Caliyah's three month birthday was a beautiful new beginning; she was finally starting to turn the corner. Her first three months of life had been filled with so much unknown, so many unexpected news, rough nights, and anxiety-filled surgery days. Around April, we started to see her personality shine through, subtle smiles when we entered the room, light in her eyes, and brain development like no other. I felt so disconnected those first few weeks, and now I felt an intense connection. When she struggled, I crumbled, and it felt good to see her do well and to be able to smile in seeing her progress. Her good days were magnified, and I felt like I had a glow about me that was rooted in Caliyah's well being.

She started tracking toys, reaching for toys, interacting with others, and being so playful. It was like I began to see my baby come to the surface with each passing day. Now that I am writing this month's later, she has continued to excel and has never looked back. Unfortunately, there seems to be a pattern with our journey, when things were too good, it was followed by rough times. This time it wasn't from Caliyah's health; it was from outsiders. You see, Rome and I made a joint decision to share our beautiful Caliyah with the world. We did not want to hide her; we always wanted her to feel our love and understand that we are all uniquely made. We hoped to educate and inspire others through her journey. Then one day, I got a DM on Instagram, saying I was selfish and inconsiderate for sharing Cali because I was scaring other women who were pregnant.

I would get comments here and there, but this one just hit me hard. To think for a second that I was doing others harm by simply sharing my life? I snapped out of it and realized that others negative comments are a true reflection of their simple minds. I shared this comment with my social media community, and man, the support flowed in. To the point, that tears flowed down my face. I knew that comments like that would come, that by putting my life out there, I would welcome unsolicited opinions. I just hadn't mentally prepared myself for it. It was hard to handle because it was an adult acting so ugly, a grown woman making this comment. If that is an adult's behavior, what would a child do as my Caliyah grows up? This is a reoccurring thought I have, and I know one day I will have to address it in a conversation with Caliyah, but for now, it's just a thought that loops in my mind.

Okay, back to Caliyah's journey. So over that weekend, we had decided to try a new medicine called glycoplyorate to help decrease Caliyah's immense secretions, the one thing keeping us on the floor. When I stepped into her room on Monday, I was told that her secretions were significantly lower and that moving to the floor would happen at the end of this week. The news I had been waiting for was finally here. I called Rome and shared it with him, and then the head doctor in the NICU walked in and said, well, actually, I want her to have low secretions for an entire week, so a discharge date this week wasn't going to happen. To have the air taken out of me like that was rough. I was a bit disappointed in myself, like hadn't I learned by now not to believe anything until I see it.

 On Thursday, when her new team started their shift, Pulmonology met me, and she said she is the only one with the power to give the green light. So I asked her, can you give me a date because I am struggling with this back and forth. She said the magic words, "She's ready to come down to the floor," I asked when she said she wanted to be on shift and said she would be back on Saturday. I thought this Saturday!? I was elated to have a date finally. I went home that day to get some rest before Caliyah's big day. We asked if both caregivers could be there for this monumental day, our request was quickly denied due to covid restrictions. It was another reminder that we are still in the middle of a pandemic. Here we had to pick a parent, which was so hard because we both wanted to be there. How do you tell a parent, I deserve to be there over you? One of us would need to be selfless and suggest the other. In the end, we decided I would go and be there with our baby as she made her big move. You see, Rome was three weeks into his new job at Microsoft, it was a big step in his career, and it was taking a mental toll on him. What many didn't see were the life changes that were happening for us behind the scenes. As we were approaching 99 days in the NICU and still had some months to go, the financial burden was heavy. Rome's role was critical, so we could have two insurance lines, paying our bills while taking only 60% of my salary during my five-month maternity leave.

I woke up Saturday, so anxious like it was the first day of school. I headed to the hospital and made it a point to make sure her daddy felt like he was there for every moment of the day. We face-timed the second I got there to see her Daddy; he was virtually there as we made the trek down three floors to her new home. It was a beautiful day; as I packed up her room, I got sad. This was her first home; this was all we knew, the nurses were our family, and here we were embarking on the unknown. But I knew this big step meant home was just around the corner. So we rolled her out of her NICU room with the grad cap her primary nurse, Nic, made for her, and we were greeted with nurses clapping as we made our last walk out of the NICU together. A few tears flowed down my face, tears of joy. I was so proud of my baby girl and how hard she worked to get to the floor.

When we finally arrived in her new room, it was so big, so much light shining through the windows. Her nurses got her settled; I unpacked her belongings. I sat down on the recliner chair, and the real tears I thought would come hours earlier, flowed down my face. I was balling; it really settled in; we were going to be just fine; my baby is a fighter. I gave her two big kisses, one from me and one from daddy, and headed home with a smile on my face knowing the finish line was so much closer than it was when I woke up.