14/10/2025
O.N.E
Twelve months have nearly passed, and instead of excitement for this milestone pride for my baby girl and twelve beautiful months of breastfeeding I’m met with an unexplainable sadness.
Not from the birth itself, but from the fear of the unknown when my waters broke early. From feeling torn between what I’d learned and what I was being told.
From being separated after birth, seeing CPAP cover her tiny face, watching her be pricked and prodded every few hours. From advocating so hard for her to only have my colostrum and milk, and the pressure of waiting for it to come in.
The shared ward, walking the halls every three hours like a ghost. The alarms. The fear. The exhaustion. The sound of the machines that still echo in my mind.
Finally being discharged, only to return days later feeling like I’d failed her. Coming home and realising I’d been conditioned to the mathematics of special care, not the instincts of motherhood.
I don’t know if these feelings are normal, but I wanted to share them for any mum who finds the anniversary of her baby’s first weeks brings more sadness than joy.
