You Are Not Failing Your Baby

The appointment. The food. The stress. The timing. The "what if I had just..."

Pause.

You did not cause this.

Prematurity is not a punishment. Complications are not a verdict on your body. And your baby being here is not proof that you failed.

Sometimes bodies deliver early. Sometimes biology does what biology does. Sometimes medicine steps in.

But guilt does not belong to you.

You are not the reason your baby is here. You are the reason they are not alone.

Everyone grows up picturing the birth. The delivery room. The crying baby placed on your chest. The family flooding in with balloons and stuffed animals. The Instagram photo from the hospital bed with perfect lighting and a caption about the best day of your life.

And then your baby arrives early. Or your baby arrives sick. Or your baby arrives in a way that sends them to a place full of wires and monitors and alarms instead of your arms.

And in the quiet of the NICU — and there is so much quiet between the beeps — your mind begins to wander. And then it begins to wonder.

What if I had rested more. What if I had eaten differently. What if I had gone to that appointment sooner. What if my body had just held on a little longer.

The NICU gives you an enormous amount of time to sit with those thoughts. Hours at the bedside with nothing to do but watch your baby breathe and replay every decision that led to this moment. And in that space, guilt grows.

It grows for moms. And it grows for dads. Because both parents carry this, even if they carry it differently.

My wife blamed herself. Both times.

With our first daughter, born at 26 weeks, she was convinced her body had failed. That something she did — or didn't do — caused our baby to arrive too soon. She carried that guilt through 102 days in the NICU. Through every alarm, every setback, every hard conversation with a doctor.

With our second daughter, born at 23 weeks, it came back. The same guilt, deeper this time. The feeling that her body hated having babies. That she was broken.

She wasn't broken. She isn't broken. And if you're feeling that right now — neither are you.

Your body grew a human being. Your body sustained a life. And when it was time — whether that time came too early or not — medicine stepped in to continue what your body started.

That is not failure. That is biology. And you do not owe anyone an apology for it.

I felt like I was failing constantly.

I felt like I was failing when I didn't show up. When life or work or exhaustion kept me away and I knew my daughter was in that isolette without me.

I felt like I was failing when I left and didn't say goodbye. When the weight of the day crushed me and I just needed to get to the car before I fell apart.

I felt like I was failing when I would do kangaroo care and she would start desating or getting upset. Like my touch was wrong. Like I was hurting her by trying to hold her.

I felt like I was failing when feedings started and I couldn't seem to have the same touch as mom. Like I was fumbling something that should have been natural.

I felt like I was failing when I couldn't get work out of my head while I was at the bedside. When I was supposed to be present with my daughter but my mind was on a deadline or an email or something that didn't matter half as much as the tiny person in front of me.

I felt like I failed a lot.

But I didn't. And neither are you.

Here's what I've learned after two NICU stays and hundreds of days at the bedside:

Showing up imperfectly is still showing up.

The feeding that didn't go well? You were there. The kangaroo care that triggered an alarm? You were there. The day you left early because you had nothing left? You came back the next day. The visit where your mind was somewhere else? Your baby still heard your voice, still felt your warmth, still knew you were close.

You are not failing because it's hard. It's supposed to be hard. You are in a situation that no parent is designed for, doing things no parenting book covers, in an environment that would break anyone.

And you're still here.

I wish someone had sat us down on day one and said this:

You will feel like you are not doing enough. That feeling is a liar.

You will compare yourself to other NICU parents. Don't.

You will have days where you don't want to go to the hospital. That doesn't make you a bad parent.

You will have days where you can't stop crying in the car. That doesn't make you weak.

You will wonder if your baby knows you. They do. They knew your voice before they were born. They know it now.

You will get through this. Not because you're superhuman. Because you're a parent. And parents find a way.

Bookmark this page. Screenshot it. Save it somewhere you can find it at 2 AM when the guilt is loudest.

You did not cause this.

You are not failing.

Your baby is not alone because of you.

And one day — maybe not today, maybe not this week — you are going to walk out of this NICU with your baby in your arms. And every imperfect visit, every hard day, every moment you thought you weren't enough will be part of the story of how you got there.

You are enough. Right now. Exactly as you are.

— Louie

Two-time NICU dad. Still showing up imperfectly.

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Between Beeps does not provide medical advice. Always follow your NICU team’s recommendations.