Dear Claire: The Days We Grew Together

Dear Claire,

The days after you were born fell into a rhythm that I never expected, but one we quickly learned to follow.

We started to mark time differently. No longer by hours or days, but by tiny milestones and quiet victories. Most parents probably don’t even think about weight in grams, but for us, every little increase felt like a small miracle. Twenty grams. Thirty grams. Numbers that once felt too small to matter suddenly meant everything.

Your mom and I settled into this new routine, even though everything about it felt foreign at first. She was still in pain, still healing, but every morning, she found the strength to make the trip to the hospital so we could be by your side. I watched her push through exhaustion and discomfort, driven by love and determination. It was something I’ll never forget.

In those early days, the nurses started to recognize us as regulars. We weren’t just visiting anymore — we were part of your daily life, part of your care. We changed your diapers with the clumsy pride of first-time parents. We helped with your feedings, learned how to read your subtle cues, and took in every bit of advice the nurses offered. They became our teachers, our guides, and our support through days that felt heavy and long.

We tried our best to make things feel normal, even though we both knew this wasn’t the start we had imagined. We read to you, we spoke softly to you, we celebrated the moments when we could hold you close, even just for a little while. And then, one day, they "popped the top" of your pod — it felt like a tiny, quiet victory. No more barriers between our hands and your warm skin. You were still so small, but you suddenly felt just a little closer to us.

There was another funny moment in those early days. We were still torn between two names for you, hoping that when we saw you, we’d just know. But even after meeting you, we weren’t sure right away. For a little while, you were simply "Baby Girl" to all of us. The nurses even turned it into a game, tallying votes on the whiteboard for which name they liked best. As it turns out, Claire won the vote — though I promise we didn’t base our decision on the scoreboard. We chose it because it felt right in our hearts. And now, I can’t imagine you as anything else.

Still, it wasn’t easy. Leaving you at the hospital each night was harder than I can explain. We’d come home to a house that felt too quiet. I could see the weight your mom was carrying, the ache of not having you home where you belonged. Even Gus, our loyal pup, seemed to notice something was missing. He waited patiently for you, just like we did.

But through all of this, we kept showing up. Every single day, we sat by your side, celebrated your progress, and learned how to be your parents. Slowly, we found comfort in the small moments — in your strength, in your little milestones, in the quiet belief that we were getting closer to bringing you home.

We knew there was still a road ahead, but by then, we also knew something else: No matter how uncertain the days felt, we were growing right alongside you.

Love always,
Dad