This is not how I thought I’d meet you my son.
In your plastic bubble, I don’t feel like a mom.
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Can’t hold you, or feed you, or rock you to sleep.
These are not the memories I expected to keep.
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So quiet and fragile, “it’s my fault” I weep.
Each night we go home with an empty car seat.
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“Can I hold him?” I ask. She says “you may soon, just not today.” “Maybe tomorrow will be the day.”
Even though I only get to behold you for now, it makes my life full of bliss just to see you in sight. Here, I patiently await to give you a kiss.
I cradle my pump until my body is dry,
filling the freezer with my supply.
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“Liquid gold” they say to help fix you.
Drink up my sweet boy, it’s all I can do.
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Amongst the fear, the hell, and the anguish
there is light, a magic, and hope that all will be well.
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Late at night amongst tubes, the beeps, and the wires,
we form a bond that could start fires.
After 7 days of life is the day i finally get to hold you, so little and fragile my emotions running wild would not dare take a breath just in case it would hurt you.
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Nurses whisper and sing you a sweet lullaby,
they hold my hand “it’ll be ok mama” as I cry.
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They touch you tenderly, you’re theirs on loan.
Filling you with love until you’re ready for to come home.
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When we finally leave it’s bittersweet.
We’ll never forget those we meet.
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In those sterile walls, hands washed red raw
I hear the beeps long after leave those halls.
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Joy and nerves as towards home we drive
We’ll be sure to tell you about your start in life my sonshine.
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1 in 7 need the help of NICU
I just didn’t think it would be you.
