This week, we couldn't go.
Our older daughter got sick. Nothing serious — but serious enough. Serious enough that we couldn't walk into a NICU full of fragile babies and risk being the reason one of them gets worse. Including our own.
So we stayed home. We called the bedside nurse in the morning. We called again in the evening. And in between, we thought about her constantly.
The day felt off. Like something was missing from it. Because something was.
The Decision That Isn't Really a Decision
When your other child is sick, or you've been exposed to something, or you're not feeling well yourself — the choice to stay away from the NICU isn't really a choice. It's a tough no-brainer.
You know you can't go. You know it's the right call. You know that walking into a unit full of immunocompromised babies with even the possibility of carrying something is not a risk worth taking.
But knowing it's right doesn't make it feel right.
You still feel the pull. You still feel the guilt. You still feel like you're supposed to be there, and the fact that you're not means something is wrong — not with the decision, but with you.
It doesn't mean something is wrong with you. It means you're a parent. And parents want to be with their kids. Especially the ones who can't come home yet.
What the Days Feel Like
The days you can't visit are empty in a way that's hard to describe.
You've built a routine around the NICU. The drive. The check-in. The scrub-in. The walk to the bedside. The update from the nurse. The hours sitting with your baby — talking to her, holding her, just being present.
When that routine disappears, the day doesn't know what to do with itself. And neither do you.
You wonder what she's doing. You wonder if she's having a good day. You wonder if she misses you — and then you wonder if she's even old enough to miss you, and that thought hurts in a way you weren't expecting.
You want to call every hour. You don't, because you know the nurses are busy and your baby is in good hands. But you want to. So you settle for morning and evening. You listen to the nurse tell you about her night, her feeds, her vitals. You hang up and sit with the silence.
And the guilt fills every bit of it.
This Isn't New
This isn't the first time we've been through this.
Our first daughter spent 102 days in the NICU. She was born in 2020 — during COVID. The rules were strict. One parent at a time. Once you left, you were done for the day. And if you even thought you might have been exposed to something, you didn't go.
There were so many days we couldn't go. Work kept us away. Illness kept us away. The fear of possibly carrying something kept us away. And every single time, the guilt was there. Loud. Relentless. Telling us we should be there even when we knew we couldn't be.
It didn't get easier the second time around. The rules are different now, but the feeling is exactly the same. Your baby is in a hospital and you're not there. That's all your brain needs to start spinning.
What I Need You to Hear
If you're reading this from your couch instead of the NICU — because your kid is sick, because you're sick, because work wouldn't let you leave, because the car broke down, because life happened — I need you to hear this:
Staying away when you might be carrying something isn't abandonment. It's protection. It is one of the hardest forms of love there is — choosing your baby's safety over your own need to be there.
Your baby is not alone. Your baby has a team of nurses and doctors who are watching every number, adjusting every setting, and holding her when you can't. They are covering for you. That's what they do.
And your baby doesn't know you're not there today. But she will know — through every visit that comes after, through every time you show back up and put your hand on that isolette — that you never stopped showing up. Even when showing up meant staying home.
For the Practical Side
Here are some things that help on the days you can't be there:
Call the bedside nurse. Morning and evening at minimum. They expect this. They welcome it. Ask how the night went, ask about feeds, ask about any changes. Write it down so you remember.
Ask for photos or video. Many NICUs allow nurses to send a quick photo during care times. Some have camera systems you can access remotely. If your NICU offers this, use it. Even a blurry photo of your baby sleeping can carry you through a hard day.
Talk to your baby on the phone. Some NICUs will hold the phone near your baby so they can hear your voice. It sounds small. It's not. Your voice is medicine whether you're at the bedside or not.
Give yourself grace. One day away — or even several — does not undo the hundreds of hours you've already been there. Your baby's progress doesn't reset because you missed a Tuesday.
You'll Be Back
The days away feel long. They feel wrong. They feel like you're failing at the one thing that matters most right now.
But you're not. You're making the hardest call a NICU parent can make — and you're making the right one.
Your baby is safe. Your baby is cared for. And your baby is waiting for you to come back.
And you will. As soon as you can. Because that's what NICU parents do.
— Louie Two-time NICU dad. Home today. Back tomorrow.
Between Beeps is a newsletter for NICU families navigating the in-between. Subscribe below for honest support from a parent who's been there.
Between Beeps does not provide medical advice. Always follow your NICU team's recommendations.