NICU Redefines what a milestone looks like

In NICU, the things you celebrate are not what you would normally celebrate with a newborn.

I distinctly remember getting ridiculously excited over the very first 1ml of expressed milk. Here I was, having given birth at just over 24 weeks pregnant, learning to express milk for my newborn son. Then we hit 5ml, then 10ml. I’m not ashamed to say how strongly we celebrated those moments. High fives abounded.

This is what NICU does. It redefines what milestones and wins look like.

We celebrated every single millilitre of milk Josiah had. He was an absolute champion foodie. Many premature babies struggle with feeds and often bring them back up or need to go back on reduced feeds. Not our boy. From 1ml every four hours, soon we were feeding every two hours, eventually get up to nearly 10ml each feed.

No milestone went uncelebrated. I have proof — a five-minute-long video that Josh took of Josiah’s first poo.

I wrote in my journal at the time:

“By day six, Josiah was up to 2ml every two hours and finally did his first poo! He needed a little help, but I remember sitting behind the privacy screen expressing while the nurses gave Josiah a suppository. Josh was with them bedside, and next thing I hear is all this cheering and laughing as Josiah started pooing immediately. Josh was cheering him on, saying, ‘Go son, go!’ whilst Josiah just lay there chilled as anything. Josh filmed it all, and our little boy pooed for five minutes straight.”

The most precious celebrations were the moments of connection.

Days where we could spend more time with our hands poked through the holes of the humidicrib, giving Josiah little foot and hand hugs. We never took those moments for granted, because some days we couldn’t even do that.

The first hold. The first skin-to-skin. Beyond momentous.

A stable night of stats for Josiah — oxygen requirements low, heart rate steady.
Win.

Making it through another day.
Win.

Another gram gained.
Big win.

His weight would be written on a little whiteboard each day. We proudly took photos when Josiah hit the 500g mark. I remember one of our doctors celebrating when Josiah finally got his little double chin.

As a NICU parent, you live in microscopic victories. No victory is too small. The outside world may not understand why a few millilitres of milk, a stable night of observations, or a dirty nappy can feel monumental. But in NICU, those moments matter deeply. They become the hope you cling to and the joy you learn to find in the middle of fear. We celebrated things most people would never think twice about.

Our goals looked different:
Doubling his birth weight.
Reducing oxygen support.
Another line taken out.

Josiah was attached to multiple lines and wires from birth — nutrition, medication, oxygen, you name it.

Getting off the steroids supporting his lungs.
Moving out of the humidicrib into an open cot.
First bath.
First breastfeed.
Wearing his first outfit.

Nearly all of the milestones we had written down, hoped for, and prayed over, we never got to experience.

Josiah weighed just 755g when he passed away. He remained on oxygen and feeding support, on medications, and in his humidicrib. We never got to dress him while he was alive.

It drives home how important it was to celebrate everything and anything.

Josiah showed us what a fighter he was. And we will be forever grateful for every small moment we got to celebrate with him.

Because these ordinary, tiny moments became the memories we would carry forever.