The moment I became a Mother

My baby. It took me a while to whisper those words to the tiny, blood-red thing quivering within a nest of rolled-up cloth nappies. His hospital tags bore my name, but how could I have possibly earned the right to call myself a mother when the only thing I could do for my son each day…

No, my baby isn’t normal

It started off as a minor irritant. A prickle, easily brushed aside. But after what felt like the 200th time someone blithely compared my micropremmie to a ‘normal’ baby, that word felt like a festering sore which was never allowed to heal. Ok, in the scheme of things, it wasn’t the worst thing you could…