Love, Dayrene
"Dear NICU Mama, As you navigate life after NICU, always remember that you are seen. Even if I don’t know your name or the full weight of your story, I want you to know that you are not alone.
Maybe you’re reading this from a hospital bed, trying to breathe through the minutes, the monitors, the endless unknowns. Maybe you’re watching your baby through a glass incubator, learning to speak love through the soft touch of a finger. Wherever you are in this journey, please know that your love is enough—even on the days it doesn’t feel like it.
It’s okay to feel both heart-shattering fear and fierce hope. It’s okay to celebrate each tiny win and also ache for the moments that should have been. You may be so grateful for your baby’s life and also grieve the pregnancy or birth experience you imagined. This duality doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human.
When the nights feel impossibly long and the beeps never seem to stop, remember: you are doing this. Even when you feel like you’re barely holding it together, you are showing up. That matters more than you know. Being present matters so much.
The future may be uncertain, but you are resilient. You are brave, even when you feel broken. You are enough, even when you feel like you’re not doing “enough.” You are a mother—no matter how your story looks.
You may struggle, but you are not alone in that struggle. There is a quiet, powerful sisterhood of NICU mamas walking this road beside you—mamas who get it, who cry with you, who hope with you. Hold on to that hope, even if it’s only a flicker right now. You and your baby are writing a story of strength, one breath, one heartbeat, one moment at a time.”
Love,
Dayrene
More of Dayrene + Mia’s NICU Journey:
“One hundred and sixty-three days. That’s how long our journey spanned—beginning with the unexpected rupture of my water at just 20 weeks pregnant. We entered the hospital on November 30, 2024, not knowing what the days ahead would hold. What followed were weeks of bed rest in the high-risk unit, navigating uncertainty moment by moment, breath by breath.
At 28 weeks, our daughter Maia entered the world—tiny, fragile, and fierce. She would go on to spend 106 days in the NICU, fighting, growing, and defying the odds. Through missed holidays, sleepless nights, and constant prayers, the hospital became both our battleground and our home.
Today, Maia is stable, finally home, and just beginning to fit into her newborn clothes. She came home on mother's day ( May 11th, 2025). There are still milestones to reach and challenges to face—but now, we do so together, under one roof, surrounded by love.
This journey has tested every part of us—but through it all, we held on: to hope, to each other, and to the strength of our tiny warrior.”
