This past week, a beautiful little preemie baby girl, nicknamed “Saybie” finally went home to be with her family after months in the hospital. Saybie, was born at 23 weeks and weighed just 8.6 ounces at birth.

Saybie is currently the world’s smallest surviving newborn according to the Tiniest Babies Registry, which is maintained by University of Iowa.

They told my husband that he had about an hour with her, and that she was going to pass away. That hour turned into two hours, which turned into a day, which turned into a week”.-Saybie’s Mother

Saybie’s mother has chosen to remain anonymous but shared that she had severe high blood pressure and delivery of her baby was the only cure. It is a scary concept to think about some of the proposed legislation that has come out of states like New York and Virginia. By these standards, baby Saybie would not have donned her tiny little NICU graduation cap this week. By these standards, Saybie’s mother would be mourning the loss of a child.

Sonograms – 3-D, 4-D and HD – have settled the question of when life begins. At conception, a child has his or her own DNA separate and apart from the mother. We can see the baby’s beating heart as early as 18 days. At 30 days the developing little boy or girl has a nervous system.

At 12 weeks the child has fingernails. At 20 weeks, the baby has all the major organs we have, along with toenails and eyebrows. The child can sleep, can hear, can respond to the mother’s voice and can feel pain.

Clearly, sweet Saybie was not just a clump of cells, nor was she ever “a part of the mother’s body.” Saybie was and is a distinct and precious human being with intrinsic value. And now she has the opportunity to grow up and hopefully live a full life for many decades to come.”-Penny Nance

If you want to know where your state stands on abortion, take a look. It is heartbreaking to think that some states would have ended a life under the guise of providing “women’s health care”.

Wait what? But?! ‘Clump of cells’? Ho…? Wha…? No way.

— Anmol Turna (@AnmolTurna4) May 30, 2019

Baby Saybie: born at 23 weeks, not even 6 months.

The angry left often accuses conservatives of being anti-science, yet those same people try to argue that other babies the same age as Saybie aren’t human. #ProLife is pro-science and pro-reality.https://t.co/2nT7BJqGUq

— Kevin Nicholson (@KevinMNicholson) May 30, 2019

I personally get teary-eyed when I see a baby “graduate” from Neonatal Intensive Care. My son’s story is also one that started in the NICU. After entering my third trimester with him, my body was not dealing well with pregnancy. I became diabetic and my blood pressure became increasingly difficult to control over time. On Christmas Eve in 2005, after several scares-one at 24 weeks and the other at 30 weeks, my BP spiked to 196 over 117. The preparations to induce labor got cut short by the slowing heart rate of my baby and my failing organs due to a condition called Class 1 HELLP Syndrome. I literally felt the life leaving my body that Christmas morning. My life was in danger but there was nothing more I wanted in those moments than for everything to be okay and to hold my child. He was never a “parasite” swimming around inside of me. I took little limbs to my rib cage in those final days leading up to his birth. I calmed him down as he went through a bout of hiccups in utero during my second hospital stay at 30 weeks. In those moments before I was knocked out on a cold operating room table, I felt heartbroken that I tried to bring a child into this world to only have it possibly end badly for one or both of us. We were rushed in to that emergency c-section with no guarantees. And by that, I mean my doctor touching my arm and telling me how gravely ill I was when I asked her if we were going to make it. I silently bargained with God that if one of us had to leave this earth-to let it be me. My husband was not allowed in the operating room. He sat and waited as both of our lives were laid at the mercy of God, very capable doctors and the miracles of modern science.

At 5:37am on Christmas morning, one c-section and a pints of blood via transfusion later, our son was born at three pounds, 11 ounces. My doctor woke me and was beaming. She said he came out “kicking, screaming and peeing all over the place”. Groggy from surgery I cried a bit, I smiled and said “that’s my kid!”

It was truly a Christmas miracle.

We did the whole NICU parent thing. We were fortunate enough to get to hold him right away though he was so tiny, I thought he would break! He actually looked like a little old man with skinny little legs and a fine coating lanugo. He actually had back hair! Some nice volunteer knit a cute little preemie Santa hat (as you can see on him above) for the first baby born on Christmas. We still have the hat and the cute little Christmas decorations the nurses brought in to adorn his pod. On bed rest, when I was finally cleared to go down to see him, he was wearing nothing but that Santa hat and the tiniest diaper I have ever seen. We spent New Year’s Eve toasting with sparkling cider next to his little NICU pod. We spent every second we could with him until he went home after 17 days at four pounds. His little feet fit in the palm of my hand. Today, he spent the afternoon bickering with me about running shoes and how he likes and needs men’s sneakers and is not in the kid’s section anymore. Turns out he’s right. Teenagers. He had his own challenges to overcome-speech delays, fine motor and sensory issues. All of which he has overcome.

While ours was a story of triumph, we saw our share of heartbreak while at the NICU. I remember the parents who had little ones whose lives were really just day-by-day that dealt with restricted visiting hours because of the numerous procedures their children needed in the fight to stay alive. I remember eager foster parents wanting to care for a premature child who was born to a drug-addict who didn’t even know she was pregnant. My personal road to physical recovery was long and hard. I couldn’t see my son for 24 hours after he was born because my situation was still touch-and-go. It took weeks for my swelling to go down. It took months to regulate my blood pressure. I woke up one night after my procedure with uncontrollable chills and in a cold sweat. I thought my body was rejecting the blood product I was given. My physical body has never been the same after HELLP. For this reason, my husband and I decided to be parents to a one-and-only. Pregnancy took a toll on me like nothing else but I wouldn’t trade it for anything and I’m sure Saybie’s mother feels exactly the same way.

Still, some people don’t get it:

Except abortions after 23 weeks are rare and happen because of fetal anomolies/ endangerment to a woman's life. Also being able to survive outside the womb at 23 weeks with expensive, advanced medical treatment doesn't mean embryonic personhood is a thing. Fuck Forced birthers

— Claudia Barrett (@shrillandchill) May 31, 2019

When I look at stories like Saybie’s, I think about the fragile little lives that hang in the balance every day. Instead of shouting abortions and getting participation awards for being on the right (wrong) side of politics and “empowering” yourselves, ladies-let’s CELEBRATE the wonders of modern medicine, the miracle of life. Want to throw profanities at me? Go ahead. Sticks and stones. I say screw people who do not see the value in a life and pass this miracle baby off as “expensive” because of her “advanced medical care” needed. Go wave a sign or something and pretend to understand. You don’t. So excuse me if I appear “intolerant” to you.

On a positive ending-here’s to the small but mighty-you guys are the TRUE warriors! Preemie power! Go Saybie! We’re rooting for you.

Photo Credit: Lisa Carr