Breastfeeding Through the NICU Glass: My Journey as a Preemie Mom
When I first imagined breastfeeding my baby, I pictured soft skin-to-skin moments, midnight feedings under a warm blanket, and that magical bond I’d heard so much about. I didn’t picture fluorescent lights, wires, feeding tubes, and watching my baby through an incubator’s glass walls.
My daughter was born at 34 weeks, weighing just 1.8 kilos — fragile, tiny, and in need of round-the-clock care in the NICU. I was wheeled into the unit barely 24 hours after delivery, still sore and overwhelmed, and all I wanted was to hold her. But I couldn’t. Not yet.
And breastfeeding? That seemed like a distant dream.
The First Drop
In the NICU, nurses kindly explained the importance of breast milk for preemies — how every drop was like medicine for her underdeveloped immune system. But how do you breastfeed a baby who can’t suck, can’t latch, and has a feeding tube taped to her face?
I was handed a hospital-grade pump and told to start expressing — every 2 to 3 hours, around the clock.
I sat in the hospital room, half-numb, machine humming beside me, trying to coax my body into doing something it wasn’t quite ready for. The first time I pumped, I cried. Not out of joy — out of frustration. Nothing came. My body was healing from major trauma, and here I was, already feeling like I was failing my daughter.
Eventually, after a few tries, I got a few precious drops of colostrum. I handed them to the nurse like they were gold. Because to me, they were.
Feeding Tubes and Forcefeeds
For the first few weeks, my milk was syringe-fed to her through a nasogastric (NG) tube. Sometimes she digested it; sometimes she didn’t. I watched the numbers on the machines more than I watched her face. Every feed was measured, monitored, and recorded.
When she couldn’t tolerate the amount, they called it "residuals." I called it another heartbreak.
It didn’t feel natural. It felt clinical. I wasn't her mother, I was her milk supplier. I didn’t get the cuddles or the sleepy feeds. I got the cooler full of labeled bottles and the weight charts.
The Guilt and the Pressure
The NICU is filled with pressure — spoken and unspoken. Every time I walked in, I’d see posters about the "benefits of breast milk." Nurses would ask gently, "How’s your supply?"
And if it dipped? I panicked. I tried every lactation tea, every oatmeal recipe, power pumping sessions that left me raw and exhausted. I even started setting alarms at 2 a.m. just to pump — even when I desperately needed sleep.
But what no one talks about is the crushing guilt. The guilt of not being able to hold your baby right away. The guilt of not producing enough. The guilt of secretly dreading the next pump session.
Our First Latch
It took over a month before I got to try a real latch. A nurse helped guide her to my breast, and she rooted instinctively. She didn’t suck for long, but she tried. That moment? It shattered me in the best way.
It took weeks of practice, skin-to-skin sessions, nipple shields, and weight checks before she could even begin transitioning off the tube.
But slowly, beautifully, we got there.
What I Learned
Breastfeeding a preemie is a test of patience, persistence, and self-compassion. It doesn’t look like the idyllic pictures you see in parenting books. It's machines and tubes and scheduled feedings. It's crying over spilled milk — literally.
But it’s also resilience. It’s your baby fighting, growing, inching their way toward you with every feed. It’s realizing that even if things don’t go perfectly, you’re still enough.
Whether I pumped, latched, mixed with formula, or supplemented — every drop was an act of love.
To the Mom in the NICU…
If you’re reading this while staring at your tiny baby in an incubator, wondering if breastfeeding will ever feel natural — you’re not alone.
Take it one day, one pump, one drop at a time.
You're doing an amazing job. And no matter how your feeding journey unfolds, your bond with your baby will be unbreakable.
Because it was never just about the milk — it was always about the love.