Babyhood is short, fleeting and often people advise “enjoy it, they aren’t babies for long”. This is not what I am referring to. What about babies that entered the world unscheduled, unexpectedly and maintain only a precarious hold? This is not a humorous post, and I cannot predict the outcome. If this is a subject that hits too close to home, opens up psychological scars or still fresh wounds, please stop reading now. And know I am sorry you ever had to feel the chasm left by that tiny little person.

Yesterday I unexpectedly had a baby enter my life that is possibly one of these ephemeral babies. Possibly here for a short and unpredictable amount of time. I saw her tiny purple hands and all I could think was “this is my baby”. I have to clarify here that she is not, biologically, my baby. My husband and I decided years ago we did not want any more kids. This baby is a relative. Born from a body that was ill prepared to carry the weight of growing a person and delivered to a woman who was not emotionally or psychologically wired to accept this baby.

The baby was developed in a nutritionally deprived environment, growing in a soup of heroine, alcohol and other substances. The body and environment I mention is a family member that I loved dearly, but we lost years ago to this sad, belligerent, dishonest stranger. She no longer looks, acts or talks like the funny, kind person I once knew. Addiction is an dehumanizing daemon and I hope no one reading this understands what I mean. If you do, I am sorry for your pain. Know you are loved and not alone.

Back to the baby. Born at 32 weeks and 3 pounds she is an astounding and beautiful little model of survival and fierce determination. It is too early to say, but at this point, the only complications are the undeveloped lungs of any preemie and she will soon be facing the hardships of withdraw that happens to any baby born of addiction.

I had gone to the hospital with every intention of being there to console immediate family and share in the grief that these events evoke. I had prepared myself for a sick baby, tied to tubes, suffering, and not quite whole. She is all of those things, but when I met her, something exploded in my chest and all I could think was “this is MY baby”. I wanted to hold her, protect her and love her with a ferocity only felt for my other children.

She has no name, her mother didn’t give her one. Myself and one other family member are the only ones who have seen her. Her mother has yet to touch her, ask about her, or even sign the permissions for the nursing staff to provide the medical treatments she needs. She is only two days old. She may have a beautiful, long life ahead of her. Or perhaps a short, difficult life already pre-determined. Whichever lies ahead I am going to be there. I have spoken with social workers, nurses and intend to speak to a lawyer. I plan to do whatever I can to care for this tiny warrior for whatever time she has. I never intended to be the type to take on other women’s babies, heck, we didn’t even want more kids! All of that was before I met my baby.

If anyone has experience, advice or insight into preemies or fostering, I am in dire need of your help. Or if I need to let this baby go, I’ll need help understanding how to do that as well.