The Space That Became Our Second Home

This room became our second home.

For 76 days, this was where we showed up every morning, every evening, and all the in-between hours when time didn’t feel real anymore. The recliner in the corner, the soft hum of machines, the glow of monitors, the quiet stillness of the room, every part of this space is etched into our memory.

This was Aldin’s room. The place where he grew from 1.98 lbs and 13.98 inches into a stronger, steadier little fighter. It’s where we learned his rhythms, the way he breathed, stretched, and settled, and where we began to understand what each small change meant.

There was a small chart on the wall that the nurses updated through the day. It showed his weight in grams. Every morning we walked in and checked it before we did anything else. Sometimes it was a few grams up, sometimes it stayed the same, and on the harder days, it dipped. But on the days when the number rose, even just a little, it felt like the whole room brightened. Those few grams meant he was growing and getting one step closer to coming home.

We spent countless hours here, losing track of day and night. Some days we sat in silence, listening to the steady beep of the machines. Other days we talked to him softly, watched him sleep, or waited for the moment when we could hold him for kangaroo care. Even when the room was busy with nurses, doctors, and rounds, it somehow always stayed peaceful around him.

This room is where we felt the highs and lows of NICU life. It’s where we celebrated every ounce gained, every tube removed, every stable night. It’s also where we carried the heavier moments, the alarms that made us freeze and the updates that sat with us long after we left for the night.

But above everything, this is the room where we got to know our son. We watched his personality show itself in tiny ways: the way he squeezed a finger, the stretch he did when he was comfortable, the calm look he had when he slept. These moments, tucked into the corners of this room, are the ones I’ll always remember.

When I look at this picture now, I see more than medical equipment or a hospital setup. I see the place that held us. The place that held him. The place that gave us hope, one small moment at a time.

This room is where our NICU story unfolded, one quiet breath and one tiny gram at a time.