At 26, Karoline Leavitt made history. As the youngest-ever White House Press Secretary, she had already proven that poise, wit, and grit weren’t defined by age. But what the cameras never showed was what happened one July weekend — a stretch of 48 hours that changed her forever.
She had just given birth.
She hadn’t slept in over a day.
And a national crisis was unfolding.
“There was no prep. No plan. Just pain, adrenaline… and love,” Karoline says, voice steady but eyes clouded with the memory. “I was still wearing my hospital bracelet when the first call came in.”
Motherhood, Interrupted
Her son, Nicholas “Niko” Robert Riccio, was born at 5:11 AM on a Friday — a calm, tearful birth in a quiet wing of George Washington University Hospital. Her husband, Nicholas Riccio, nearly 30 years her senior, held her hand the entire time.
“I thought that would be the hardest part,” she says. “But I had no idea what was waiting for me 24 hours later.”
On Saturday morning, she received a secure call: there had been an attack on a high-profile political figure, and press chaos was erupting.
“I remember looking at my son. Just hours old. And I thought: I’m not ready. But I have to be.”
A Press Secretary in Recovery
Karoline left the hospital 14 hours post-delivery — technically against medical advice — and was whisked back to a secure location where her comms team had already begun to draft emergency responses.
Still in postpartum recovery, she pumped breast milk between briefings and took calls with an ice pack tucked beneath her blouse.
“I felt like two people,” she says. “The mother who just wanted to hold her baby. And the official who needed to hold it together for the country.”
The Man Beside Her
Her husband, Nick, was the only person who saw both versions of her — and helped stitch them into one.
“He bathed the baby while I wrote statements. He stood outside closed-door briefings with Niko in a sling, humming lullabies while I tried to manage national fallout.”
Their relationship, often scrutinized for its age gap, was forged in moments like this — quiet support in the middle of chaos.
“He never asked me to choose between being a mother and a leader,” Karoline says. “He just made it possible for me to be both.”
Breaking Down, Then Rebuilding
At 2:47 AM Sunday morning, Karoline finally broke.
“I had just finished my fifth call with the network pool. I looked down at the bassinet beside me and I started sobbing. Not quiet, controlled tears. I mean sobbing.”
It wasn’t the job. It wasn’t the exhaustion.
It was the guilt.
“I was terrified that I’d missed something — a breath, a milestone, a moment. But Nick sat down next to me, took my hand, and said, ‘He won’t remember the day you weren’t holding him — but he’ll live the life you built by showing up.’”
That was the moment everything changed.
Karoline made a decision: she would keep showing up. For her son. For her team. For herself.
But this time, on her own terms.
What Comes Next
Leavitt is still serving, still speaking, still leading — but she’s also fiercely protective of her time with Niko.
“I’ve learned that power isn’t found in being everywhere. It’s found in knowing what matters most.”
She keeps a photo on her desk now: Niko asleep in Nick’s arms, Karoline in the background mid-call, still wearing a hospital gown, still glowing with love and fatigue.
“I’ll never forget those 48 hours,” she says. “Not because they nearly broke me. But because they reminded me of what I’m really made of.”
