Miracle Babies Poem

I did not write this. Anonymous did.

I have two sons, born at 27 weeks – yet the rest is accurate in its entirety. This is the indoctrination into life as a preemie parent.

Thank you Miracle Babies, for sharing.

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My baby was born today,
It’s a boy.

My husband and I have a son.
There is no joyous celebration, yet.
The cigars will have to wait.
We are hopeful, but still so afraid.
The first 24 hours are the most critical.
For both my boy and me.

The pain shots come every three to four hours, as needed.
I float in and out.
Faces swim before me.
I try to say, “Is he okay?”
There are nods and small smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes.

Polaroids are placed in my hand.
It’s a baby, my baby.
Looking so tiny at only 31 weeks.
Hooked up to all those wires.
The doctor is here, I think.
He tells me that they are doing all they can, for both my baby and me.

There is no time to worry for me.
For those pain shots keeping coming.
I am no longer just me,
For what energy I have left is for that baby,
My baby, so tiny
Struggling for each breath that he takes.

The minutes turn to hours and then to days.
“Can I see my baby, now?”
Finally, there is a yes.
I am wheeled into the NICU by my husband.
He already knows the way.
I am parked in front of a small isolette in the corner.
My husband smiles and says, “There he is, our son.”

I hear the love in his, the pride.
And I can also see the new worry lines around his eyes.
That he can not hide.
I take my first real look at my baby,

“He’s beautiful!”
“It’s me, Mommy. I love you.”

Inside I say, “I’m so sorry I let you down.”
You should still be growing inside me.
We should have had more time.

The nurse smiles and introduces herself.
Reassuring words are spoken, “Your son is a fighter, he’s doing great.
Why don’t you wash your hands and then we will get started on your NICU orientation.”
My husband lathers up first, both hands all the way up to the elbows.
Minutes pass by, then he says, “You’re next.”
I wash my hands as he goes over and opens the small windows of the isolette.
He speaks to his son, “Buddy-man, it’s me daddy. Mommy is here, she can’t wait to meet you in person.”

Gentle hands reach out and touch the baby.
I join him and together we marvel at our creation, wires and all.

I have son.
He is beautiful, inside and out.
He is strong and brave.
He not’s home with us, yet.
In our hearts, we know he will be soon.
He has taught his parents so much in such a short time.
That each day is a miracle,
A celebration,
An affirmation of life.

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