April 22 — The Story Between Storms
It’s wild how fast love happens. You think it’ll come gradually, building over time like it does in the movies. But sometimes, love crashes in all at once—loud, uninvited, impossible to ignore.
I didn’t expect to feel this way.
Not this fast.
Not in this place.
Not under these conditions.
But there she was—more than I ever dreamed.
NICU Days Feel Like Years
The second day in the NICU didn’t feel real. There was a quietness in the room that made everything feel sacred, like time was stretching to give us more of her.
Machines beeped. Nurses whispered. My body ached. But none of it compared to watching her chest rise and fall. Every breath was a miracle.
She was so small.
So fragile.
So fierce.
And even though she wasn’t in my arms, she was completely wrapped around my heart.
When the Doctors Spoke, We Listened Differently
They gave us updates that day—stats, numbers, plans, percentages. But I don’t remember much of it. I wasn’t listening for logic. I was listening for hope.
They said things were going “as expected,” which didn’t sound good or bad—just clinical. But all I heard was, She’s still fighting.
And that was enough.
We Were Supposed to Be Planning to Celebrate Your Approaching Arrival…
At 26 weeks, we were planning a baby shower.
Soft greens. Wildflower themes. Baby names scribbled on notepads.
I was supposed to be easing into the third trimester—checking things off a registry and watching my belly grow.
Instead, I was watching you through what felt like a fortress.
A distance I couldn’t cross.
You were sleeping beneath warmers, entangled in wires, now on a ventilator.
And yet, somehow… it still felt sacred.
She Was So Much More Than I Imagined
Her eye mask shielded her from the sight of us.
Her earmuffs softened the sound of our voices.
But the flutter of her feet—rhythmic, like she was dreaming of running into my arms—was all the connection I needed.
She still didn’t coo.
She still didn’t cry.
She still didn’t blink up at me with wide, searching eyes.
But she didn’t need to.
She existed.
And her existence filled every corner of my soul.
More than the birth story I wanted… she gave me the one I didn’t know I needed.
One written in faith and fragility.
One that taught me love isn’t always loud or convenient—
it just is.
To the Parent Whose Story Looks Different
If you’re watching your child fight instead of watching them smile… if you’re whispering through plastic instead of holding them close… if your dreams have shifted but your love has only deepened—this is for you.
You are not missing out on motherhood.
You are living it in its rawest, realest form.
And what you’re doing—what you’re holding—
It’s more than most could ever dream.
The Story Between Storms 
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