The eggs are snuggled into a spongy, honeycomb-like structure on the toad's back, at which point her skin grows over top of them like a slimy, corrupted pie crust. Finally, she looks like a regular-sized frog and not the undead pancake we showed you earlier.
Once the four months are up, those babies hatch with a vengeance:
The mother's still alive, though she wishes she weren't.
Yes, like tiny reanimated corpses clawing their way up from the filth of a forsaken, muddy graveyard, the fully-formed baby toads emerge from their fleshy cradles (they go from egg to tadpole to frog while safely entombed within their mother's skin, because the world is a terrifying place). After all one hundred or so of the toadlings have been expelled, the female sheds her mangled skin and returns to her normal "so flat it looks like a poorly manufactured rubber frog" state.
We can safely say that if human beings were forced to give birth by allowing our children to burst through our goddamn skin like mutant pods of overripe acne, we would've gone extinct almost immediately.