My beautiful boy,
I love you more than words can describe. People say to the stars and back, or more than anything. This is still not enough to describe how much I love you. You have come so far. When you were born, it was a frightening moment full of uncertainties. I was comforted by the little cooing noises you made when you were lifted up but I couldn’t bring myself to ask if you were ok. It was a scary question. So I asked a generic one – is it definitely a boy? I was desperate to know if you were my Jack who I had already got to know throw your scans and kicks. The little boy who kicks to music and after food and for any reason at all. My boy.
I’m sorry I fell ill and couldn’t keep you safe inside. But the doctors chose this path for us to make sure I could be your Mummy, not just a story your Daddy tells you with a tear in his eye. I’m so glad I get to see you grow up, even though your start was difficult.
Your NICU stay was hard and long and emotional. People suggested I take a day off to recover and rest. I didn’t want to. You had been taken from where you were meant to be so my new job was to be by your side so you could still hear my voice, a sound you were familiar with. You were placed on my chest and fell asleep to my heartbeat. This is still where I feel the most contentment. Even though you are so much bigger than my two hands now, you fit perfectly in my arms. The world is exactly how it should be, when I have you snuggling against me, and nothing is wrong. You saved me. You little miracle.
Nowadays, our lives are much the same as any other family’s who have a baby. Teaching you to learn and grow and move and talk. Other Mum’s are doing the same things with their children. And yet, I am different. I look at you, listening to your breathing to make sure you’re still ok without additional oxygen. I put my hand on your chest to feel your heartbeat. I stare at you in awe because you are mine and you are alive and I get to keep you.
I will never be complacent. I am so excited for every tiny milestone, every ounce gained, every smile and laugh. I am so looking forward to planning your first birthday party – another celebration that you made it and are a complete hero. This winter will also by your first proper Christmas at home, as last year, even though you were 5 weeks old and gave us your first smile, we still had to leave you at the NICU that night.
I will try my best to raise you right. I will teach you to be respectful and kind and to work hard. Daddy will teach you to be fun and adventurous and witty.
Life is magical with you in it, my beautiful one.
And now I have to sign off to rescue my birthday gift bag before you try to eat it!
One thought on “An open letter to my preemie”
Thank you for the wonderful read
My son was 7 wk early and my he’s our world, esp mine as I have him all to myself most days and nights.