This is not how I thought I’d meet you my son.
In your plastic bubble, I don’t feel like a mom.
Can’t hold you, or feed you, or rock you to sleep.
These are not the memories I expected to keep.
So quiet and fragile, “it’s my fault” I weep.
Each night we go home with an empty car seat.
“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.
“Liquid gold” they say to help fix you.
Drink up my sweet boy, it’s all I can do.
Amongst the fear, the hell, and the anguish
there is light, a magic, and hope that all will be well.
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.
Nurses whisper and sing you a sweet lullaby,
they hold my hand “it’ll be ok mama” as I cry.
They touch you tenderly, you’re theirs on loan.
Filling you with love until you’re ready for to come home.
When we finally leave it’s bittersweet.
We’ll never forget those we meet.
In those sterile walls, hands washed red raw
I hear the beeps long after leave those halls.
Joy and nerves as towards home we drive
We’ll be sure to tell you about your start in life my sonshine.
1 in 7 need the help of NICU
I just didn’t think it would be you.