When I had my twin preemies at just 25 weeks, they weighed 1 pound 12 ounces each. When the fog cleared, I realized that I had to develop a way of coping with my new “normal”. The first thing I did was create a vision of who I needed to become to give my babies what they needed to survive and thrive. Below are five simple principles of P.E.A.C.E. I developed that helped me. They can guide you through the discovery process of going from discharging the NICU to admit a new you…both now and in the years to come.
The “P” in P.E.A.C.E. stands for Power: The power of intention is greater than any current reality.
Intention is defined as “an act or instance of determining mentally upon some action or result.” Simply put, it’s a tool to create whatever you want in harnessing an emotional advantage over the NICU and all that it brings. Make your intention clear and focus on it.

The “E” in P.E.A.C.E. stands for Energy: Everything is energy.
Everything is energy and energy is every thing, including your thoughts, feelings, words and actions. It doesn’t matter what your circumstances are at the present moment. Think positively, expect only favorable results and situations, and circumstances will change accordingly. It may take some time for the changes to take place, but eventually they do. If you feel any inner resistance when replacing negative thoughts with positive ones, do not give up, but keep looking only at the beneficial, good and happy thoughts in your mind.

The “A” in P.E.A.C.E. stands for All: All things will move into balance eventually.
You may look at your baby, attached to wires and monitors, and feel as though nothing in your life will ever be the same again. But with positive thoughts and positive energy, you’ll be able to find peace in the knowledge that all things will balance out in time.

The “C” in P.E.A.C.E. stands for Caring: Caring for you precedes caring for anyone else.
Caring for your premature baby is much like flying on an airplane; you’re told that if there’s a problem and a mask drops down, you need to put yours on first so you can help others. The same applies now; you’ve got to maintain physical, mental, emotional and spiritual health in order to be strong for your baby and those around you. You’ve got to nurture yourself if you want to be able to nurture your baby.

The “E” in P.E.A.C.E. stands for Everything: Everything is exactly as the Universe intended it to be.
As you embark on this journey as the parent of premature baby, remain open to opportunities for your own personal growth. Good things will happen and bad things will happen. Choose to focus on the good – those things you want to bring into your life – and the Universe will align to make them happen. Accept your situation, knowing everything is exactly as it was intended to be.

These principles are the foundation for being the best you can be for you, and ultimately, your premature baby; use them to help you transform the NICU to a new you. Take comfort in knowing that everything happens for a reason…even this.

Tami C. Gaines, the mother of four children (including premature twins born at just 25 weeks), has achieved national recognition as an advocate and spokesperson for parents of premature babies. With an M.B.A. from Columbia University and twenty-five years as an entrepreneur and executive, Tami could not have foreseen the events that would take her from the board room to the hospital room. Tami’s book, Preemie Parents: 26 Ways to Grow With Your Premature Baby helps other parents of premature babies learn to cope — as she has — by opening their hearts to learning life’s lessons. For more information and inspiration, visit www.PreemieParents.com .

Pamela MacPhee

The following is a guest post by Pamela MacPhee, Author of DELiVERiNG HOPE: The Extraordinary Journey of a Surrogate Mom

While I have never given birth to preemies or twins, I think I can relate to some of the mixed up emotions of fear and hope and anxiety that accompany a complicated pregnancy and birth.

I have carried and delivered four babies; none of the deliveries were easy.

The first three were mine.

But it was my fourth that was the most anxious and emotionally draining pregnancy and delivery, not because I delivered preemie twins, but because I carried a baby that did not belong to me.

I grew up with my cousin, Henry, playing tag in the backyard, jumping on beds and racing down the Sierra Mountains on skis. I loved him like an annoying little brother. So a few years ago when his wife was diagnosed with cancer, I struggled to find a way to help. After learning that as a consequence of radiation treatment, Lauren would not be able to carry a baby, I found my opportunity. I could not imagine the devastation and emptiness of a life without the possibility of children, and so with a hopeful heart I offered to be a surrogate mom, to carry their baby for them. My offer completely overwhelmed them.

When they eventually embraced the idea of a journey through surrogacy together, I saw what my offer meant to them and then I was overwhelmed. While I was excited to be giving them hope for their future, I realized in that moment that it would be my responsibility to make sure that their hopes and dreams were realized. I had to succeed, to come through for them on my promise. I couldn’t even consider the alternative.

Months later in the hours after our first embryo transfer attempt, I found myself whispering fervently to those little ones seeking a home inside my uterus. Failure was not an option. And so when the fertility doctor slid a gelled paddle across my belly two weeks later searching for signs of life, I held my breath in anxious anticipation. When the sound of a quickening fetal heartbeat filled the examining room, I exhaled in relief and my eyes filled with tears as I watched my cousin and his wife marvel at the sound of their child inside of me.

Nine months later lying down on another examining table inside a hospital OR while the obstetrician made the first incision of a planned c-section delivery, I found myself holding my breath again. Please let this baby be healthy and perfect. I have to succeed. Failure is not an option. Minutes later the doctor lifted a beautiful, healthy little girl from my belly for her parents to see for the first time, and again I sighed in relief. And my cousin’s wife moaned with joy.

I suddenly felt exhausted. Finally I could let go of all that anxiety and fear and sense of responsibility. Holding their baby later that morning, I admired her perfection, her courage, her tenacity, and thanked her dearly for joining me on our journey. We had done it together and now my cousin and his wife could embrace life again. It had been a long, anxious road, but we had succeeded. And in no time a small child would be playing tag with her cousins in the backyard.

I published a book about our surrogacy journey titled DELIVERING HOPE, and if you’d like to read more about our amazing journey and the joy of giving a family, please go to my website at DeliveringHopeBook.com to find out more and order a book!

When CurlyQ Cuties heard about Maddie Spohr, they were profoundly touched. They reached out to her family to see if they could help raise money for the March of Dimes. Maddie’s parents, Heather and Mike, designed Maddie’s Monster in Maddie’s memory. Profits from the sale of Maddie’s Monster will donated to the March of Dimes in Maddie’s memory. Order yours today!

I was born three months too early
The doctor gave me thirty days
But I must’ve had my mama’s will
And God’s amazing grace

I guess I’ll keep on livin’
Even if this love’s to die for
‘Cause your bags are packed and I ain’t cryin’
You’re walkin’ out and I’m not trying
To change your mind ’cause I was born to be

Chorus:
The baby girl without a chance
A victim of circumstance
The one who oughta give up, but she’s just
Too hard headed
A single mom who works two jobs
Who loves her kids and never stops
With gentle hands and the heart of a fighter
I’m a survivor

I don’t believe in self-pity
It only brings you down
May be the queen of broken hearts
But I don’t hide behind the crown
When the deck is stacked against me
I just play a different game
My roots are planted in the past
And though my life is changin’ fast
Who I am is who I wanna be

Repeat Chorus

A single mom who works two jobs
Who loves her kids and never stops
With gentle hands and the heart of a fighter
I’m a survivor

But I must’ve had my mama’s will
And God’s amazing grace

Her husband, David, held her hand as they braced themselves for the latest news.

That afternoon of March 10, 1991, complications had forced Diana, only 24-weeks pregnant, to undergo an emergency Cesarean to deliver couple’s new daughter, Dana Lu Blessing.

At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound nine ounces, they already knew she was perilously premature.

Still, the doctor’s soft words dropped like bombs.
“I don’t think she’s going to make it,” he said, as kindly as he could.

“There’s only a 10-percent chance she will live through the night, and even then, if by some slim chance she does make it, her future could be a very cruel one”

Numb with disbelief, David and Diana listened as the doctor described the devastating problems Dana would likely face if she survived.

She would never walk, she would never talk, she would probably be blind, and she would certainly be prone to other catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to complete mental retardation, and on and on.

“No! No!” was all Diana could say.

She and David, with their 5-year-old son Dustin, had long dreamed of the day they would have a daughter to become a family of four.

Now, within a matter of hours, that dream was slipping away.
But as those first days passed, a new agony set in for David and Diana.

Because Dana’s underdeveloped nervous system was essentially ‘raw’, the lightest kiss or caress only intensified her discomfort, so they couldn’t even cradle their tiny baby girl against their chests to offer the strength of their love.

All they could do, as Dana struggled alone beneath the ultraviolet light in the tangle of tubes and wires, was to pray that God would stay close to their precious little girl.

There was never a moment when Dana suddenly grew stronger.
But as the weeks went by, she did slowly gain an ounce of weight here and an ounce of strength there.

At last, when Dana turned two months old, her parents were able to hold her in their arms for the very first time.

And two months later, though doctors continued to gently but grimly warn that her chances of surviving, much less living any kind of normal life, were next to zero, Dana went home from the hospital, just as her mother had predicted.
Five years later, when Dana was a petite but feisty young girl with glittering gray eyes and an unquenchable zest for life.

She showed no signs whatsoever of any mental or physical impairment. Simply, she was everything a little girl can be and more. But that happy ending is far from the end of her story.

One blistering afternoon in the summer of 1996 near her home in Irving, Texas, Dana was sitting in her mother’s lap in the bleachers of a local ball park where her brother Dustin’s baseball team was practicing.

As always, Dana was chattering nonstop with her mother and several other adults sitting nearby when she suddenly fell silent. Hugging her arms across her chest, little Dana asked, “Do you smell that?”

Smelling the air and detecting the approach of a thunderstorm, Diana replied, “Yes, it smells like rain.”
Dana closed her eyes and again asked, “Do you smell that?”

Once again, her mother replied, “Yes, I think we’re about to get wet. It smells like rain.”
Still caught in the moment, Dana shook her head, patted her thin shoulders with her small hands and loudly announced,

“No, it smells like Him. It smells like God when you lay your head on His chest.”

Tears blurred Diana’s eyes as Dana happily hopped down to play with the other children.
Before the rains came, her daughter’s words confirmed what Diana and all the members of the extended Blessing family had known, at least in their hearts, all along.

During those long days and nights of her first two months of her life, when her nerves were too sensitive for them to touch her, God was holding Dana on His chest and it is His loving scent that she remembers so well.