Luqman: A Different Journey

It was October 2025.

We had our five-year-old, who was getting ready to start Year One, and our 15-month-old — our little ex-26-week preemie. I was still enjoying our breastfeeding journey, and we were simply soaking up life with our two girls, watching them grow and reach new milestones.

And then we found out exactly what a surprise baby really means.

We were pregnant with baby number three.

Breaking the news to hubby and then to our family was crazy. We had already done NICU twice. After having a micro-preemie, I knew that if I ever became pregnant again, I would automatically be considered high risk.

So hubby and I looked at each other and thought, Okay. Yes. We are doing this. We are having another baby.

And we prayed that this pregnancy would be different.

At 14 weeks, I had a preventative cerclage placed. Everything went well, and for a while, we carried on hoping and praying that this little stitch would help us get further.

Then, at 23 weeks, I found myself in Waikato Hospital.

My body was beginning to behave in a way that was all too familiar — the same way it had when I went into premature labour with my girls.

I was given rescue steroids, and suddenly all those fears came flooding back.

By then, we had already had our gender reveal.

It was a boy.

After two beautiful daughters, we were going to have a son.

We weren’t just going to be Mum and Dad to girls anymore. We were going to be a boy mum and dad too.

Thankfully, that night passed.

Labour didn’t happen.

I was discharged, and our baby stayed exactly where we desperately wanted him to stay.

As the pregnancy continued, my blood pressure was a little high but remained around my baseline. I didn’t initially have gestational diabetes, but at 28 weeks, I was diagnosed with GDM.

Then things became complicated again.

There was uterine activity showing on the CTG when my midwife checked me, and I was sent to Women’s Assessment at Waikato Hospital. We hoped and prayed that everything would settle.

I was given magnesium. I received rescue steroids again. Eventually, because it looked like I was genuinely going into labour, the decision was made to remove my cerclage.

Four hours after the magnesium drip and having the cerclage removed, I was in the delivery suite.

We thought this was it.

And then…

Everything stopped.

Labour simply settled down.

From there, I spent the next two to three weeks in hospital experiencing constant uterine activity and episodes of early labour — but without dilation. Baby remained head down, but there were no other signs that he was ready to arrive.

Those weeks were incredibly hard.

I was a mother lying in a hospital bed trying to protect the baby inside me while my other two babies were at home.

I felt torn every single day.

Part of me desperately wanted to be home with my girls. But another part of me knew that the hospital was the safest place for me and for this little boy.

So we counted the days.

Because this time, every single day mattered.

Every day he stayed inside meant he was getting bigger and stronger.

We weren’t at 26 weeks anymore.

We weren’t facing another micro-preemie journey.

Maybe this NICU journey would look different.

Maybe we could get further.

And we did.

We crossed 30 weeks.

Then came the milestone I had been waiting for.

32 weeks.

I had never been this pregnant before.

Going past 32 weeks was one of the most incredible feelings. Every extra day felt like something I had once thought my body might never be able to give my baby.

And still, he stayed.

Baby was measuring big, and because I had GDM, the plan eventually became an induction at 37 weeks. For the first time, 37 weeks actually felt like something we might reach.

But the pregnancy remained stressful. I was constantly in and out of hospital because of uterine activity and pre-labour. Four different times, it looked like I was going into labour. Four different times, magnesium helped everything slow down and eventually stop.

Then, at 34 weeks and three days, I knew something wasn’t right.

I went back to hospital.

This time, I was diagnosed with uncontrolled pre-eclampsia.

I was told I wouldn’t be going home.

I would remain in hospital until I had my baby.

And I cried my eyes out.

Not because I didn’t understand why I needed to stay. I knew exactly why.

I cried because once again, being a mum to the baby inside me meant being away from the two little girls waiting for me at home.

But our little boy still had his own plans.

On Sunday, 7 June 2026, I was in hospital getting ready to have another CTG. I was talking to the lovely midwife when, at 9:05 a.m my waters broke.

This was it.

At around 9:30 a.m., I was rushed to the delivery suite.

I was a third-time mum. My previous births had been premature, and both labours and deliveries had happened incredibly quickly — within about two hours.

Everyone expected this baby to come quickly too.

And he did.

Although to me, this labour felt like the longest labour of my life.

It was intense.

It was painful.

I was so high on gas and air that somewhere in the middle of everything, I remember wondering whether it was too late to ask for an epidural.

After everything this pregnancy had put us through — the cerclage, the steroids, magnesium drips, the hospital admissions, the false starts, the uterine activity, GDM, pre-eclampsia, the tears, the separation from my girls, and all those days spent begging my body to hold on for just a little longer — we had made it further than we ever had before.

At 11:59 a.m our baby boy was born.

Our 35-week baby.

Our third baby.

Our first son.

The baby we weren’t expecting, during the pregnancy we were so afraid to face after everything we had already been through.

The baby who made us count gestation not just in weeks, but in days.

23 weeks.

28 weeks.

30 weeks.

32 weeks.

34 weeks.

And finally…

35 weeks.

For another family, 35 weeks might still mean premature.

For us, after two premature births and two NICU journeys, 35 weeks felt enormous.

My body had taken him further than I had ever carried one of my babies before.

And after spending so much of the pregnancy afraid that history would repeat itself, there he was.

Our little boy.

3.080 kilograms of answered prayers, fear, strength, hope and love. And suddenly, every extra day we had fought so hard for had a face.

Luqman Abdul Majid was named after my grandfather and great-grandfather.

He was the first baby of mine I got to have on my chest after birth. That moment had been taken away from me with both my ex-32-weeker and my ex-26-weeker, so being able to hold my baby boy straight away was something I will always treasure.

Luqman was admitted to the same nursery and the same bed space as his big sister, our little ex-26-weeker.

He was on CPAP for just four hours before I was told he was moving to Level 2 care. He was a big, strong baby boy and was doing so well.

I remember asking my husband if he was actually ours! We were so used to having tiny little babies in incubators, but here we were with our big, strong boy — and no incubator this time.

Holding my baby boy on day two in NICU felt unexpectedly quick. I had spent 79 days there with his big sister not even two years earlier, and this time, I could already see the light at the end of the tunnel.

It felt as though this journey had only just started, yet it would be over before we knew it.

Just like his sisters, Luqman developed a little jaundice. He was also enjoying showing off his muscles! The NICU nurses were already calling him Dua’s baby brother, and he was well on his way to living in his big sister’s shadow. He was such a teddy bear and loved cuddles from the nurses.

We were already on our breastfeeding journey from day two. This boy had his priorities straight! Once he established good feeds, we knew going home wouldn’t be far away.

Sibling Saturday at Waikato NICU was such a great idea, especially for babies and mums who spend months there. With children under 15 not usually allowed in NICU, it meant our two big NICU graduate sisters finally had the chance to meet their baby brother.

It was day eight when I spoke with the NICU team and decided I was going to skip rooming-in. I had done it all before, not even two years earlier. This time, I just wanted to take my baby home and have all three of my children together.

I came into NICU every day, from morning until night, and did full breastfeeds with Luqman. At 10 days old, he was weighed and a discharge plan was made for that very day.

I hadn’t told anyone he was coming home.

His big sister was so excited to have him home!

Luqman was welcomed with all the love and cuddles we had been waiting to give him. And for me, seeing all three of my NICU babies together at home was a moment that filled my heart.

After everything we had been through as a family, we were finally all together.

I can’t imagine not being a NICU mum.

NICU was meant to be part of my life and my motherhood journey.