MÈRE Stories: Lee Anne Gilmore
There are chapters of motherhood no one prepares you for. The NICU is one of them.
It’s a place where joy and fear coexist. Where love arrives fully formed, but the path forward is uncertain. Where becoming a mother doesn’t look the way you imagined—and yet, it is no less real, no less profound.
In this journal, Lee Anne Gilmore invites us into her experience as a NICU mom. Not as a guide with all the answers, but as someone who has lived it. As a mother who has carried the weight, the beauty, the exhaustion, and the quiet, specific moments that made a difference along the way.
If you are walking through this chapter, or loving someone who is, we hope her words help you feel a little less alone & a little more seen.
Our path to becoming parents was very much its own journey.
Prior to the birth of our first child in 2022, we experienced miscarriages in January and April of 2021. During that time, our friends and family suggested I switch to a different OBGYN practice that could provide the support I needed.
I quickly found an incredible doctor, who heard me and met me where I was emotionally.
She suggested I give my body and mind six months to heal before trying again. After a restful and enjoyable summer, I found myself expecting again in the fall of 2021, and once I made it past the 12-week appointment I was ecstatic.
While I still carried plenty of anxiety and worry, with each passing positive appointment, I felt like I could sigh in relief.
Our 20-week anatomy scan showed prone feet, suggesting the likelihood of clubfoot. While the diagnosis was not ideal and certainly invoked tears, we still had a healthy, growing baby.
Imagine our surprise when six weeks later we woke up to leave for our babymoon, and instead of heading to the airport (and the beaches of Turks and Caicos), we rerouted to Piedmont Hospital to find my water had broken and I was 2cm dilated. Our incredible medical team did everything to halt my labor, but our girl was determined to make her debut (and the caftan and sunscreen in my bag were never used).
Less than 12 hours after being admitted, Libby Gilmore entered the world weighing 1lb 15.7oz. She defied the odds from the moment she was born.
For example, they told us she wouldn’t make noise, but she came out (faintly) crying. She didn’t even need to be intubated on a ventilator for the first two hours of her life. She was already doing miraculous things!
And with that, we entered the honeymoon phase, where we lived in the joy of having a physical child come to fruition.
Our excitement was short-lived.
I spent a few nights in the hospital recovering, and with the exception of shift change times, I was able to make my way from my room to see her.
It didn’t take long for the world to start coming apart.
How would I handle this with my job?
What would the day-to-day look like?
Would she be OK?
We’d gone from packing for a vacation to not understanding up from down, barely putting one foot in front of the other.
The early days of commuting from home to the NICU are a blur.
I remember coming in with bags hanging from my arms, filled with myriad items I didn’t even have the brain power to think through. I threw in pumping parts, snacks, water bottles, items that were suggested to make Libby’s isolette more “homey,” breast milk from home, chargers, hand sanitizer, books. You name it, I probably stuffed it in a duffel bag, tote bag, or backpack.
I went from being a very type-A decisive planner to a puddle everywhere I went.
I did not recognize myself in the mirror, at home, or in interactions with close family and friends. After driving, parking, going through security, being buzzed into two different wards of the neonatal floor, and undergoing the necessary, but arduous task of scrubbing into the NICU, I would push past anyone to get to Bay 6—Libby’s new home.
Only then could I take a breath.
The 89 days we spent at Piedmont were filled with love and joy and tears and anxiety, these emotions often occurring simultaneously.
While there is no how-to guide to being a parent in the NICU, there were things that helped.
What support meant the most? Were there specific gestures, items, or acts of care that made a real difference?
My two best friends reached out shortly after Libby’s birth, offering to start a meal train.
Not wanting to burden anyone, I politely declined until I was “voluntold” by both of them that it was not an option.
I was amazed by the outpouring from our community, so much so that we added a “treat for NICU staff” to our sign-up, because I felt so helpless showing up empty-handed every day while these angels performed their miracles.
I loved passing along to the care team a Publix or Starbucks gift card, or homemade treats, even though the job itself was absolutely their pleasure.
What are the practical or emotional needs of NICU families that aren’t obvious to people outside that world?
Practically, it was very nice knowing that someone would provide us with a meal every few days.
I typically love to cook, but in this phase of life, it was one less thing I had to worry about. My cousin also did Libby’s laundry (clothes when she was able to wear them, muslin swaddles that staff decorated her bed with), my sister-in-law came after my baby shower and organized the nursery, and my mom welcomed all of our indoor plants into her home, because suddenly the simplest chores felt burdensome.
Emotionally, the tallest order was trying to live out our small, complicated lives while others moved on.
I’d run into someone at the grocery store who either knew Libby had been born and met me with the saddest eyes, or even worse, didn’t know, and I had to relive our experience in the snack aisle.
If a friend or family member asked, “What should I bring or do?” What would you suggest?Celebrate/Meet the Friend Where They Are
While this is not the birth experience they’d hoped for, they may still just be so excited that they have a baby-congratulate them on the birth!
The NICU is an emotional roller coaster, so there is also a high probability that the parents will be happy and sad and devastated and tired and proud all in the same five minutes.
Parents may be excited to talk about the baby and their progress, or want to compartmentalize-follow their lead.
Occasional Texts
Don’t ask for updates. It can be daunting for new parents to have to share things they may not have even processed themselves. So an “I’m thinking about you” goes a long way. They may not always respond, but I know I read them and I appreciated them.
When it Comes to Sharing Space, Follow Their Lead.
Yes, they may have the time and bandwidth to go for a walk or drink a cup of coffee together, but they may also need to cancel five minutes prior and that is purely a reflection of their current state, not their status as a friend.
Goldbond Hand Cream
You will never know dry skin like you do when you’ve had to scrub your hands every day just to get to your child. It lasts a long time in the dry, hospital air and has no scent.
Starbucks Gift Cards
When a friend grabbed a $7 cup of coffee en route to the hospital, that was sometimes the little boost I needed to get through the morning.
Beyond items or logistics, what helped you feel supported as a mother in that season?I am a very structured person, so this was obviously a season of unstructured chaos.
I still feel extremely lucky that my job let me take on a part-time role from home, to minimize my interaction with sick people (I work in a school, and this was not too long post-pandemic), and be at the hospital all day.
Once my doctor prescribed me Lexapro, smoothing over just a bit the edge of our harsh reality, I was able to create a morning routine that set me up for success.
Eat a breakfast that will make you feel good. It may be the last meal you see until dinner. I rarely wanted to miss touch times when I could hold her, which meant no leaving, as NICUs don’t allow food and beverage for very valid reasons.
Go for a walk. My mental health is at its best when I have exercised and spent some time outside.
Make a playlist. I have a Spotify NICU playlist I still listen to all the time–so much so Libby will hear it and say “these are my songs!”
Take a shower and dry your hair. I got caught in a cycle of sweats, and I felt better when I wore real clothes from time to time and felt more like myself and not a mom in the NICU.
Give yourself grace. This is a very trying time in life, when many emotions are at play simultaneously. Celebrate the wins, embrace the sadness, grieve the loss of your pregnancy, and get the sleep you need.
Your NICU experience doesn’t need to mirror anyone else’s.
For me, being present during rounds at least 2-3 times a week was very beneficial for my understanding of where we were in Libby’s healthcare plan, and I typically spent 6-8 hours by her bed each day because that filled my bucket.
That most certainly will not be everyone’s experience, and that’s okay.
Is there something about the NICU experience that you wish more people knew?Being a NICU mom/parent can be very isolating.
You go from living your life with the excitement of this new, precious addition to experiencing a reality that looks nothing like what you’ve seen in the movies.
Suddenly, your days are spent alone with this tiny baby in a box, and you have to ask for permission or help to hold it; our friends are a group of rotating staff members; and you have more time to look at your phone than is healthy (Dr. Google is not your friend!).
Oftentimes, when I speak of our experience in the NICU, it is with warmth and love, but that was certainly not always the case. We had some high highs, but we also experienced some of the bottom-of-the-barrel low lows.
This chapter of my life altered my DNA–I went from being someone who needed things to be “just so” in most situations to a parent who rarely gets caught up in details, enjoys the moment, and easily lets most petty annoyances roll off my back.
Discharge day will come, the tears will dry, some of these memories will fade, you will go back to living a normal enough life, and you will come to love the quote, “If you’re able to tuck a healthy child into a warm bed in a safe home, you have won the lottery in life.”
There is no single way to move through the NICU. No perfect routine. No right way to feel. No timeline that makes it all make sense.
Only your experience and the people who help hold it with you.
At MÈRE, we were built for chapters like this. The ones that are layered, emotional, and often invisible to the outside world. Whether it’s mental health support, guidance through the physical recovery of postpartum, or simply a place to be met without judgment… We believe mothers deserve care that meets the complexity of what they’re carrying.
If Lee Anne’s story resonates, you don’t have to navigate this chapter alone.
We’re here—for every motherhood experience, and all the chapters that comes along with them.