Esther and William, born at 27 weeks, stayed in hospital for 59 days.

Everyday I would go to them in the hospital and do all I could to be a part of their life in those earliest days.

Each step toward the door meant that I could be more involved in their care but to begin with their was very little that I could do.

It was a steep learning curve, practically and emotionally.

I felt like it was an immediate, premature yet delayed start to motherhood.

It is so very hard to explain.

One thing I can do though is try to explain how I spent my days, my long long days in NICU.

When Esther and William were born I could not drive and so David had to drive me to and from the hospital. It meant that most days once I got there I was there for the duration and on my own whilst David worked. He planned to work as much and as hard as he could so that he could be ready to look after the babies once they came home. As well as running his business he also had a twin nursery to prepare. Our babies were not expected for at least another three months!

Every morning we drove to the hospital and tried to arrive by 8 o’clock. The nurses would wait for us each morning to carry out the babies’ cares. David would often stay and help, it was precious contact with our little people but sometimes he had to leave for work.

The cares routine was carried out twice a day. I changed tiny nappies, washed tiny bodies, oiled fragile skin and cleaned and moistened dry mouths. It was precious time with my babies. To begin with I was often watched closely by a nurse but as time went on it became our time. A time to examine tiny toes and feel tiny fingers. It was all part of bonding and falling in love.

Most of most days were spent sat on a tall stool looking through the misty steam of the incubator to my tiny babies.

I tried to move between the two of them regularly. Trying to ensure I had some awake time with each of them each day. It was hard to tell with William at the beginning as his eyes were tight shut. The days were spent watching and waiting. Waiting to be told that we could do this!

Between 8.30am and 9 the doctors would do their rounds. At this time we would be asked to leave while the doctors talked with other parents about their child. Their was a kitchen where we could go to make a cup of tea and a room where we could sit and wait. I often used this time to express milk as that way I would not have to leave Esther and William alone again for at least another three hours.

Often during this time if David were still around he would go to work and I would walk out with him to the hospital shop where I would most days buy a can of coke and some chocolate raisins. It became an important part of my routine this little ritual.

When the doctors spoke to me it was often to say no change, or to advise how many days one baby or the other had left til they needed a blood transfusion or if their milk amount was to go up, or down. We were lucky in that nothing too serious happened to our beautiful son and daughter. They were strong and they were growing. They needed help with their breathing and needed light therapy for jaundice but on the whole we and they were very lucky. Most days from the doctor we were told no change and to carry on doing what we were doing.

From 10am the day was often mine. I would sit first with one baby and then the other reading to them and singing to them. They had picture books that I bought for them when they were born and on their one month birthday. I read them Milly Molly Mandy stories and Just William too. I told them about their family and we planned what we would do when at last they were home. I read rhymes and poems and I sang them songs. Esther’s song was There Was A Princess Long Ago and William’s was The Grand Old Duke Of York. I also used to sing Thumbelina and lots of school hymns. I wanted them to know my voice but also the constant communication helped me. It soothed me. It made me feel connected to them. My babies.

Every three hours I had to express milk. I would stretch the three hours sometimes until it became so painful that I had to go. I hated leaving. I used to hate the thought of something happening while I was gone.

Between the reading and the singing and talking to the wonderful staff came the thinking. The what ifs, the maybes, the whys. Intertwined with the thinking was the worrying and the wondering and the the guilt. Always the guilt, of what had I done to cause my children to be lying here when they should be safe and warm inside.

David would come again in the evening. Most days we would leave at 8. When they were tiny there was little we could do after their final cares. We were aware that I needed looking after too. I was recovering from major abdominal surgery as well as recovering from the birth and dealing with the emotions of prematurity.

Home was for sleep and food and expressing milk. I had not started blogging then. I was in no state to read. My sleep was troubled, disturbed. I longed to be back at the incubator side. Back with my babies.

The sounds of the NICU never go away. The beeping, the buzzing, the alarms. Even in the still of the night at home the bells would be ringing in my head.

I dreamed of a day when I could bring our babies home.

Every morning as we drove to the hospital, listening to The Killers, we would be wondering what we might find there that day. The walk through the hospital corridors seemed so very long. I think I held my breath most mornings until I saw that my babies were still breathing theirs.

A day in the life of a NICU Mum is a long and emotional one but each day of that time I witnessed a miracle. The miracle of life beginning. And two of those lives were mine.