At her 20-week scan, Aisling expected reassurance and blurry photos to keep forever.

Instead, she was told her cervix was open and her pregnancy was slipping out of control.

Doctors explained the membranes had already begun funneling.
There was no cerclage they could place, no simple fix, no guarantees.

From that moment on, time changed shape.
Every day felt like a countdown she couldn’t see.

She was told reaching 28 weeks would be a miracle.
She clung to that number like a lifeline.

When 23 weeks arrived, hope flickered.
It meant her baby could at least be given a chance.

Then, just days later, her waters broke.
At 23 weeks and 5 days, fear flooded in.

Aisling called her midwife immediately.
They rushed to the hospital with hearts racing.

Scans showed the baby was still holding on.
But Aisling was told she would need to stay admitted indefinitely.

Either labor would begin.
Or infection would force an emergency.

The next day, the nightmare escalated.
There was no more waiting.

At 1:03 a.m. on July 20, 2021, Remi was born by emergency C-section.
She arrived at just 24 weeks and 3 days.

She weighed 770 grams.
Smaller than most people can imagine.

She was immediately intubated and rushed to the NICU.
There was no time for tears, no time to process.

When Aisling first saw her daughter, her mind struggled to comprehend the size.
Remi’s skin was fragile, translucent, almost unreal.

Wires covered her body.
Tubes breathed for her.

Aisling couldn’t hold her right away.
She was told gently this would be a long journey.

“There will be good days and bad days,” they said.
“We’ll be here with you.”

Those words became a quiet anchor.
Because nothing else felt stable.

For days, Aisling recovered from surgery while her partner Sharmin stayed by Remi’s side.
Updates were relayed secondhand, moment by moment.

Being separated from her newborn was agony.
Every instinct screamed to hold her child.

On Day 4, Aisling finally held Remi skin-to-skin.
Her tiny body rested against her chest.

Those few minutes became everything.
They were fuel to keep going.

The first month in the NICU was brutal.
Progress never came in straight lines.

Remi came off the ventilator.
Then she was re-intubated from exhaustion.

She battled severe jaundice and dangerously low platelets.
Feeding was a constant struggle.

But small victories appeared.
Her kidneys began to improve.

She started to gain weight.
By Day 38, she reached one kilogram.

By Day 51, she moved onto CPAP.
A milestone that felt enormous.

The days blurred together.
Alarms, sterile smells, and fear became routine.

Aisling and Sharmin barely left the NICU.
Life outside felt irrelevant.

Nurses became family.
Doctors became voices of hope and honesty.

Even in fear, there were moments of light.
Moments that kept them human.

For Aisling’s birthday, nurses made a card with Remi’s footprints.
They held a tiny dance party beside the incubator.

On Halloween, Remi wore a scuba diver costume to match her CPAP mask.
Laughter broke through the fear.

At Day 87, Remi came off CPAP.
She moved onto Optiflow.

By Day 100, she was on low-flow oxygen.
Another step forward.

Then came the first trip outside.
Fresh air touched her skin for the first time.

Aisling cried holding her daughter under the open sky.
It felt like reclaiming something stolen.

Then came devastating news.
Doctors said Remi’s liver disease was severe.

They warned there was nothing more they could do.
The words hit like a collapse.

And then, against every expectation, Remi fought back.
Her liver began to heal.

Jaundice markers dropped.
Hope returned, cautious but real.

After 109 days in the NICU, Remi came home.
Just one day before her due date.

She was still on oxygen.
She still had a feeding tube.

But she was home.
And that changed everything.

The NICU staff cheered as they left.
A moment Aisling will never forget.

Home life brought new challenges.
Tube feeds, medications, constant appointments.

But it also brought firsts.
First nights without alarms.

First giggles.
First uninterrupted cuddles.

Remi learned to breastfeed without the tube.
She learned to sleep through the night.

Each milestone felt unreal.
Each moment felt earned.

Today, Remi is one year old.
She is thriving.

She crawls, cruises, claps, and gives the best cuddles.
Her laughter fills the house.

She is happy.
She is strong.

The NICU journey nearly broke them.
But it also reshaped everything they believed.

Aisling now understands gratitude differently.
She understands resilience intimately.

She shares Remi’s story for parents still sitting beside incubators.
For those counting breaths and days.

Miracles don’t always arrive loudly.
Sometimes they arrive weighing 770 grams.

Remi was never supposed to survive.
And yet, here she is.

Her story is proof that hope can be smaller than fear.
And still win.