When Your Baby Makes An Early Arrival

This is one of the only photos that I have where I look pregnant.

This was ten days before our sweet boy decided to join us, fourteen weeks before he was supposed to.

If I could go back in time, I would tell myself to push harder the first time the doctors ignored my concerns. I would tell myself that everything would be okay, and that I would make it through.

But nothing, not even the advice that I would give the old me, can prepare you for the NICU. Everyone’s journey here is SO different, there’s absolutely no way that anyone can tell you what to expect.

When I see the new moms get wheeled up here for the first time, my heart breaks for them. I want to just hug them, and tell them that I know exactly how they feel. Their birth plan had gone out the window, their “perfect labour” didn’t exist. Their brains are still foggy from the medication, and their baby… the only thing on their mind… that sweet baby… is in the best hands.

I remember the surgeons telling me that I would be out of the OR ten minutes after Jameson left. I laid on the table, arms stretched out, for what felt like years. Come to find out, it ended up being a little over an hour. I sat in recovery until I could move my toes, and I concentrated SO hard, I knew that I had to have had enough muscle memory to move a stinkin’ toe! They let me go early, because I wouldn’t leave them alone about it. They let me see our miracle baby for 25 minutes before I was wheeled back to my room, to wait until I could stand. The nurse walked in a few hours later and asked “do you think you’re ready?” I immediately stood up, and blood went EVERYWHERE. “Woah, you weren’t supposed to stand up yet!” But off to see my boy, I went.

I understand, Mama. All that is important is that sweet baby. The pain killers, uterus massages, pumping, it can wait.

When Jameson was just a few weeks old, the doctors had “the talk” with us. If you’re a micro-preemie parent, I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about. That heart-sinking moment when medical professionals come to tell you that your child may not make it. The choices that you are forced to make are unimaginable, and they will eat you alive, regardless of what that choice was.

We have signed consent forms, giving strangers permission to operate on our son. We’ve seen him cry (we haven’t heard him, yet), we’ve watched him get poked, you name it.

I’ve watched syringes of strangers blood get pumped into our son to keep him alive.

I’ve seen 10+ nurses running as fast as they can to our baby’s bedside to give his little two-pound body compressions, and stimulate him to keep him responsive while they put a tube back down his throat.

I slept on pull-out chair for weeks, and ran off of bags of chips and coffee.

I’ve cried, boy have I cried, and I’ve let my ugly out on a lot of people who didn’t deserve it.

But, I’ve also had months to celebrate the small things.

I won’t ever be upset when Jameson pees on me, because that means his urinary system is finally deciding to function properly.

I’m not mad when I smell like puke, because he’s finally off of TPN fluids.

I got to kiss my boy at three days old.

I got to dress him once he was a few months.

We got to give him his first “big boy bath” at six, and Gigi and Grandpa Greg finally got to hold him at five.

These are things that are taken for granted, that I will never ever let go unnoticed.

The point of this post is to tell you this: Although our journey has been long, and it has been filled with a lot of ups and downs, we are not the only ones. Please, please be considerate when you’re talking to moms with special babies. They are miracles, regardless of their needs. I know that sometimes it’s not “normal”, and if you have questions, ask! Please be patient with us and our crazy rules, and our last-minute cancellations. But, please don’t be ugly to us Mama’s who have fought so hard for our babies. They are loved more than you can imagine.🖤

Full credit goes to Keeghan Haight