided a discreet way for poor families or unmarried mothers to give up children, but they also reinforced the stigma around unwed motherhood while letting fathers avoid responsibility. The authors of the study argued that modern baby windows serve a similar dual function: they may protect some infants, but they also perpetuate a system that fails to address the underlying causes of abandonment.
About 20 years ago, a much-cited but unpublished report from Hungary described interviews with hospital porters in Budapest, where CCTV recorded visitors to a baby window. The hospital was located in a red-light district, and porters reported that most of the 16 babies left there over a decade were brought by men. The identities of these men remain unknown.
While this small, anecdotal study cannot be generalized, it highlights that we should not assume it is always the mother who gives up the child, or that she has even consented. Hungarian child rights advocate Mária Herczog argues that baby windows exploit vulnerable women, many of whom are involved in sex work and may be pressured into giving up babies. She calls the devices “profoundly anti-mother,” noting that women often give birth in unsafe conditions and return to difficult situations where they become pregnant again. In her view, a humane society would intervene earlier to support women and help them avoid such cycles.Unwanted pregnancies need to be prevented, and wanted ones should be supported. Sherr agrees, saying, “I always say the mother of the abandoned baby is herself abandoned.”
To be fair, organizations like Poland’s Family Accompaniment Foundation and Swiss Aid for Mother and Child try to step in early by offering counseling and support. However, both are seen—or actually are—anti-abortion. Dominik Müggler, founder of the Swiss group, did not respond to interview requests, but on their website, among 33 reasons to have a baby, one reads: “Because God wants babies to live.” Herczog notes that in places like the Netherlands and parts of Switzerland, where the focus is on supporting mothers and keeping families together, baby boxes or rooms often go unused.
In 2016, the Swiss canton of Valais installed a baby box funded by local authorities, not Müggler’s organization, with the goal of being ideologically and religiously neutral. Their aim was to reduce infanticide, according to Juan Llor, the pediatrician overseeing the box at Hôpital du Valais in Sion. He was personally doubtful it would work. Since then, seven babies have been given up for adoption in the canton’s hospitals, but none have been left in the box. Llor said, “If the baby box is used, that’s a failure of care for the pregnant woman and the family.” His initial skepticism was confirmed: the box had no effect on the infanticide rate in Valais.
Residents of the Krakow mother-and-baby home firmly believe an anonymous option is necessary. Several wrote letters explaining that, while they couldn’t imagine giving up their own babies, they understood why women in slightly worse situations might choose that path.
Beschermde Wieg, the Dutch organization that Romina credits with saving her life, believes it has found a balanced approach—offering anonymity in a humane way. It was founded by Barbara Müller, who had worked in child protection and saw too many children failed by a broken system. She concluded that more early support was needed to keep families together. In 2013, she set up a home in Dordrecht where pregnant women or new mothers could find temporary housing and help.
A year later, Müller realized she wasn’t reaching the most vulnerable women—those forced by desperate circumstances to hide their pregnancies and abandon or harm their newborns. She shared her frustration with her friend Kitty Nusteling, a mother of five who was then organizing childcare for middle-class families. Nusteling also wanted to help women in greater need.
At the time, about five abandoned babies were found each year in the Netherlands, most of them dead. “And you can ask yourself, how many babies are not found?” said Nusteling. She and Müller felt that many new mothers in crisis might just need a break, and if they got it, they would eventually—and happily—take their babies back. They decided to provide that respite anonymously, with no ideological or religious agenda. “We’re pro-choice, we’re not pro-life,” Nusteling stated.
Uncomfortable with the harsh image of a hatch where you hand over a baby never to see them again, they designed a room with child-friendly murals, soft toys, and a cozy rocking chair lined with sheepskin. A person couldn’t give birth there, but they could spend quiet time settling the baby, saying goodbye, and—importantly—reading about other options before pressing the button that…The baby’s presence would be signaled, and then the person would leave. Since Müller’s plan went against Dutch law, which protects a child’s right to know their origins—a right upheld by the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child—she decided to keep the baby room separate from the mother-and-baby home to avoid legal risks for the latter. This led to the creation of Beschermde Wieg, with Nusteling as operations director, which started in the converted garage of a volunteer’s home in Dordrecht.
The law could apply to anyone seen as enabling or encouraging anonymous abandonment, not just the person abandoning the child, with penalties including heavy fines and jail time. Müller said that after the first woman brought her baby to the room, she was called to the justice ministry, questioned, and threatened with prison, though the threat was never carried out. Later, at an official hearing, she repeatedly argued, “You are interpreting the UN convention incorrectly.” She explained that officials focused on Article 7, about a child’s right to know their birth parents, but overlooked Article 6, which defends a child’s right to life. Müller contended that a person can only wonder about their origins if they are alive.
In 2019, the government shifted its position. While anonymous abandonment remained illegal, operating and using the baby rooms would no longer be punishable. After that, the foundation even received funding from the Dutch health ministry, though it now relies on private donations to support its 14 baby rooms—13 fixed and one mobile—across the country, including nine in hospitals.
In the Netherlands, the official process for giving up a baby begins with placing the child with a foster family for three months. After that period, birth parents can change their minds. If they don’t, the baby goes to an adoptive family, and the birth parents have input in choosing that family. Their identity is recorded, and the child can access it upon reaching adulthood if they wish.
Beschermde Wieg follows this protocol carefully but adds the option of anonymity. Many parents in crisis consider the baby room, Nusteling said, but few ultimately use it. Of the roughly 1,700 people who contact the foundation each year, about 17 give up their babies, and around two-thirds later reclaim them. The foundation aims to reach mothers early in pregnancy and help them improve their situation—for example, by pursuing education or leaving an abusive partner. They hope the rooms remain unused.
Initially, Beschermde Wieg faced strong criticism, but as it shared more stories of the anonymous women, the backlash softened. “Over 10 years, people saw there weren’t long lines of women wanting to give up their babies,” Nusteling said. “It’s not an easy decision.” They also realized the women weren’t all illegal immigrants—a common assumption. Some were, but others included Polish women working for low wages at Dutch companies, young unmarried Dutch women from strict Protestant backgrounds, and middle-aged women like Romina, fleeing influential Dutch men. Perhaps, Müller added, people also recognized that sacrificing one’s own desires to give a child a better life can be an act of courage and sense.
During Romina’s first contact with Beschermde Wieg, she agreed to a prenatal scan four days later. It was January 2022. “The next day, it was very cold outside,” she recalled. “It was raining, and all my clothes were wet.” She fell ill and called the foundation, which arranged an ambulance. At the hospital, she learned she was three months pregnant. Technically, she could still have requested an abortion.She had considered abortion, but after seeing the ultrasound, she decided that was no longer an option. Feeling trapped and scared, her thoughts kept returning to the baby’s room. Nusteling and her colleagues encouraged her not to make a permanent decision too quickly, and she agreed to temporary foster care. She gave birth by cesarean section on a Friday in the hospital. Since she would only have her baby for a few days, the medical staff advised her not to breastfeed. “I did it secretly,” she admitted. That Monday, the foster parents arrived. Handing her son over was the hardest thing she had ever done, but she felt she had no choice—she was still homeless. If she didn’t give him up, child protection would likely take him away.
She spent the next three months in a psychiatric facility, sedated half the time to help her cope with the emotional turmoil of losing her baby. “The first three weeks were awful because your body aches for a baby that isn’t there,” she said. After six weeks, as required by law, she saw her son again and resolved to do whatever it took to get him back. A judge agreed she could have custody on the condition that she found a stable home. Beschermde Wieg’s sister organization offered her a room in one of their mother-and-baby homes, and when her son was three months old, they moved in with just a single bag of clothes.
Romina has some unpaid debts to The Hague city authorities. She receives welfare and feels guilty that her son doesn’t have a father figure. Still, she is slowly rebuilding her life and has reconnected with her older sons. Last Mother’s Day, they came to visit. She showed me a photo of her middle son playing with his younger half-brother, her arms wrapped around them both. All three are smiling.
When her youngest starts school next year, she plans to look for work. She and Nusteling have talked about the possibility of her joining Beschermde Wieg to support other women facing similar challenges. She knows it won’t be easy—she’s a perimenopausal single mother to an energetic three-year-old—but she can’t get over how fortunate she feels and how surrounded she is by kind people. “I have a beautiful home, food on the table, a shower, clothes,” she said. “Every day feels like a dream.”
Frequently Asked Questions
Of course Here is a list of FAQs about being pregnant homeless and the search for a safe place for a baby written in a clear and compassionate tone
Basic Information Immediate Help
Q Im pregnant and have nowhere to live What should I do right now
A Your first step is to reach out for immediate help Call 211 They can connect you to local shelters food programs and pregnancy resources
Q Are there shelters that will take me while Im pregnant
A Yes Many shelters specifically cater to pregnant women and young mothers Organizations like Catholic Charities Salvation Army and local maternity homes can provide a safe place to stay
Q What is a safe haven law
A This is a law that allows a parent to safely and legally surrender a newborn baby at a designated safe haven location within a certain time after birth no questions asked and without fear of arrest for abandonment
Q Where can I surrender my baby safely
A This varies by state but common Safe Haven locations include hospitals emergency medical service stations and police stations You must surrender the baby to an employee at that location
Understanding Safe Haven Laws
Q How old can the baby be for a Safe Haven surrender
A The age limit varies by state typically ranging from 3 days to 1 year old It is most commonly 30 days Its crucial to know your states specific law
Q Will I get in trouble if I use a Safe Haven
A No As long as you surrender the baby unharmed to an authorized person at a designated Safe Haven site within the legal time frame you are protected from prosecution for abandonment
Q Do I have to give any information about myself or the baby
A No you can surrender anonymously However you may be offered a voluntary questionnaire to provide medical history which can greatly help the childs future health
Q What happens to the baby after I leave it at a Safe Haven
A The baby will receive immediate medical care The states child welfare agency will then take custody and place
