09/08/2025
I was told to be prepared for the worst.
I was told she wouldn't make it.
Words no mother ever wants to hear but that is what I was told over and over again weeks leading to her birth and even after she was born. She "wasn't" supposed to make it. But God had other plans.
What do you dream of when you think of meeting your baby for the first time?
A warm room, skin-to-skin contact, a tiny baby nestled on your chest.
For us, the moment wasn't a peaceful lullaby. It was the constant hum of a NICU, the smell of sterile wipes, and the terrifying symphony of beeping alarms. It was a cold glass wall and a medical team telling us a sentence no parent is prepared to hear: "You can't hold them."
That sentence hits you like a physical blow. You feel like a failure. You feel like you’ve somehow done something wrong. How do you love a baby you can't even hold?
My baby was so small, I could barely see their face past the tape and the tubes. Their whole hand was no bigger than my thumbnail, and my finger was the only physical touch I could offer. A fragile connection across a vast, terrifying distance.
But in that moment, something shifted. A different kind of love was born. A love built not on comfort, but on a silent promise to fight alongside this tiny, fierce warrior. A love forged in pure, terrified devotion.
To anyone who has had their first moments stolen and remade in the sterile glow of an incubator—you know what this feels like.
No one expects to become a preemie parent. But navigating a world where milestones are measured in grams—at just 1lb 1oz (494 grams) and 11 inches long—is an experience that strips away everything but what is most important. It truly clarifies what matters most in life.
