Nobody prepares you for the moment you realize you have to go back to work.
Your baby is in an isolette. Your world has been reduced to monitors, alarms, and updates from nurses. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, someone reminds you — or your bank account reminds you — that the bills haven't stopped just because your life did.
So you go back. You answer emails. You sit in meetings. You do your job. And the entire time, part of you is somewhere else. Part of you is always at the bedside.
I've done this twice now. And I want to be honest with you about what it's actually like.
The First Time
When our first daughter was born, I took about a week off. That's what felt right at first — be there, figure out what's happening, get through the initial shock.
Then we realized something: we had a very long road ahead of us. 102 days, as it turned out.
And the paid leave our employer offered would be far more valuable when she actually came home. Not during the NICU stay — but after, when we'd need to be fully present for a baby who'd spent her first three and a half months in a hospital.
So we went back to work. And every day, we'd go to the hospital to see her. Sometimes together. Sometimes separately. Whatever our schedules allowed while still managing to keep our jobs. That was the reality — not a plan, just survival.
The Second Time
This time around has been different. Our employers have been incredibly accommodating, and we are truly blessed for that.
We've been able to work a hybrid schedule — teleworking when we can, working from wherever makes sense — so that we can be at the hospital between noon and four each day. That window is ours. That's when we hold her, talk to her, be present with her.
It's not perfect. But it's what works for us right now.
And that's the thing nobody tells you: there is no perfect setup. There's only what works for your family, your job, and your baby's needs on any given day.
The Exhaustion Is Real
The hardest part isn't the logistics. It's the exhaustion.
Every day is Groundhog Day. You wake up. You work. You drive to the hospital. You sit at the bedside. You drive home. You take care of your other child. You try to eat something. You try to sleep. And then you do it again.
All the time for "other stuff" is gone. Hobbies. Downtime. Seeing friends. The things that used to break up your week and recharge you — they don't exist right now. If you're feeling this, you're not alone — and taking care of yourself matters more than you think right now.
And nobody around you really gets it.
Coworkers don't understand that when you're not at work, you're not home relaxing. You're at a hospital. Or you're caring for your other kid. Or you're driving between the two. There is no off switch. There is no weekend.
Frankly, if work wasn't a necessity to provide for your family, it would be gone too.
The Groundhog Day Trap
My wife and I learned something important — probably too late the first time, but we caught it the second time around.
You have to break up the monotony. Intentionally.
When every single day looks the same, it starts to wear you down in ways you don't notice until you're already in the hole. The emotional flatness. The short temper. The feeling like you're just going through the motions and none of it matters.
We started forcing ourselves to break the routine. Small things. A different restaurant on the way home. A walk that isn't to or from the parking garage. Thirty minutes doing something — anything — that has nothing to do with the NICU or work.
And sometimes we still forget. We fall back into the grind and have to remind each other — hey, we need to break this up. For ourselves. Because you can't pour from an empty cup, and the NICU will empty you if you let it.
Talk to Your Boss
This is the thing I wish I'd figured out sooner.
The first time around, I kept my head down at work and just tried to push through. I didn't want to be a burden. I didn't want special treatment. I figured the less I said, the easier it would be.
I was wrong.
Talking to your supervisor — honestly, openly — about what you're actually going through can make an enormous difference. Most people want to help. Most employers have more flexibility than you realize. But they can't offer what they don't know you need.
You don't have to share every detail. But letting them know the basics — that your baby is in the NICU, that it could be weeks or months, that your schedule and energy are going to be different for a while — opens doors that staying silent keeps shut.
The second time around, we communicated early and honestly. And the difference has been night and day.
What I'd Tell You
If you're reading this from your desk, or from your car in the hospital parking lot, or from the NICU family room during your lunch break — here's what I want you to know:
You are not failing at work because your mind is at the hospital. You are not failing your baby because you went to work today. You are doing an impossible thing, and the fact that you're still standing is enough.
Find what works for your family. Talk to your employer. Break up the routine before it breaks you. And give yourself permission to not be operating at full capacity right now — because you're operating in crisis mode whether you recognize it or not.
The NICU stay is temporary. Your baby is hitting milestones every day, even the ones you can't see from your desk. Your job will still be there. Your baby needs you to take care of yourself so you can take care of them.
And when this is over — when you're home, all of you, together — you'll look back at this season and realize just how strong you actually were.
Even on the days it didn't feel like it.
— Louie
Two-time NICU dad. Still clocking in.
Between Beeps is a newsletter for NICU families navigating the in-between. Subscribe below for honest support from a parent who's been there.
Between Beeps does not provide medical advice. Always follow your NICU team’s recommendations.