Motherhood has a way of rewriting every plan you thought you had. In 2024, my journey into becoming a mother unfolded in a way I could never have imagined—one filled with fear, resilience, and ultimately, overwhelming gratitude. This is the story of my daughter, Monsai, a tiny warrior who arrived earlier than expected and taught me more about strength than I ever thought possible.
At just 18 weeks pregnant, my world shifted in a single appointment. What was supposed to be a routine checkup turned into a life-altering moment when my doctors told me my cervix had shortened. I remember the room spinning as the words sank in. Shortened cervix. High risk. Possible preterm birth. From that moment on, pregnancy was no longer just about baby names and nursery colors—it became a careful balancing act between hope and fear.
Doctors immediately recommended hospitalization and close monitoring. Weeks blurred together as I moved in and out of hospital rooms, clinging to the same prayer every day: please, just let her stay a little longer. Medication became part of my daily routine, meant to calm my uterus and give Monsai more time to grow safely inside me. Each ultrasound felt like both a blessing and a test of my courage. I smiled on the outside, but inside, I was constantly bracing myself for bad news.
Between weeks 18 and 23, every single day felt fragile. I learned to measure time differently—not in months, but in hours and heartbeats. The doctors were honest but compassionate. If Monsai could reach 28 weeks, her chances would improve significantly. Thirty-two weeks would be even better. And full term at 40 weeks? That was the dream.
But Monsai, it turned out, had her own timeline.
At 33 weeks, my water broke without warning. The shock was immediate and paralyzing. I had come so far—so close to what doctors considered “safer”—yet suddenly, everything was happening at once. The rush to the hospital felt surreal, like watching my life unfold through foggy glass. My heart raced with a thousand questions: Is she ready? Will she breathe on her own? Will she survive?
When Monsai entered the world, she was impossibly small, yet breathtakingly beautiful. Born prematurely, she was whisked away to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit almost immediately. I didn’t get the moment I had imagined—the warm weight of my baby placed on my chest. Instead, I watched as medical professionals surrounded her, tubes and monitors becoming her lifelines.
The NICU quickly became our second home. It was a place filled with constant beeping, whispered conversations, and silent prayers. Monsai needed oxygen support to help her breathe. I stood beside her incubator, staring at her tiny chest rising and falling, afraid to blink. She looked so fragile, yet even then, there was something unmistakable about her—she was fighting.
Those first days were the hardest. As a mother, the instinct to hold, comfort, and protect your baby is overwhelming. Not being able to do that right away felt like a physical ache. Instead, I learned to express love through gentle touches, whispered words, and endless hope. Every small improvement—stable oxygen levels, a successful feeding through a tube—felt like a victory worth celebrating.
Slowly, day by day, Monsai began to show the world what a true NICU warrior looks like. Her lungs strengthened. Oxygen support was reduced. Feeding milestones followed—first through a tube, then learning to feed on her own. Each step forward was earned with patience, medical expertise, and her own incredible determination.
What surprised me most during our NICU journey was how deeply it changed my perspective. I learned to celebrate the smallest wins. A gram of weight gain. A stable night. A calm breathing pattern. In the NICU, progress isn’t measured in leaps—it’s measured in inches, and every inch matters.
Today, Monsai is thriving. She laughs, grows, and explores the world with curiosity and joy. Looking at her now, it’s hard to believe she once fit so perfectly in the palm of my hand. Her journey wasn’t easy, and it didn’t start the way I imagined—but it was powerful.
I share Monsai’s story for every parent standing beside an incubator right now, wondering how they will get through another day. Premature birth is terrifying. The uncertainty can feel unbearable. But within that fear, there is also incredible strength—both in your baby and in you.
Your child is stronger than you think. Stronger than the wires, stronger than the odds, stronger than the fear. With love, skilled care, and time, miracles happen every single day in NICUs around the world.
Monsai is living proof that even the tiniest fighters carry enormous courage. She is my miracle, my teacher, and my reminder that hope can survive even the most fragile beginnings. Every day with her feels like a gift I’ll never take for granted.
To all the NICU parents reading this: you are not alone. Your story matters. And your little warrior is fighting harder than you know. 💚🌸