“Dear NICU Mama, when your baby sees you, they see home. Not the kind with walls and a front door, but the kind built from your voice, your scent, your prayers whispered through masks and monitors.
I walked into the NICU carrying two realities: The grief of delivering my son stillborn at 37 weeks and the fragile hope of a new life born far too soon. My son arrived at 24 weeks in the heartbeat of COVID when the world already felt uncertain and my own heart was still healing from loss. There were moments I wondered if he knew me if he could feel how deeply I loved him through wires, through glass, through fear.
But here is what I learned and what I need you to know: When your baby sees you, they do not see the exhaustion. They do not see the fear you carry back to your car at night. They do not see the tears you cry in hospital bathrooms or quiet hallways. They see warmth. They see familiarity. They see the one voice that has surrounded them since the beginning. They see the rhythm that calms their tiny body. They see love steady, present, unwavering.
You may feel powerless in this space, but your presence is powerful medicine. Your whisper through the isolette, your hand tucked gently beside theirs, your quiet prayers over their incubator, your consistency, your faith, your showing up again and again is building something inside them that machines cannot measure.
You are not just visiting. You are mothering in one of the bravest ways possible. There may be days when hope feels fragile. Days when the numbers and reports feel overwhelming. Days when you wonder how much more your heart can hold. On those days, borrow strength from those of us who have walked these halls before you.
I am a NICU mama and I am also the mother of a miracle who came home. I am a mother who has known deep loss and still witnessed life bloom again in hospital rooms. So I speak this over you gently:
You are seen. Your baby knows you. Your presence matters more than you realize. And even here, in the beeping and waiting and unknowns, love is growing.
When your baby sees you they see home.”
Love,
Jadacy
More of Our Journey:
“I walked into the NICU carrying the weight of multiple pregnancies and two profound realities: the memory of a previous pregnancy, the grief of delivering our son stillborn at 37 weeks, and the fragile hope of becoming parents again to a baby born far too soon. My husband and I had already known both anticipation and loss, and then found ourselves pregnant once more, only to welcome Max at just 24 weeks in the heartbeat of COVID.
He spent 117 days in the NICU, and in a season already marked by uncertainty, we held sorrow and faith at the same time, learning to love our son through wires, through glass, and through fear while trusting that he could feel the depth of our love every step of the way. By God’s grace, Max made a beautiful transition home and today he is thriving, a living reminder that hope can grow even in the most fragile places.”