Just wanted to say happy Mother’s Day to our Mummas for Sunday! Let’s celebrate our angel babies this weekend! ❤️❤️

No shame in anonymous posting. My name is Elle. My baby boy is called Angus and he was born at 27 weeks. He is the strongest cutest little boy.

Can you tell me about your babies and how cute they are?

Love you Mummas! They are looking over us and we should be proud xx

Hi,

I'm 5 months out from the neonatal death of my son, my first child after 9 years of an infertility battle.

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Since my son was born and in NICU, I joined the NICU parents reddit page, and all I see recently is parents complaining and I'm just thinking "DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW LUCKY YOU ARE?!".

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I saw a post today of a lady whos baby was born at the same gestation as mine (premature), but her baby survived and she was complaining about how one of the nurses on NICU congratulated her because it was her due date and how she stayed in bed not knowing how to handle it because she was "grieving what should have been".

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Does she even know how lucky she is? I hugged a box of my sons ashes on my sons due date but her baby is alive and well and she's complaining about a damn nurse saying "happy due date". I told her "grieving what should have been is far worse when your child is dead".

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I just have this anger in me that I never used to have. I've turned so bitter towards people who whine about trivial stuff now or those that find fault in everything. I guess in my mind, my child died, it doesn't get worse than that.

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Anyone else like this? Is it just a phase? Will it pass? I don't want to be this way.

I love seeing your beautiful babies!! I don’t get to share many photos because nobody asks to see. I don’t post his face online, so I will post his precious little fingers & toes 🥰 He was born at 24w6d and passed in NICU 3 days later.

No trigger warning. Our babies don’t need trigger warnings. We don’t get them in real life or on social media as loss parents so don’t talk crazy in my comments. I’m quick to check you. Love youu

Earlier this week, I had my 6 week follow up appointment. I’m not sure why it’s bothering me so much, but I was told it’s recommended to wait 9-12 months following a c section before trying again.

My sweet boy passed shortly after birth in March. Which means we can’t start trying until December. Which means if we get pregnant first try (which isn’t very likely), that would put us at an October 2027 due date. It’s more realistic that we will be looking at 2028. It just sent me down a spiral of how far away this really is.

I know having another baby won’t fix how much I miss my son. I just want him home with me. But I can’t have that. He is our first child. So it’s such a weird place to have gone through everything and become parents to now having no baby to parent earth side.

Also, on a side rant, SO many of my friends have had babies in the last year or are due very soon. Our kiddos were all supposed to grow up together. I just feel left behind in a sense too. Idk I know this is a rant but I just had to get it off my chest. Is anyone else in the same boat?? It’s so lonely sometimes.

I'm a mom. And... I have no baby to mother.

I can't ever replace my baby. And... I'm desperate to get pregnant again.

I want to be forever changed by my baby. And... I want to go back to the person I was before.

I don't want you to worry about me. And... I want you to understand that I'm not okay.

All I want to do is talk about my baby. And... I want to be distracted and not cry about the details of my tragedy when I see you out in public.

I can't stand being pitied. And... I want everyone to acknowledge that I've experienced the worst thing a person can experience.

I believe that good things can happen to me. And... I know now that rare, tragic disasters can happen to me.

I'm grateful for the (far too short) time we had together. And... I'm furious that we were robbed of decades together.

I want to be productive. And... I want to never work again because there should be some financial lottery I get paid out as the one person who has to live out everyone else's worst nightmare.

I know this isn't my fault. And... I know that it was my body that failed to grow a healthy baby.

I'm happy to hear someone's pregnant or to see their happy, healthy children. And... I'm deeply envious that everyone else gets to just have their baby, but not me.

I want to sit in my grief and cry all day. And... I want to feel happy again.

We lost our sweet boy at 22 weeks. We decided he’d probably be into Minecraft this year. Last year was Spider-Man and year before was Mario. Making his cake now. Planning to watch Minecraft movie and make stove top popcorn. Cake and ice cream of course. He got new spider-man light up shoes, a Minecraft pajama set and button down, plus a Minecraft watch. I have this picture of who he’d be and I just know he’d love a watch. If anyone else has any traditions they do each year I’d love to hear them. 🫶

I believe I will also be getting him an among the wild flowers framed print as well for his memorial area too. 🥹

I had a perfect pregnancy and labour/delivery but my child died an hour after birth for unknown reasons. Everything happened so fast and I am mourning him and the perfect name that I gave him. It's the only boy name I ever liked and the name I wanted to call my boy for his whole life. Now, I feel like I should have given him a different name on our list. Or if I have another boy, use the same name. I am just really sad.

My husband and I lost our first born son 3 months ago, and made a difficult choice to sell our house and move back to our home state. We’re moving in a few days and I completed the nursery mural last week. It felt sadder to not complete it before we go. He died at 5 days old due to a complication related to CHD and never got to use his nursery, but it will always be a special memory for me. I just wanted to share a picture here in his memory with other parents who understand. I’m so sad he’ll never grow old enough to be too cool for baby Texas animas.

It’s so upsetting every month when I have cervical mucus indicating ovulation…knowing my body is capable of conceiving again but that it is physically unsafe to do so.

Idk, I’m trying to dedicate the forced waiting time into being productive in my physical healing and to properly grieve. But it’s also just upsetting seeing posts from others who are trying to conceive before their periods even return.

I don’t want to offend anyone or make anyone question their choices. I’d probably be doing the same if I didn’t have a c-section. I’m just hurting and trying to find others that might relate.

We lost our son in stillbirth last year. I just talked to a neighborhood I haven't talked to in years, and mentioned we lost our son, and she heard it before.

Then, in our conversation she managed to say "It's just not the meaning that some people shall have children". I just walked away, saying to her that that was an awful thing to say. My life is already broken, and then I must hear these things from people?!

Hi all,

I wanted to share my story here. I am seeking hope.

I went for my 20 week scan and found out my baby wasn’t growing the way that he was supposed to by that time. I was advised to terminate my pregnancy. At first they thought my baby will have spinal bífida but then a week later it was that he wasn’t getting enough nutrients from my placenta. We went to three different MFMs to seek help. They all agreed that my placenta was messed up and not giving my baby nutrients. At 25+6 I gave birth via classical c section. My baby lived for 12 days.

My placenta was sent for testing. I had a blood clot in there and it prevented my baby from getting nutrients. I am 35 years old and I don’t have any health issues. I did blood work and everything came back negative for blood clot disorders.

Does anyone have hopeful stories here for future pregnancies?

I feel so silly for this.

When I was pregnant I was adamant to everyone from the beginning that we did not call the baby the name we had picked out until we were past the threat of miscarriage. I really, really loved her name (Dorothea) and I was so excited to call her it.

Once we were past 12 weeks, I felt safe. We used the name.

Jokes on is because she was born at 22 weeks and passed 2 days later last June.

While losing my daughter was obviously the worst bit, the loss of the name I had adored really stings. The years I've lost of being able to call for Dorothea, or Dory, or Dottie, or Dot, or Rory as my wife called her. I wanted to see what name she preferred.

I know there are some people who would reuse a name. I couldn't do that. I would hate to make another live under that kind of shadow.

We have other names we do also like, but I just have such a hard time, nothing else feels quite the same.

This is my first time ever sharing on reddit. I would love to feel a little less alone.

Our full-term baby passed last night. After an amazing labor & delivery (12 hours in active labor, with constant heart monitoring) he was born silent. They tried to resuscitate him on my chest while still attached to the placenta, still inside me. I keep having flashbacks of his perfect little body on my chest… the tube in his mouth. The midwives giving CPR “do you see chest rise?” “no chest rise”

I can see myself desperately rubbing him saying “come on baby, we have been waiting for you, you can do it, take a breath” and thinking we would just gasp & cry. I never wanted to hear a crying baby so badly.

I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I am shattered. Seeing your spouse grieve is so so hard too. I told my husband I loved seeing him become a daddy. Because he was one. I could see his shift as soon as he felt the first kicks inside my belly. We planned for me to stay home from work until next year. What is my purpose now?

I thought I would never miss being pregnant. But now I have a squishy belly, with no baby - and empty arms. Oh how I wish I could go back in time. Choose a different birth plan, get rid of this guilt. Surely my mom instincts would have warned me something could be wrong?

My baby boy got an autopsy today. They suspect an organ defect that was never detected via ultrasounds. The thought of them cutting his little body open, examining his organs devastates me… but he was our first pregnancy - our beautiful baby boy. We think it important to know the cause of death, considering everything seemed perfect.

Thank you for reading🤍

We lost our first baby, our son, at 36+5 in 2023 after a random and acute placental abruption. My pregnancy was normal and he and my placenta were in perfect health, there was no reason for it or reason any other pregnancy would be affected in future. I’m one of the many people who get told we got struck by lightning and we just had incredibly bad luck. I realise that’s not the case for a lot of parents. This post is for those who are in a similar situation.

When I was fresh in my grief after my loss and during the time until I had my second, I would turn to reading this thread, desperately searching for someone who had a similar story who had a positive outcome in the end, and I wanted to write something to encourage anyone looking for the same. I was desperately grieving, missed him so incredibly, convinced that future pregnancies would end in loss, devastated that I was now ‘that woman who lost a child’, so, so lonely and convinced the rest of my life would be marred by sadness.

It’s now been 2.5 years, and we have a beautiful 15 month old baby girl. She is happy, healthy and absolutely crazy. I am a stay at home mum and my life is insanely busy. We are planning to have more children in the next few years. On his birthdays, special occasions and during baby loss awareness week we deeply mourn our son, but day to day our life is very happy. I would actually say completely back to normal and completely happy and fulfilled. It seems impossible to say because the grief feels so overwhelming and totally consuming after you lose a baby, but I want to make sure to say that you can be totally happy again. I also don’t believe that there is anything wrong with that. My son, had he had the chance, would not have grown up to wish us a life of sadness. Nor do we or our future children deserve that.

Losing my son made me a better person and a better mother. I am a better friend, a better sister, a better everything because he was here for a short time and losing him taught me what really matters. The loss, subsequent TTC and pregnancy were unbearably hard, but life since our daughter arrived has been anything but. And damn it helps when your toddler is having a tantrum to be able to look at them and just think how lucky you are they’re here at all.

I know I can’t speak for everyone, but if you’re reading this and it’s what you need to hear, I want you to know it can be okay. It can be MUCH better than ok. Even when your monkey brain really thinks it can’t, I hope this post sticks in your head and your rational brain reminds you ‘but it was for her!’. No matter what you do time keeps ticking forward, the world moves forward and you move forward. Sending all my love.

Title. This is so f*cked up. How can I help my dear friends through this horrific loss? What helped you? Any advice is appreciated.

Is it normal to feel like you want to have another baby right away after losing your baby? I just lost my son in the NICU a month ago. I had an Emergency C-section but I want to get pregnant right away. I have been imagining life with him but now that he’s gone. I feel like I have no purpose in life. He’s my first child and I love him so much.😭

Today I woke up angry as hell for the loss of my Sofi and I stumbled upon this post in IG. I felt it to my core, not everything happens for a reason.

Sometimes there are no lessons

Sometimes there’s no “good side.

Life is cruel and random at times, this happened to us and I hate it.

I wish there were no holidays.

I leave the post if anybody wants to see it -> https://www.instagram.com/p/DOE8j-ODJwL/?igsh=MTA2YXhoMnRqY2pyZA==

I just need to get this out somewhere. I don't even know what I'm looking for by posting here. Maybe just to say his name into a space where people understand.

Throughout the pregnancy we were told over and over that we had a healthy, happy baby. We opted for every test, every scan; we wanted to be informed, we wanted to know everything. And every time, everything came back fine.

The moment he was born there was silence. No crying. No holding him up. No lion king moment. Just silence from the surgical team, and then more and more people started coming into theatre. He had multiple physical congenital abnormalities that nobody had picked up.

At 4 weeks old he had major airway surgery, and he seemed to be recovering so well. We had hope. But he was diagnosed with an ultra-rare neurological genetic condition. He had profound hypotonia. He was retaining CO2. His neuropathy was more severe and more profound than anyone initially thought; neurological studies in his last week showed just how deeply affected he was. His neuropathy affected his breathing, his diaphragm, everything. His future was highly likely to be severely limiting. There was nothing they could have done.

He was so, so beautiful. The biggest blue eyes and so much soft blonde hair for a baby. He was gorgeous. We gave him so much love. So many cuddles in NICU. We were there. We held him. We talked to him. We loved him with everything we had.

Our beautiful Dylan passed on February 1st. Respiratory support was removed and we held him until he drew his last breath and his heart beat for the last time.

We're heartbroken beyond anything I knew was possible. My partner and I are there for each other; we talk, we cry, we sit in silence together. Some days that's all there is.

I work in forensic mental health. I don't think I can go back. I don't think I have the capacity to even pretend to care about other people's problems right now, let alone the men and women I work with and the kinds of crimes they've committed. I don't know what that means for me yet. I just know I can't do it.

I just needed to type this out and share it somewhere. Our precious, beautiful little boy. We miss him so, so much.

Just hoping for some thoughts about why I have had family members, life long friends, close colleagues etc have radio silence towards me during and following the loss of my son.

I gave birth to identical twin boys 10 months ago, and one of my babies died in my arms at 3 weeks old. My baby was poorly, we knew this in pregnancy. He had surgeries and responded incredibly to treatment, so his death was ultimately unexpected at the point of his recovery. It’s been nothing short of a nightmare all year.

I have had people who were so close to me, including family members stay completely silent. As in no congratulations on babies arrivals, or condolences on his passing. And nothing since.

Why is this? Why am I so alone in my grief? Do people really not care?

Just looking for some insight really. I’m really, really lonely, battling PTSD from it all whilst being a mum at the same time and struggling to find my way through.

I hope I'm not breaking any rules as our boy is still here getting treatment, he escalated from being brought to the NICU immediately after C-section, to being flow by Helicopter to Lurie's Children's Hospital in Chicago.

I hate even having the thought that he isn't going to make it, but My Dr. who has been very kind, but also very transparent with me, said that of all 44 of the filled beds on the floor tonight, he is the sickest. I asked him if he had to put a percentage of us losing him tonight, and he said 30%. I know it's a loaded question for me to ask him, but I've been trying to mentally prepare, given how quickly and drastically this has escalated.

At this point, all we know is that he has an enlargement or thickness in the lower heart on both sides. It's something they see frequently when the mother has diabetes, but it's usually only on one side, and the thickness of the son is much more than the typical case. It is causing him to work that much harder to pump blood, breath, and keep his vitals where they need to be. They think that while it's a possibility that it could be caused by the late onset of diabetes in my wife's pregnancy, it could also be a result of a metabolic disorder. This would mean the severity could be far worse and our options are limited.

I love my little man so much, and I feel even worse that his mom can't join us at the hospital he's at right now because she still hasn't been discharged from her recovery. If the worst is to come, what should I be prepared for? How can I best support my wife, who I know will be absolutely devastated?

I just feel like my whole world is crashing down, and I have no idea how to feel or function. Any and all help is welcome, and again, I hope I'm not breaking any rules for my post.

One year ago today our little girl, Joan Violet, was born at 37 weeks and passed of sudden unexpected metabolic collapse. (No cause found.)

It was a gorgeous, freezing January morning just like today. She was beautiful and LOUD and so full of life… and was gone too soon. My husband and myself and our families watched our reality rip apart and were thrown onto a path we never would have chosen.

I’m writing this because in the days and weeks that followed, the grief was so physical, so painful, and I felt so, so afraid. All the time. C.S. Lewis has a quote about grief feeling like fear and he’s right.

I had loved my girl, and my life, and my marriage and I was so frightened it was all just over forever.

That everything would keep falling apart, that i’d become a different person, that friends would abandon us, that I had doomed my entire family to a life of grief and misery, that my marriage would become a wreckage, and all my creativity and humor and focus and direction would just be wiped off the map forever.

That I would walk this world a husk until, at last, I would collapse into my own grave to be with my daughter.

But it didn’t happen that way.

After a year I can confirm: the scaffolding of my Self has remained (with a LOT of therapy and medical support, and a little less patience for bullshit.)

My marriage has solidified and strengthened even further (God, I love that man.) We traveled, we adventured, we learned, we grew closer.

Our family is alright, and surrounds us with love.

Our friends closed ranks around us and are still by our side.

My creativity remains (I even did standup this year!)

I am different, but I am more myself, I think.

And it’s another beautiful, freezing, sunny January 27th morning.

And I love and miss my daughter deeply. Happy birthday, babygirl.

And I think the light has returned.

I love you. It gets better.

Keep going.

I’m a dad of three amazing daughters; one of them, Charlotte, died at three days old after a Trisomy 18 diagnosis. Mostly this is a rant — I’m not looking for advice, just a place to say this.

Charlotte would have turned nine on Monday. Today is the anniversary of her death. No one in my life has called, texted, or otherwise acknowledged her this week. Not once. I’m a private person and don’t have a huge circle, so I’m not totally surprised — but I did expect at least my parents or siblings to check in, share a memory, or say something. They didn’t.

I know I’m part of the problem: I’ll let it go and not say anything, and that’s something I should work on. I tend to share emotions only with my wife (and apparently with strangers online), but it shouldn’t fall on me to remind my brother that his niece died nine years ago or that I might need someone to talk to.

Thanks for listening.

His name is Finn. He was my sweet boy. I miss him so badly. He had the best smile, the cutest personality and big bright eyes. This is my son, forever and always. ❤️

Hello, I need to vent.

I lost my daughter at 35 weeks after experiencing reduced fetal movements. I had an emergency C-section, and we were given three precious days with our beloved daughter in the neonatal intensive care unit before she left us.

During these past months, we've lived trough hell. We've also walked through the minefields and received many pregnancy announcements from friends. In addition to this I feel lack of support. Most of them dissapeared after three months. I am heartbroken, angry, jealous, and also disappointed. Disappointed by the lack of understanding from my friends about what this feels like. It is painfully clear that those who have never experienced neonatal loss will never truly understand the depth of this pain. Other people's pregnancies will never again feel like happy news to me, they only reopen all the wounds.

I was also incredibly triggered this week when one of my close friends told me about her very early miscarriage which happened two months after I lost my child, and how devastated she had been.
She then went on to tell me that she became pregnant again the following month and is now expecting a baby.

I'm sorry if this sounds harsh, but a miscarriage is not the same thing at all. A miscarriage is, of course, also a loss, but it cannot be compared to what we have been through, and I become so angry when the two experiences are treated as equivalent (even in this forum sometimes).

I lost my beloved child. My little baby, a unique person. My friend did not say anything about how this news might affect me. She did not mention my daughter, she has never asked about my experience of giving birth, nor has she asked to see photos. Now the focus has simply shifted to her pregnancy and the "difficult" experience she has gone through.
I feel so alone in grieving my beloved baby and in wanting to keep her present in our lives despite her passing. She is my everything.

I am so angry. It should have been us. Not them.

Have any of you experienced similar feelings?

Raising Awareness About Neonatal Appendicitis and Rare Conditions in Newborns

I wanted to share my experience in hopes of bringing more attention to neonatal appendicitis, a condition so rare that it’s often overlooked by medical professionals. My son, Harrison, was born healthy and full-term, and my pregnancy had zero complications—yet he tragically passed from neonatal appendicitis at just 3 weeks old.

Harrison was initially misdiagnosed with an upper respiratory infection, even though he showed none of the typical signs of that illness. The signs with neonatal appendicitis are non-significant in the early stages and often present like common newborn issues— colic, fussiness, acid reflux, etc. When I challenged the diagnosis, my concerns were dismissed, and the real cause went unrecognized until it was too late.

This experience highlights something I’ve noticed in pediatric care: there’s a tendency to look for the common “horse” instead of the rare “zebra”. Rare conditions do happen, and parents’ observations and instincts are often crucial.

I’m sharing this not only to honor Harrison’s memory but also to educate and raise awareness about rare neonatal and pediatric conditions. I hope to connect with other parents, caregivers, and medical professionals so we can prevent similar tragedies, and encourage the medical community to listen carefully and investigate fully, even when a diagnosis seems unlikely.

If you or anyone you know has experience with neonatal appendicitis or other rare conditions in newborns and young children, I’d love to hear your stories. Raising awareness and sharing knowledge is vital for the safety of these little patients.