Being a Mum: Love, Loss, NICU and Our Beautiful Chaos

Motherhood is something I dreamed about long before I ever held a baby in my arms.

I imagined soft newborn cuddles, messy playgroups, school runs, laughter filling the house and the beautiful chaos everyone talks about. I knew motherhood wouldn’t be easy, but I never imagined just how many different versions of myself I would have to become in order to survive it.

I never imagined learning medical procedures alongside learning nursery rhymes. I never imagined measuring milestones in grams gained instead of months passed. I never imagined loving four tiny humans so deeply it would physically hurt… while also carrying fear, trauma, guilt and overwhelming gratitude all at the same time.

This is my story of becoming a mum. Not the filtered version. Not the highlight reel. The real, messy, painful, beautiful chaos.

Wanting to Become a Mum

I always knew I wanted to be a mum. I never knew exactly when it would happen, but I was with the love of my life and, after seven years together, we decided to try for a baby.

It took us four months to fall pregnant with our eldest. During that time, I became obsessed with tracking ovulation, monitoring my temperature, lying with my legs in the air afterwards, and feeling that awful sinking feeling every time my period arrived.

For us, the journey wasn’t long. I know how lucky that makes us. I used to work in a fertility clinic, and I saw first-hand the emotional strength of couples battling infertility. I found the science fascinating, conception, IVF, embryology, but I also witnessed just how fragile hope can be.

Olivia – My Introduction to Motherhood

Our eldest daughter, Olivia, was born in May 2015.

Despite desperately wanting her, I hated being pregnant. I suffered with constant nausea, swelling and went ten days overdue. I also struggled mentally with losing my identity. Before pregnancy, I was a slim size 8, but I gained a lot of weight, helped massively by my obsession with crème eggs.

My labour lasted 27 hours. I had pethidine which did absolutely nothing. I attempted the birthing pool but hated it and climbed straight back out. I eventually had an epidural and forceps delivery. Then complications followed when I couldn’t deliver the placenta naturally and had to be taken to theatre to have it manually removed.

Darren was left alone in the delivery room with Olivia, a brand new dad holding his brand new daughter. Looking back, I believe that moment created an incredible bond between them from the start.

Coming home was when things unravelled for me.

Breastfeeding was agonising. Pumping made me bleed. Every time Olivia cried from hunger, I felt panic rising because feeding her meant pain. I had no support and eventually switched to formula, feeling like I had completely failed as a mum.

I loved Olivia deeply but struggled to feel happiness. I felt numb. I was never formally diagnosed, but I truly believe I experienced postnatal depression. Health visitors checked on me weekly, and around three months postpartum, something slowly shifted. I began to feel like myself again.

I returned to work full-time when Olivia turned one, but I carry guilt that I missed so much of her early life.

Sophia – A Different Experience

Three years later, Sophia arrived. October 2018.

This pregnancy felt easier. I was healthier, more prepared and far less anxious. My cravings swapped chocolate for ice lollies. I worked at a plastic surgery clinic throughout pregnancy and loved it.

Sophia was born five days late. I had researched hypnobirthing and began labour calm and in control… until everything intensified rapidly. I was told I was only 4cm dilated when I felt an uncontrollable urge to push. Within minutes I was rushed to a delivery room, lifted onto the bed by Darren and Sophia arrived just two minutes later.

No pain relief. No gas and air properly used. Just chaos.

Despite it being medically “textbook”, I found the experience traumatising because I felt so out of control. Thankfully, I held Sophia immediately, delivered the placenta naturally and experienced instant overwhelming love.

She was born at 6:02pm and we were home by 9pm… stopping at McDonald’s on the way.

Breastfeeding sadly didn’t last long. I later had the Mirena coil fitted, but eight months later had it removed due to severe mood changes. It felt like living under a heavy fog that lifted almost instantly once it was removed.

Marriage and the Biggest Surprise of Our Lives

In 2022, Darren and I finally got married, one of the happiest days of our lives.

Soon afterwards, we discovered I was pregnant again. But something felt different. I couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong.

A private scan at six weeks showed one healthy baby. At our NHS 12-week scan, we discovered we were expecting twins.

Our shock quickly turned into fear when doctors noticed measurement differences and suspected they were identical twins. We were warned about possible complications including heart defects or chromosomal conditions.

The following day, we were referred to fetal medicine where we were told there was a high chance of Twin-to-Twin Transfusion Syndrome (TTTS).

TTTS occurs when identical twins share a placenta but receive unequal blood supply. One baby becomes deprived of blood and nutrients, while the other receives too much, placing strain on their organs and heart.

I already knew how serious TTTS was. I broke down instantly.

From that moment, pregnancy became a constant cycle of scans, fear and uncertainty.

Living With Constant Fear

We delayed announcing the pregnancy until 18 weeks. Weekly scans showed Teddy wasn’t growing properly, and scan reports repeatedly focused on preserving Max’s life.

At 23 weeks, we were referred to King’s College Hospital, where surgery to save Max was considered. Thankfully, surgery wasn’t needed, and we were told we might reach 32 weeks.

But complications continued. There was eventually a 55% size difference between the boys. Teddy’s blood flow deteriorated dangerously, and at 30 weeks and 4 days, I was admitted for an emergency C-section.

The Day My Boys Were Born

On Valentine’s Day 2023, I delivered the boys surrounded by over 20 medical professionals.

Max was born first and cried immediately but needed breathing support. Teddy followed one minute later… and made no sound. Darren later told me he feared Teddy wasn’t alive. After what felt like forever, he let out the tiniest cry.

They were taken to intensive care within seconds.

I didn’t properly meet my sons until the following day.

The NICU Journey

NICU was unlike anything I had ever experienced.

I stayed on a ward surrounded by mums holding their babies while mine were down the corridor fighting to survive. I pumped milk constantly because it was the only thing I felt I could control.

Max suffered severe jaundice and required a long line for infection treatment. Holding them felt unnatural because they were so tiny and covered in wires. Their nappies were half the size of my phone.

Darren and I learned how to change nappies through incubator doors, take blood pressure readings and feed them through NG tubes. We became parents and medical carers overnight.

After three weeks, I finally held both boys together. It was one of the most overwhelming moments of my life.

More Devastating News

Routine head scans showed both boys suffered brain bleeds. Teddy’s resolved without lasting damage.

Max was diagnosed with Periventricular Leukomalacia (PVL), a brain injury affecting the white matter responsible for movement and coordination, often leading to cerebral palsy.

I felt completely shattered and powerless.

Bringing Them Home… Slowly

Max progressed and eventually learned to breastfeed, something I never thought would happen after my earlier experiences. Nurses were unbelievably patient and supportive.

Meanwhile, Teddy faced ongoing challenges including blood sugar instability, lung disease, blood transfusions, feeding difficulties and temperature regulation.

Max came home in April. Teddy remained in NICU. The joy of bringing one baby home was overshadowed by guilt leaving the other behind.

After hernia surgery and 100 days in hospital, Teddy finally came home in June.

Our family was finally together.

When Trauma Caught Up With Me

We should have felt complete happiness. Instead, my mental health collapsed.

I was diagnosed with postnatal depression and PTSD. I struggled to bond with Teddy because subconsciously, I had already grieved him during pregnancy. Every morning, I feared finding him lifeless in his cot.

Antidepressants and mental health support slowly helped me rebuild myself.

Learning a New Normal

Our lives became centred around medical routines, blood sugar checks, medications, PEG feeding and replacing NG tubes when Teddy repeatedly pulled them out.

Max began physiotherapy and occupational therapy before being diagnosed with cerebral palsy affecting all four limbs, predominantly his left side. Our home is now filled with therapy equipment and support aids.

This is our normal now.

It’s hard. It’s exhausting. But it’s also filled with strength we never knew we had.

The Reality of Motherhood, Trauma and Love

Motherhood isn’t always glowing and perfect.

Sometimes it looks like hospital corridors instead of baby groups.

Sometimes it looks like medical training instead of maternity leave.

Sometimes it looks like grief, fear and trauma sitting alongside overwhelming love.

Motherhood broke me in ways I never expected.

But it rebuilt me in ways I never imagined.

Strength isn’t coping perfectly.

Strength is crying in hospital bathrooms.

Strength is asking for help.

Strength is showing up every day when your heart feels shattered.

I used to think being a good mum meant being calm and organised.

Now I know being a good mum means loving your children through chaos, appointments, therapy sessions, sleepless nights and uncertainty.

Our life is loud.

Our life is complicated.

Our life is full of medical routines and emotional highs and lows.

But it is also full of resilience, laughter and a love so big it sometimes feels impossible to hold.

If sharing our story helps even one parent feel less alone, it is worth every vulnerable word.

Because so many families are living their own version of beautiful chaos.

And if you are one of them, I see you.

You are stronger than you think.

You are allowed to struggle.

You are allowed to grieve the journey you thought you would have.

And you are still an incredible parent.

You Are Not Alone 💛

If this story resonates with you, support is available:

PANDAS Foundation - https://pandasfoundation.org.ukBliss

Neonatal Charity - https://www.bliss.org.uk

Mind Mental Health Support - https://www.mind.org.uk

Tommy’s Pregnancy Support - https://www.tommys.org

Scope Disability Support - https://www.scope.org.uk

If you are in crisis, please contact your GP, NHS 111 or emergency services.