Uncomplicated Momming

In honor of NICU Awareness Month

The first five days after my twins were born, I was still in the hospital, recovering from a c-section. But even when I was discharged, the hardest part began—leaving my babies in the NICU. I could have stayed on a cot in their room, but the nurses, understanding the long journey ahead, encouraged me to rest and heal at home. So, every day, I came back to the hospital, though not for the whole day—NICU life is a marathon, not a sprint.

The days were organized around “cares”—rigid, three-hour blocks that dictated everything from feeding to diaper changes. My twins, too early to bottle feed, started on NG (Gavage/Naso-gastric) feeding tubes. These are thin, flexible tubes inserted through the nose and down into the stomach, allowing them to receive nutrition directly. It was a critical step to ensure they got the calories they needed to grow strong. Their feeds were slowly weaned to bottles as they grew more capable of feeding independently. and their feeds were slowly weaned to bottles as they grew stronger. Monitoring every ounce of their intake and output became an obsession. Each diaper was weighed meticulously to see how much their little bodies were processing, with everything documented on the computer so the care team had real-time visibility into their progress.

They began their NICU journey in isolates, which are enclosed incubators designed to help regulate their body temperature and provide a controlled environment. These devices maintain warmth and humidity, essential for preterm babies whose bodies struggle to maintain stable temperatures. Skin-to-skin contact became vital, though it was limited in those early days. I couldn’t hold them for hours on end because they needed to stay stable, cocooned in the warmth of the isolette. Even when I held them, it felt like a delicate dance—skin-to-skin meant connection, but it also meant watching for any signs of distress.

The NICU was like stepping into another world, where time didn’t follow the usual rules. With no windows and lights and sounds constantly flashing and beeping, the room reminded me of a casino. It was a place where you were always “losing money”—time slipped away so quickly while you tried to balance your baby’s needs, your own emotions, and the unrelenting cycle of three-hour “cares.”

Yet, within that strict routine, small victories—like graduating from tubes to bottles, stable temperatures, or a clean diaper—became monumental wins.