The NICU smells like antiseptic, hope, and fear all rolled into one.
I remember walking in for the first time after my daughter was born, fragile and tiny, hooked up to machines I didn’t understand. Every beep felt like a countdown.

☁️ A moment that stayed with me

I pulled up a chair next to her incubator and just stared.
Her little hand curled around my finger like it was the only lifeline she had.
I thought I was there to comfort her, but really… she was comforting me.

The nurses were busy. I was scared. And yet, in that stillness, I realized something:
Even in the middle of chaos, small moments are everything.

🌿 The strange rhythm of hope and fear

The NICU doesn’t follow the world’s schedule.
Feedings, monitors, alarms—they dictate your day.
Some days you celebrate tiny victories.
Other days you watch and wait, heart in your throat.

💛 What I learned about love and presence

I learned that love doesn’t need perfection.
It doesn’t need control.
It just needs you to show up.

Holding her hand. Whispering nonsense. Brushing her hair.
These weren’t just routines—they were lifelines.
For her. And for me.

🏡 The quiet truth for parents

Life outside the NICU feels different afterward.
You carry a little more patience. A little more perspective.
You understand how fragile, how fleeting, and how miraculous each ordinary day truly is.

Even now, when I tuck her in at home, I think about those early moments in the NICU.
And I remember: presence matters more than perfection.
Connection matters more than control.
And love—love matters above all else.

Love

Rochel

A mother of 4 of the cutest children. I have seen the ups and downs in motherhood. Subscribe to this newsletter to hear my raw and honest thoughts on the joys and chaos of motherhood.