I see you—the fear and confusion etched on your face as you leave your little one behind in the hospital. He arrived earlier than expected and requires so much assistance. I witness you diligently taking notes as the doctor explains the complex machines and the sounds surrounding your precious baby. You’re trying to absorb every detail—the medical terminology, the schedules, and timelines—but your gaze keeps drifting back to your baby in her isolette, pondering when you’ll finally be able to hold her.
I see you making that drive to the hospital day after day, determined not to miss a moment with your child. I notice the weight on your shoulders as you brace yourself for another long visit, only to leave without him once more.
Then comes the day you bring your baby home, a moment filled with joy mingled with fear. You question whether you can care for her as the doctors did. Are you truly enough?
As the months pass, I see you celebrating the joy of having your baby by your side, yet feeling overwhelmed by the constant attention she requires. Your life now seems to revolve around appointments with doctors, specialists, and therapists. You remind yourself to be grateful; your little one has fought hard to reach this point. Yet, that gratitude often feels overshadowed by frustration. You can’t help but wonder why your child had to endure such a struggle and why this has become your family’s reality.
I see you at a friend’s birthday party, celebrating a child who was born around the same time your baby was supposed to arrive. Your smile is sincere, but it’s not quite the same. While you feel joy for your friend, it hurts to see how far behind your little one is and how much further she has to go.
Late at night, I witness you crying—wracked with guilt, worry, and anger. If only you had been able to keep your baby inside just a little longer. If only you had insisted the doctors take a second look at the scans. If only you had avoided that cup of coffee or the sugary treat you believe may have contributed to her premature arrival. You grapple with self-blame, searching for a way to right this perceived wrong.
I see you declining invitations to parks and lunches during that first year, terrified of your little boy catching a cold. The doctors have warned you that the first winter is critical; you should avoid going out unless absolutely necessary. So you stay home with your baby, reminding yourself it will all be worth it when spring arrives.
I notice the care you take in packing your diaper bag—it’s not like anyone else’s. You need extra hand sanitizer, oxygen tanks, and masks to keep germs at bay. You venture into the grocery store like a soldier entering battle—analyzing risks, rushing through tasks, praying that everyone will remain healthy upon your return.
I see you stumble over your words when someone asks about your child’s age. You know the truth will lead to countless questions, and you’re exhausted from explaining. But denying your baby’s age feels like a disservice to her journey. So you strike a balance, sometimes revealing the real age and other times not, changing your answer with each inquiry.
I sense your doubts about whether you are the right mother for your child. You worry that someone else could handle all the therapies and special accommodations better than you can. You’re uncertain how you will navigate this journey. Looking back, you reflect on the life you envisioned before—maybe you worked, but now you’re home, or maybe you want to stay home but have to work. Regardless, it’s not the life you had planned, nor what you imagined motherhood would entail.
While I don’t have the answers you seek, I wish I did. I crave answers for myself, too. But I want you to know that I see you. You are not alone in this journey.
Sincerely,
A fellow Preemie Mom