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Feb 09

Jessica Mary Carruth Cohen

I’m a bit late in my birthday post for my girl – but it was a busy weekend. Six years (and two days) ago, my little girl was born. I have two cherubs, and love them both (and in about six months – you’ll have to read thru Sam’s love letter). But six years (and two days) ago, I became a mom, and met the person who’d change my life forever.

From the first second I saw her, there was such an instant bond and almost desperate need in me for her. I knew that my happiness, my survival, in a real sense, was suddenly dependent on this other person. I had a bit of a snag with my blood pressure after the C-section when Jess was born. I had gone into labor, and things were clicking along perfectly well, until I hit nine centimeters. Then everything stopped, and after a couple of hours, they decided to do a c-section. The surgery went great, and all was well… Marc brought her over to see me afterwards, and she was so amazingly beautiful. Her face was perfect, her eyes were huge and wise, and it was the most incredible feeling. Disbelief, awe – all of that, but mostly, I think I was still a bit surprised that it had actually happened – you know how you reach that point where you just think you’re going to stay pregnant forever?

It was after the surgery when I realized how motherhood was going to change me. I had been brought back into my room, and was shaking from the medication. Shaking so much that I couldn’t hold her. And I couldn’t stop the shaking… and was so upset that I couldn’t have my baby that I closed my eyes… and from what I’ve been told, I blacked out, my blood pressure bottomed out and it became a crisis situation. From my perspective… everything went black and hopeless and fuzzy… until Marc brought me my baby. He held her close to me for the first time, and I looked – really looked – at her – and then, only then, was I okay. I looked into her eyes and saw her, really saw her, and she saw me for the first time – and it was okay. It was more than okay – it was the most incredible feeling I’d ever had. Without her, I had a hard time remembering why I was here. Without her, when I couldn’t hold her, when I couldn’t stop shaking, it was easier to just give up and sink into oblivion.

She’s amazing to me. Constantly. Six years later, I still lose time, just watching her sleep or eat, or read or play. Everything about her is a miracle to me – this much loved, so wanted child. She’s the epitome of what Marc and I could achieve together – a living representation of our relationship – and so much more. She’s her own person, with likes and dislikes and quirks and habits and thought processes that I still struggle to understand. She’s brilliant and funny and so sweet. And while there are many things in my life that have changed from six years (and two days ago) – one of the constants is that I don’t know what I’d do without her. I can’t imagine being happy, or being at all, really, without her in my life.

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