It’s Premature Awareness Month, and while we celebrate the fierce resilience of our preemies, I want to share a story you won’t find in a brochure—my own unexpected journey into the world of NICU parenting.
When I picture my pregnancy, I remember the nursery being painted and the anticipation of a simple, full-term birth. That wasn’t my reality. My son arrived suddenly at 33 weeks, following a severe health crisis: HELLP syndrome.
The minute the doctor confirmed that I needed to give birth and now………….., my “perfect” birth plan shattered.
The Disconnect: A Mother on the Sidelines
In the haze of my own physical recovery, the emotional shock was immense. I was a mom, but I couldn’t hold my baby. For days, I watched him through the plastic of an incubator. I felt a profound sense of failure, not only because my body had let him down but because I felt disconnected from the intensive care happening all around him.
The NICU environment was overwhelming. As parents, we were suddenly observers in what should be the most intimate experience of our lives. The fear was constant, making it incredibly hard to focus on anything else. My husband, bless him, was my rock, doing the things I couldn’t: driving, asking the tough questions, and just sitting beside me when I felt too numb to speak.
My Fight: Pumping a Love Letter
I desperately wanted to feel useful, to contribute to my baby’s survival. For me, that contribution was breast milk.
Despite the stress of my own health and the anxiety of the situation, I was determined to express. I remember the exhaustion, the pain, and the overwhelming feeling that my milk supply was just not enough. Every time I looked at those tiny drops of colostrum—our “liquid gold”—it felt like a small, desperate love letter I was sending to my son through the medical system.
If you are pumping right now (see this blog for more tips:Starting Your Pumping Journey: Essential Tips for Using Your Breast Pump) , know this: That tiny amount you collect is powerful. It is proof of your strength. And I understand the stress when the pump doesn’t deliver what you feel he needs. Be kind to yourself, focus on relaxation, and know that you are doing the single most loving, beneficial thing you can do for your preemie.
Coming Home: The Invisible Load
When we finally brought our son home, I thought the hard part was over. It wasn’t. The fear didn’t magically disappear, and the intense routine of a preemie—extra appointments, careful feeding, constant vigilance—was exhausting.
The hardest part was realizing that my family and friends, while loving, simply couldn’t comprehend the emotional weight we carried. We had survived an intensive care unit, and we were left with a unique kind of invisible trauma.
My advice to every NICU parent is to talk about it. Find someone—a therapist, a support group, another NICU mom—who has walked that same sterile tile floor. Do not try to bury the shock, the grief over the lost moments, or the fear of what might come next. Here is a link to our My Little Prem Support Group https://chat.whatsapp.com/IZLBgpTF3Tk6bCpQ9945L0
We are now years past that chaotic start. Our preemie is thriving, but the strength and resilience we found during those days in the NICU define us as parents.
This month, I stand with you. Your story matters, your feelings are valid, and you are doing an incredible job.