By Katie Revai LeFevre 
I never expected I’d give birth to a preemie. My firstborn was born a week and a day past her due date. When I found out I was pregnant with my second, I imagined pushing 40+ weeks with him too. It turns out, he was ready to come into this world roaring at just 33 weeks.
After going into spontaneous labor in the middle of that fateful night two years ago and rushing straight to our local children’s hospital, my son was born via emergency C-section. I was unconscious for his birth, as his delivery was urgent and there was no time to spare. This, coupled with the fact that I didn’t even get to meet him for more than 24 hours after his birth (as I myself was recovering; I experienced a stage 3 postpartum hemorrhage), absolutely devastated me.
I remember wondering how our bond would be affected in the long run. Would he know how much I love him? Did he know how very much I loved him in those moments, even before I met him face to face? For a brief moment in time, I felt a sense of failure. As time has progressed, though, I realize our story is actually quite the opposite. If only I could turn back time and let myself know that there was, in fact, nothing to worry about.
My preemie just turned two, and our bond couldn’t be stronger. If I could turn back time, I’d assure myself that before long, my 5lb 1oz bundle would be attached–and, seemingly, quite securely. I’d tell myself he’d have no issue nursing. I’d even warn myself that I’d still be trying to figure out how to wean him more than two years later.
I’d let myself know he’d build his appetite, catch up on growth, and even end up sharing clothes with his sister, 18 months his senior. I’d share with pride the fact that he’d end up reaching all his milestones ahead of time, despite his early arrival, NICU stay, and time spent on life support in the PICU shortly after. I’d beam with delight sharing the full sentences he’d churn out like it was his job at just one-and-a-half.
If I could turn back time, I’d tell myself to trust everything would turn out okay. I’d tell myself to trust that my baby would turn out okay. Even more, he’d turn out incredible. Thriving. Happy. Healthy. All the good things any mama wants for her baby. Sure, he’d give me some scares along the way, but what’s parenthood without those?
My preemie is almost two months in to being two years old, and I don’t think he could amaze me more (although somehow, he always manages to). If I could turn back time, I’d beg myself to believe I too was doing an amazing job given the circumstances. I’d assure myself I wasn’t at fault for my son’s early arrival, and that his hospital stays weren’t my fault, either.
I’d encourage myself to take time each day to rest–I mean, actually rest–and accept the fact that I’m only human. I’d tell myself he’d be okay if I didn’t stay just a bit longer on any given bedside visit. I’d plead with myself to go easy on me because my baby would love me . . . just as I am. Human and all.
If I could turn back time, I’d tell myself I was doing everything I possibly could for my preemie. I’d applaud the endless days (and nights) I spent pumping–while driving to the hospital, in the NICU pumping room, and at home at all hours, including while tending to my firstborn. I’d give myself a pat on the back for getting up and going each and every morning, despite pure sleep deprivation, constant worry, and a plethora of uncertainty. I know, though, those are all par for the course in the game of motherhood.
My preemie is now two years old, and he fits into our family’s world so perfectly. I can’t imagine a world without him. If I could turn back time, I’d tell myself not to worry about the close age gap between him and his older sister. Rather, I’d smile in delight and promise myself they’d be obsessed with each other. I’d give myself a heads-up that my heart would soon explode watching my two babies love on one another. I’d forewarn myself that my preemie might even make me question whether or not I’d ever want another, simply because of the blissful dynamic between him and my daughter.
Two years have come and gone since my son’s early arrival, and it’s all flown by in the blink of an eye. If I could turn back time and return to our NICU days, I’d tell myself things would all soon make sense. That while life would be chaotic for a bit, it would be beautiful and wonderful just the same. That somehow, soon enough, everything would be okay.
If I could turn back time, I’d remind myself to soak it all in. Because somehow, my preemie–my little miracle, my rainbow, my precious baby–wouldn’t be little for long. I’d tell myself that while he was, though, I needn’t worry about getting it all right. It turns out, I was perfectly qualified for the job. And I’d fall to my knees and thank God–again and again–for choosing me to be his mom.
by Alyssa Devall 
by Jessika Sanders 
by Lynsie O'Shaughnessy 
