Circe sends her nymphs away, not trusting anyone near her vulnerable, mortal child. Since Circe will be incapable of defending herself against sailors while ill from her pregnancy, she casts an illusion to make her island appear dangerous to any passing ships. She is thrilled about her unborn son, certain that with him, her solitude “would never be loneliness again” (240). The birth is difficult, and Circe prays to Eileithyia, the goddess of childbirth, but she does not come, presumably held back by a god. In furious defense of her baby, Circe cuts the infant out of herself. She names him Telegonus, and he is an exceedingly difficult baby, always crying and never satisfied, but she is fully committed to protecting him at any cost:

I felt each breath in his thin chest, how improbable it was, how unlikely that this frail creature, who could not even lift his head, could survive in the harsh world. But he would survive. He would, if I must wrestle the veiled god myself (243).

Circe is terrified that a god wants her baby dead and is riddled with anxiety over his mortality because, for all her magic, she cannot stop a thunderbolt.