Today is Easter Sunday. A day that’s often full of chocolate-stained smiles, spring sunshine, and family get-togethers. But this morning, as I watched Amelia run around with her boundless energy and cheeky grin, my heart drifted back to those who aren’t able to spend today as a whole family.
To the mums and dads sitting beside hospital beds, in NICUs and SCBUs, wondering when they’ll get their chance to bring their babies home—I see you. I’ve been there.
And I’m thinking of you.
Days like this can be so hard when your baby or child is in hospital. The world outside keeps turning, full of holiday traditions, while your world feels paused—somewhere between hope and heartbreak.
It reminded me of Father’s Day 2023—Ryan’s first one.
We didn’t get the moment we’d dreamed of. No snuggles in bed. No cute card with a footprint. No breakfast together as a new family. Instead, we spent the day in the Special Care Baby Unit, surrounded by machines and hushed voices. Amelia was still too small to come home, and we were living day-by-day, clinging to every gram she gained and every small step forward.
I remember the ache I felt—not just for myself, but for Ryan. He had become a dad in the most intense of circumstances, travelling long distances to be with us, balancing work and worry, showing up even when I knew his heart was heavy. That Father’s Day wasn’t what we had imagined. And it hurt.
I want to say to any parent who finds themselves in hospital this Easter—you are not alone. Whether it’s your baby’s first holiday or another special day missed due to illness, I promise you that your love still counts. Your quiet presence. Your tireless advocating. Your whispered lullabies through oxygen hoods and feeding tubes. That is parenting. That is love.
So today, as the world celebrates, know that I’m thinking of you. I know how tough it can be when everyone else seems to be moving on, and you’re just trying to keep going.
And if you’re like us, having missed milestones that were supposed to be joyful, please remember: it doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means life threw you a detour. And even though it’s painful, you’re doing an incredible job—probably more than you realise.
Ryan didn’t get a traditional Father’s Day that year, but he showed the truest kind of fatherhood—the kind that shows up, no matter what. And to every parent in hospital right now: you’re doing that too. And we’re with you.
If this blog touched you, please like, share and subscribe to The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey. Let’s keep supporting one another—especially on the days that don’t go to plan.
References:
Bliss. (2023). Caring for a baby in neonatal care on holidays and special occasions. www.bliss.org.uk NHS. (2023). What to expect in neonatal units. www.nhs.uk
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