Wednesday, 27 July 2016


I am sitting on the sofa with C Beebies blasting out and I look to my right, I feel a little hand grab  mine. Elijah looks up at me and says, ‘Mummy’.

This is one of those things that happens about a hundred times a day, but now and again I really take stock of them. I sweep his fringe out of his eyes and give him a little hug.

There was a time that I may not have ever been able to do this. To be able to raise my (nearly) two-year-old as a normal, happy and healthy little boy. He may not have even be here at all.

I am only able to do this because of Great Ormond Street Hospital.

After Elijah’s diagnosis of Tetralogy of Fallot at birth, after his admission to NICU we had always known he needed open heart surgery to repair his heart. To put it simply, to save his life.
Being a mother to Elijah means everything to me. GOSH saved my family.
It was scheduled to be around the 6 month of age mark that he would have this surgery, from the latest consultant appointment and surgery meeting it was now looking like 9 months.

I couldn’t wait any longer so we contacted the most helpful and understanding lady in the Cardiac booking office at GOSH. She made us an appointment to come down for pre admission and be put on the cancellation list. If a surgery spot came up, we would go down quickly. It didn’t however happen like that.
After going down for all of the routine pre surgery tests, we left with a surgery date for two weeks’ time. The staff, surgeons everyone we met were so nice, so helpful and really tried to make this process as easy for us as it could be. Even when Elijah’s surgery got cancelled 30 minutes before he went down to theatre. They brought me nappies, milk and you could tell how guilty they all felt for sending us home. They even paid for our trains back to Norwich.
The train journey back after the surgery was cancelled.
Surgery was rescheduled and the whole process was repeated two weeks later. We stayed in the same hotel we had done previously, as a family again the night before. At 7am we walked across the road and this was it the surgery was going ahead. The nurse we had from the very start stayed with us, walked us to theatre and even stayed with us when Elijah was being put to sleep. She hugged us, she supported us but most of all she generally cared about us.
I have written lots about how hard it was when Elijah had his surgery but GOSH really were amazing. When Elijah came out of surgery and into intensive care the nurses let me ask lots of questions, they also respected me when I didn’t want to talk at all. They didn’t care when I called them at 3am asking how he was. They treated me as a person, but most of all they treated me as a mother.
Elijah a few hours after surgery
Due to living so far away the hospital put us up in a shared flat 5 minutes down the road. It is essential that we were close by, just in case something happened. After Elijah went onto the normal ward we were able to stay in the same shared flat, and a bed was offered by Elijah’s bedside as well.
Do you know this is all funded by the hospital? They allowed us to stay close by to our child who had just had one of the biggest life threatening surgeries you can have. The hospital can only continue to do this if the funding continues.

Last year I teamed up with Elijah’s nursery and local community and we raised around £1000 for GOSH.
The day we left GOSH -5 days post surgery
This year I am launching my own social media campaign. It is a small gesture to try and repay them for saving my son’s life, for giving me the chance to raise my child as a normal little boy. How on earth do you put a price on that? You cannot, so it is vital we support this amazing hospital so they continue to help as many families as they can.
The surgery scars
You take it for granted that your child will sleep in their own bed, in your house tonight? With you nearby if they need you? GOSH needs the fundraising to carry on so they can provide a bed near your child on the ward, to put you up in a shared flat if your child needs an operation or treatment, or just to even be able to get home when things do not go to plan. For sensory equipment, toys and playrooms for children to feel like children again. For vital medical equipment and research so they can carry on preventing children’s illnesses, pioneering amazing treatments and surgeries and to have the cutting edge technology to do something like repair your child’s heart. To get the best surgeons, train the most caring nurses and play workers. It is vital.
Having been through this, it can be the smallest of thing like a fold up bed on the ward for a parent but that can cost around £200-£500.

I feel as I have been through this, I am incredibly lucky, it could have been another story. Elijah is likely to need another heart surgery when he is a teenager to have a valve replaced depending on his growth. He will most likely have the surgery down at GOSH again.
At Christmas last year do you remember that ITV drama with Paloma Faith as Tinkerbell they put on?  The young girl had Elijah’s condition, and was having her valve replaced with the same surgery as he will likely have. It was based in GOSH. Peter Pan is the symbol and heart of GOSH, with JM Barrie gifting the rights to the hospital. It has inspired, provided hope to millions of families. He was the boy that never grew up, which is slightly ironic as because of the hospital my baby boy is able to grow up!

Bit aren’t we all big kids at heart? I know I am so this is the basis of my charity campaign!

Okay, so here is how to take part;

1.Take a pic of yourself being a big kid!

2. Donate by TEXTING NMUM and a £ amount to 70070! or visit

3. Share it far and wide social media.

4. Include how to donate so everyone will know how to get involved.

I really hope you can all help me raise money for this amazing cause, after all, it could have been a very different story if it wasn’t for GOSH and that little hand may not have been reaching for mine.
Similar NICU MUM posts;


Monday, 25 July 2016

My parent manual is lost in the post!

I think it is quite clear that as a first time mum, I have no bloody idea what I am doing. There is an intense pressure if the choices I am making for my son are the right ones. If they will affect him in the long run for the worse or benefit him like they were intended. No matter how many books, and glamorous looking parenting magazines you read, you really will not be equipped for when a screaming bundle of poop and hunger that keeps you up for 4 days straight. It leads me to ask if we all know what we know now, why are we not better advised as first time parents? Or is that the fun? That you have no freaking clue on what you are doing?
Yep. This happened a lot.
My ante natal classes only seemed to advise me that breastfeeding was best, how to bath a baby and what happens when your mucus plug falls out. They told us what to put in our hospital bags but didn’t actually tell me what to do when I was in labour itself. I didn’t get taught any of those breathing exercises you see everyone on TV doing. Maybe I should have booked onto the NCT classes?!

Something that really was not explained, maybe this was because as not to scare us, was what happens when things go wrong? What happens if you baby is admitted to NICU? Most of all what do you do when you get discharged from hospital and have this human to look after? Even more so if they have had medical intervention. Is there a manual? If so mine got lost in the post. I do however have 4 leaflets on how to fill out a MAT B form.
For myself as a NICU Mum, I feel like now I have been through this; it is my responsibility to help others in the same situation. To honestly tell them what it is really like, as a mentor as such. If someone had just been honest with me, to tell me what to expect to feel. I wouldn’t have felt so alone, so alien that the feeling I was having weren’t normal. Perhaps it wouldn’t have led to PTSD.

Having a NICU baby or not, there is still the sheer shock to the system of sleep deprivation. I actually think I went insane at one point. We really need to be made aware of this, jokes aside of ‘sleeping when the baby does’, ‘get your sleep in now when they will be here you won’t be’. People need to be deadly serious about this. It’s actually used as a form of torture! I think perhaps in the last month of pregnancy you should have some sort of alarm that goes off (other than needing to pee) every few hours to get you used to it. Has anyone ever thought of doing a new born preparation boot camp? Where you go for a weekend and really find out what it is like before you give birth! As it may not be such a shock to your system.
Unimpressed Mummy clearly had no clue
Oh and in this parenting manual there most certainly has to be chapters on;

Breast/bottle is your baby being fed? Yes? Thriving? That’s all that matters. Do not ever feel guilty about the choice you make.

NOTHING WORKS TO STOP COLIC- gripe water and baby massage- please.

Silent Reflux- sucks.

Wean when you want to, when you think your baby is ready.

Baby wearing, co sleeping, vaccinations- DO WHAT IS RIGHT FOR YOUR FAMILY. That is all that matters. It is only a problem if it is a problem for you. If it’s not, then sod everyone else! It is YOU raising YOUR child they have no right to say otherwise. Mother knows best and all that…

Oh and it will take a while but once you hit toddlerdom you really will not give a crap if people look at you (and judging) whilst your toddler face plants the shop floor because you told that no they cannot have a flower vase.
parenting- being led by the toddler demon with a bucket on his head. Sums it up well.
The manual will not be like the parenting books you get, that just seem to do a ‘one size fits all’ approach. That are written a bit like you are putting flat pack furniture together and always seem to have really old pics from the 80’s in them?! It will be written by actual parents who have gone through it! Things that parents think you, as a first time newbie need to know!

It's only as a parent now that I have found all of the ‘debates’ on what is best for your child. I literally had no clue there was any of the arguments about how to raise your child. It really is no other business that your own. I also didn’t know that people would literally tear you apart for what you have chosen for you and your child. Oh, and the guilt, no one pre warns you of the guilt you will feel every day for the smallest of things! Urgh parent guilt.

I bottle fed my child and he thrived and was on the higher percentile lines even when he came out of surgery! Elijah had all of his vaccines because as a mother of a heart child it is my responsibility to do everything in my power to help protect him. Me and Elijah’s Dad co slept with Elijah so we could all just get some sleep. I wore Elijah until he was 9 months (and my back gave out due to him being a chunk). Elijah was weaned at 4 months due to reflux, no this didn’t give him any allergies or intolerances. He has been in nursery for a day and a half a week since 9 months old. It would have been a lot sooner if he didn’t need his op.
I did and will continue to do what I think it best for him, to give him the best life I can. Most of all I just want him to know how loved he is and raise him to be kind and accepting. I am sure there is enough there for me to be under attack? It shouldn’t be like that; I also feel like you shouldn’t have to explain your parenting choices just in fear for being judged. We are in it together, we should support and empower each other and teach our children to do the same.

I feel like as a mother of a (nearly) two-year-old I can say all of the above with confidence. But it took a long two years for me to even get this confidence. Again, add this to the manual there will come a time where BOOM, it’s not like you stop caring it’s just you don’t let things get on top of you anymore. Like the fact you didn’t make an organic home cooked meal, you went to McDonalds instead.
I just wish someone had been really honest with me from the beginning about what it was really like. That’s with the added fact we didn’t exactly have a normal start with Elijah’s operation. I think with the amazing social media community of mamas and papas out there not afraid to honestly confess and share the real side to parenting. People may get more of an idea of what it is truly like. That’s not to say it is all bad my all means it is not. It is both the best and worst time of your life being a parent.
There will be extreme highs, and devastating lows, it will be worth it all in the end. I believe knowledge is power, and any way we can get ahead of our little demons (angels I mean angels ahem) is a win in my book?

So looking back, and knowing what you know now, what would you have liked to have in your newbie parent manual?

Similar NICU MUM posts

Toddler Wars

A funfair, living in the park, a crappy haircut and a lost phone

My top 10 mum wins


Wednesday, 20 July 2016

Super Elijah

I just wanted to make you all aware of a truly amazing charity, called Tiny Superheroes.
They make superhero capes for children going through a tough illness, condition, operation or disability. They truly make the children feel like the superhero's they really are.

I am honoured to say Elijah has become part of the superhero squad and will be wearing his cape with pride soon! I am also very thankful to the lovely Robyn who allowed me to write a piece about what it is truly like being a little superhero's mum and how I cannot live up to this.

While you are there why not donate or nominate a tiny superhero you know?


Image result for tiny superheroes capes

Spread the word guys!


Monday, 18 July 2016

Tumbling Down the Congenital Heart Defect Rabbit Hole

The sole reason I started an Instagram account was to connect with other NICU/heart and CHD families. It finally felt as though I could be honest, really honest with how I felt no matter how dark it was. I felt understood, supported and comforted by those going through the same thing, reading their stories. From there my blog was born, and from that so was the NICU Mum #medicalfiles. For those who haven't already please see my other amazing ladies stories by clicking to view Carly's NICU story, Rachel's story and Lisa and Oscar's autism journey. I found the lovely Marcelle via the world of social media and began to follow her and her son's story. So many of her posts, her words, her pics instantly drew me back to waiting for Elijah's surgery and how low I really felt. This fellow heart mama and her wonderful heart warrior son have been through their own CHD story and this is that story in her own words.
Your son needs open heart surgery. Hearing the cardiologist say those words absolutely floored me. For the past few weeks I was adjusting to the idea that my one year old had something wrong with his heart, something no one had picked up on for the first year of his life. Yet I never could have prepared myself for this news.


Will right before his first birthday.

Will’s first year was pretty normal, lots of happy memories and, like all babies, full of firsts. Meeting family and friends, rolling over, eating solids, regular pediatrician check-ups and the list goes on and on. This list also included his first real illness. In February, Will came down with icky symptoms that continued to worsen: cough, diarrhea for weeks, blood in his stool, 105 degree fever, throwing up, pink eye, ear infection. Being a new mama I was very concerned but tried to remind myself that kids get sick and he would get better. The pediatrician at first treated this all as a normal first illness. On the second office visit in the same week, the pediatrician confirmed that something was not normal. She heard a heart murmur and, because his symptoms were so severe over a long period, she sent us to the hospital that night for further testing.

While I knew things were worse than I had imagined, I tried to remain calm and hope for the best case scenario. Despite my efforts, a stay in the hospital suddenly made things feel very serious and we spent a sleepless night while a series of tests were run. The diagnoses the next morning was that he had four viruses all piled on top of each other. No other issue was found, and he was discharged with instructions to follow up with our pediatrician a few days later. My husband and I felt relieved. Will was on the mend, his fever had broke and he was showing signs of improvement. Thankfully, and to the credit of our pediatrician at a follow up appointment, she saw that the EKG she had ordered hadn't been done in the hospital and wanted one done just to be on the safe side. She still heard the murmur.  So, feeling good about Will’s progress, my husband, Will and I trotted over to the imaging lab.

The techs aren’t suppose to share anything about an EKG result but his face said it all. He assured us our pediatrician would see the results immediately.  She called us no more than an hour later and confirmed that yes indeed something was abnormal and we would need to see a cardiologist. The EKG showed right ventricular hypertrophy and right atrial dilation as well as borderline AV block. She tried to reassure us that it could just be stress from the illness but it would be good to gather more information. Again, we clung to the best case scenario but couldn’t help but scour the Internet for reasons his heart was showing these EKG results.

As it turns out, the first available appointment at the cardiologist was on Will’s first birthday. Not really the celebration we had imagined for him. Another EKG and exam later we were told with a cheery disposition that only a cardiologist could posses with this type of news: “There are innocent murmurs and not so innocent murmurs…”.  This was a not so innocent murmur.

Without an echocardiogram the full diagnosis wasn't clear, but again we were reassured that it likely was a minor defect, a defect needing to be monitored or repaired via catheter. Holding on to hope by the skin of our teeth, my husband and I clung to the most positive scenario that Will would only need a catheter. I mean, he lived a whole year with no one knowing, no visible symptoms, so it didn't seem possible that it was super serious. Right?

Wrong. he echo tech sent us straight to the cardiologist after finishing where we were told Will would need OPEN HEART SURGERY.  

My son’s CHD is atrioventricular canal defect, also known as AVSD or endocardial cushion defect. Essentially it means that there were two holes, one between the ventricles and one between the atria, along with fused mitral and tricuspid valves basically creating one large chamber of the heart instead of four. This means all the oxygenated and deoxygenated blood was mixing and his heart was having to work harder and pump more blood through the lungs in order for him to get enough oxygen.

Learning the technical language helped provide some reassurance, but I couldn’t help feeling a myriad of emotions. I felt sadness that he would have to go through OHS, guilt that somehow I caused the defect and that we should have found it sooner, and fear, lots of fear. Fear that there was permanent damage since this defect is usually fixed by six months old, fear that his life would be hindered by his CHD, fear that he wouldn't make it through the surgery and fear that this was all the time I was given with my little love. The night after finding out I remember crying with my husband as Will slept peacefully.  

Despite these intense emotions, I tried my best to remain calm and upbeat when I was with Will. Children are sponges and can sense if something is wrong and I wanted him to be as happy and healthy as possible. After the diagnosis was made we went to follow up appointments and he had a cardiac catheterization done to learn more before undergoing surgery.


Me and my son a few days before his open heart surgery.

This is where I have to pause and somehow try to convey just how crazy this rabbit hole became. Within a few weeks we went from thinking our child was experiencing his “first illness” to discovering that our child needed open heart surgery. In many ways we were lucky to have the time to process, but this perspective only came with time.

In the weeks following his diagnosis I tried to digest all the new medical terms and what this would mean for my son. I read the descriptions of his defect over and over again, looked at diagrams, searched blogs, Facebook and Instagram for understanding and answers. I wanted to do something to change our reality but at this point all I could do was gain information, and really at one point I had to try to stop because it was driving me crazy. Sleepless nights, crying in the shower because I didn't want to do it in front of my son, keeping a journal to process all the emotions and reaching out on social media to learn from others who had walked this path before me. I don’t know how to fully describe the shift in reality that occurred, but it did and somehow we’ve made it out the other side of his surgery. Thank all that is good and holy in this world.

The night before his surgery we were already at the hospital and I stayed up all night holding him. I couldn’t bear to set him in the crib. When he went into the operating room a rush of emotion was released, I sobbed uncontrollably in the middle of the hallway and I had to accept the helpless feeling that I couldn't do anything more except pray all would be okay. His surgery was longer than expected due to an unexpected complicated repair of the valves, and in all we were away from him for about eight hours. Those were the longest and hardest eight hours of my life. I gladly would go through the 36 hour labor I had when he was born to not have him have OHS again.

Will 5 days post-op.

Thankfully his surgery went well but it turns out the fused valves were more complex than they could tell from the imaging and may need to be replaced down the road. There are still unknowns about his future but I am coming to terms with this being a fact of life, and especially life with a heart warrior. Moving forward I will try to focus on the positive, he is six weeks post-op and we are getting back in the swing of “normal” life. I know I spent most of my time telling about the pre-surgery part of our journey but in many ways this was the hardest part (except the day of the surgery).

I am grateful to the incredible community of heart families I found online of parents and CHD survivors. The support, love and understanding from once strangers, now friends, has helped me through the intensity leading up to surgery. I also know I couldn’t have navigated this journey without my husband and the support of family and friends, not to mention my utter amazement at how strong and resilient my son is. This experience has absolutely made my family stronger.

A saying I came across early in my research of CHDs is, “An Open Heart is a Strong Heart.” I feel this to be true on so many levels, and no matter what life throws at us next I know my family can take it on with determination, love, acceptance and an open heart.


Will 6 weeks post-op and enjoying exploring the world again.

If you want to know more about our journey you can find us on Instagram as @heartwarriorwill or feel free to email me at
Similar NICU MUM posts;

Wednesday, 13 July 2016

Pabarilife and NICU Mum - My Hero - Part two

As promised here is the second part of the Pabarilife and NICU Mum- My hero collab. For those who haven't please check out Priya's beautiful and moving post about her father by clicking here. The second part is my account of loosing my hero when I was 13.
The Church was packed, family and friends had gathered, some I had not seen for years. My nan was weeping. This was it.  It was time, I began to walk down the aisle, looking ahead slightly I didn’t think I could cope with the nerves. Reaching the end, I looked up and moved to where I should be standing, the vicar took the stand and began to speak. My Granddad's coffin was laid down and the service began. As this was not him walking me down the aisle like he should be, this was me aged 13 attending the funeral of the only constant father figure I had in my life. It felt like I was no longer whole, like I had lost my hero.
Even so young, I was a complete Granddad's girl
One of my earliest memories was sitting in my Nan’s kitchen, it was dark outside and my Granddad comes through the door. Nan has his tea ready and he sits next to me and I eat carrots of his plate. I was from a single parent family, therefore Nan and Granddad were a huge part of my life. When I think back to all of those big childhood milestones riding a bike, tying your own shoelace; it was my Granddad that taught me these things. I remember him sitting down on the back door step to teach me again and again until I got it right. He brought me my very first bike, it was purple with a star and moon on it and he had put a huge red ribbon on it. After we moved house he took the stabilisers of and before the lawn was laid he was the one helping me ride around and around that garden.
He took us out, he took us shopping, he popped around on Saturday mornings for bacon sandwiches. I was completely and utterly devoted to him. I was a Granddad's girl. I could always confide in him when I was scared and he comforted me when I was upset. I also inherited my love of coffee and ginger biscuits from him too. He was so hardworking, as a lorry driver and could work 6 sometimes 7 days a week away. He once came through when we were walking to school in his lorry and beeping the whole way, everyone turned to look at this smiling man in his huge lorry. I felt special that was MY Granddad. I loved when he had just had a shower and had his hair combed back and smelt of Old Spice. I loved that he collected elephants and liked country music. I laughed that as he had lost some hair flies used to land on his bald patch in the summer. I adored everything about him, I don’t think have ever looked up and admired someone as I did him.
He had the moves.
As I approached high school and became the confused, hormonal and self-conscious teenager he began to change. At 16 stone he carried himself well, but he seemed smaller somehow. He got the shakes, he began dropping things and even turned his lorry into a ditch.  We regularly had to get the doctors out as he struggled with water infections. At the time I don’t think it hadn’t really dawned on me the gradual decline that had been happening to him for some time. He then began to struggle to swallow, couldn’t chew his food.
Before I even knew it Nan and Granddad's house, which I classed as home and still do, started changing. There was now an electric chair to help him sit down and stand up. Nan looked tired and worn out and Granddad's brothers and sisters started visiting a lot more frequently. He had to give up work. Nan did her best she really did; I didn’t even know how she did it. She is teeny but she helped him get washed, she took him to the toilet, she looked after him the best she could. But she couldn’t any longer, Granddad had declined quickly and it didn’t look like he was getting better. The diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease was mentioned, but ruled out again.
I don’t think I can remember when he went into hospital. It just turned into me and my Nan going over every Saturday or Sunday. The hospital I believed cared for the terminally ill but this was a phrase back then I did not really grasp. I guess, I always thought he would get better, that he would be out in no time. But to look at him in the hospital bed, withering away to half the man he once was broke my heart. To this day it still haunts me seeing him in there like that.
A more certain diagnosis was made and it was Motor Neurone Disease. A cruel and unforgiving disease that strips you of every little piece of the person that you once were. He was the head of our house, a husband, a dad, a granddad, brother, uncle and my hero who was being reduced to not even being able to speak.

The definition of this is;

motor neurone disease



noun: motor neuron disease; noun: motor neurone disease; plural noun: motor neurone diseases

1.    a progressive disease involving degeneration of the motor neurons and wasting of the muscles.

I define it as the disease that took my hero. Even then at age 13, his symptoms affected me so much. When I used to visit him he always managed to communicate he wanted a pen and paper but he could never manage to write what it was he wanted to. I always wonder to this day what was he trying to say? He said he wanted to visit Dr Shipman, I guess we all know what that means. The man who took care of me, who practically raised me as his own was suffering. It wasn’t fair that I was standing here feeding him grapes when he had provided and kept our family going for all of those years.
Now at the age of 26, I am aware of a lot more if this was to happen now I am not sure I could stand by and watch him waste away like he did. I am a strong supporter (in certain circumstances with measures in place) of Euthanasia. I couldn’t watch the pain he was in now, knowing what I know about the disease and the fact he wanted to die.
Nan and Granddad on their wedding day
He got worse and worse over time, he spent his 60th birthday in there, and Christmas and we all went to visit him. This was the last Christmas he would see. Come the next February he was on so much morphine and was so weak he was moved to his own room. He caught Pneumonia and died on the 15th February 2003. I think in the last couple of weeks, Nan didn’t want me to see how bad he bad got so I didn’t visit. I didn’t get to say goodbye to him but every time I left I kissed him. I remember we were at home and the call came. I was sitting on the stairs and I instantly knew what had happened. It felt like my heart stopped, my stomach dropped and I cried, and cried and cried. Following his death I struggled to cope, and even self-harmed as a way of coping. I remember never really feeling like I could move past it, until I met my friend Chantel. She too had suffered a loss recently and between us we wrote letter upon letter to each other she helped me move past it. Never over it, but past it.
When someone you love dies, you mourn the person, their life what they meant to you. You relive all of the special moments you had together over and over like when I sat on his lap and he played with my Mel B Spice Girl doll with me (even though Baby was his favourite), when he used to give me a little shandy from his booze cruises to France! I mourn that he is missing out on my life. That I have now had more time without him than I did with him. When I passed my GCSE’S and A Levels Nan said he would be proud. I mourn that he didn’t get to meet the love of my life and that he won’t walk me down the aisle when I get married. I mourn that he hasn’t met my son. Who has many of his traits, including his ears! I hope I can show Elijah pictures and share with him what a wonderful man he was and how much he meant to me. One of Elijah’s middle names was chosen in honour of my Granddad to build a connection even though they will sadly never get to meet. I see the relationship Elijah has with my Nan and imagine what he may have had with my Granddad, he would have loved him so much. Spoilt him rotten and taught him all about lorries which he is fascinated with!
I mourn for these things. This disease took him away, at only aged 60, when he should have shared all of these things. He should have seen me become a mother. This disease took my hero away.
At the head of the table where he belonged.
 This post is without a doubt dedicated to the man that taught me so much, that was like a father to me when my own wasn’t around. I miss you more than you will ever know. You will forever be my hero.

If you want to check out Priya's blog you can by clicking here;
Twitter - @pabarilife
Email -
Instagram - @PabariLife 

Similar NICU MUM posts;

The Mama Cave Guest post
Mummy and Nina- Mi Familia
A very modern family
Happy fathers day daddy pig