Six Years On, Guilt Persists Over My Child’s Premature Arrival

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As November rolls in, it’s a whirlwind month for our family—my eldest son’s birthday lands right between Halloween and Thanksgiving, making it a time of joyful chaos. However, November also brings a wave of complex emotions; his birthday should be celebrated a month later, after the holiday rush. The reality, however, is that it’s a reminder of the harrowing ordeal we faced.

Instead of a typical lead-up to his birthday, I spent the first two weeks in and out of the hospital, desperately trying to halt preterm labor, followed by an arduous 69 days in the NICU. We were thrust into a reality filled with premature milestones—Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s celebrations intertwined with the stark reality of our son’s fragile state. I was overwhelmed with both joy and fear as I witnessed his first breaths without assistance, his initial successful brain scan, and the moment I first held him—surrounded by wires and tubes, constantly monitored by vigilant nurses.

My son entered the world at just 29 weeks and 1 day, weighing a mere 2 pounds 9 ounces. In those early days, clouded by worry, I mistakenly thought he had surpassed the 3-pound mark. The realization that he hadn’t brought a fresh wave of tears. It’s a miracle my milk came in at all, given how dehydrated I was from crying.

The first year was riddled with fear and guilt—I constantly questioned what I might have done to cause his early arrival. It broke my heart to see him endure surgeries and a bout of RSV. The day he didn’t smile at me six weeks after his due date sent me into a spiral of panic, convinced it was a sign of autism. Thankfully, he smiled days later, but I remained hyper-aware for any signs of developmental issues throughout that first year.

When his first birthday arrived, I was a bundle of emotions. I had anticipated this milestone as a celebration of overcoming the challenges associated with having a preemie, yet I awoke in tears, reflecting on the previous year’s struggles. My husband had taken our son for the morning, and I found myself wallowing in sadness, feeling unprepared for the day ahead. Summoning the strength, I eventually joined the family gathering, but my emotions were still raw—my face a swollen mess as I struggled to choke out “happy birthday.”

As the years passed, my son transformed from a fragile infant into a spirited toddler, and I began to think, “We’ve got this.” He was thriving, right at the 50th percentile for height and excelling in kindergarten. However, the guilt resurfaced—wasn’t it my role to shield him from harm? The memories of past miscarriages haunted me, often accompanied by the prevailing narrative that places blame on mothers for such outcomes.

Despite the fact that my son is healthy and thriving, I often feel guilty for harboring these feelings. It’s important to acknowledge that there are many premature infants who face greater challenges, and countless full-term children dealing with serious medical issues far beyond what my son has experienced. Consequently, I tend to keep my feelings bottled up, but as November approaches, I find those emotions bubbling to the surface once again. I know I’ll shed tears on his birthday, but I’ll also celebrate the joyful moments we’ve shared.

For those navigating similar journeys, it’s vital to seek out support and resources. The CDC provides an excellent resource for understanding pregnancy and infertility at CDC Infertility FAQ, and Make a Mom offers insights into the couples’ fertility journey. For more information on this topic, you can check out our post on this blog.

In summary, as I reflect on the past six years, I realize that while guilt may linger, it’s balanced by the joy of watching my son thrive. Each November reminds me of the journey we’ve been through, the lessons learned, and the resilience of both my child and myself.