I Left More than My Baby In the NICU

“I’m not sure I could ever leave my baby in the NICU.” The reply was from a well-meaning older lady in the hospital elevator a few days after my fifth baby was born as I was, reluctantly, in fact leaving my two-pound premature newborn to make the 75 mile drive home for a brief visit with my other four kids who were desperately needing their mama too. An awkward smile and a hasty exit was my only reply, but I still run those words through my mind.

I didn’t just leave my baby in the NICU—I left my desires, ideals, and plans there too. I left my hopes of a peaceful birth, and a lovely time of postpartum bliss and delicious newborn snuggles in my own bed as well.

I left completely broken, truly not believing my baby had been born so early, constantly bringing my hand to my now-squishy stomach and only then remembering why I no longer felt my baby inside of me.

I left, my feet feeling as heavy as lead, forcing them in front of the other every single day, and my sobs growing greater with each mile I drove.

I left, feeling genuinely happy for the other parents I saw leaving the hospital with their healthy, chubby babies as I had been in their shoes before too and know the joy that brings while simultaneously heartbroken that my baby was alone in the big city at just two days old, without her mama, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

I left, checking many times to make sure my ring tone was up all the way so I could hear if the nurses called with updates. Would I even make it back in time if the unthinkable happened?

I left to eat, to sleep, to pump milk, to call home, to see my other four children, and wash some laundry, but never because I didn’t love you, never because I wanted to leave you there.

I left with the NICUs phone number, calling to say goodnight to you asking if they could just put the phone to your tiny ear so you could hear my voice, and I could hear your grunts.

I left, knowing that the next several hours of your new life would be experienced by the nurses and doctors, and I would miss out.

I left, knowing that one day this nightmare would end, and I would bring you home with me, never again having to say goodbye like this, and one day you would be my baby alone, not one I have to ask permission to touch.

I left, knowing that this was only a short time in the rest of your life, and one day you wouldnt be a “31-weeker,” a “preemie,” or a “NICU” baby, but just my daughter.

I left, knowing that God has a plan for you, and somehow He would work this all for His good and that He was there with you when I couldn’t be.

One day, after 39 days of leaving, I left for the last time—this time not alone. You were now a chubby and healthy, five-pound, two-ounce baby girl, and it was finally time to bring you home! I left, so thankful to never have to leave you like that again. We made it!