The night we brought Cohen home, I stood over his bassinet and thought, for a split second, “Maybe he’d be better off with someone else.”
The house was quiet, but my mind was loud. At the hospital, I had nurses and helpers. At home, it was just me, Cohen’s dad, and this tiny human who was jaundiced, tired, and struggling to eat.
I loved him from the moment I saw those two lines on the pregnancy test, but love didn’t feel like enough. Fear was louder.
Part of that fear came from my own childhood. I lost my dad at ten, my stepmom at seventeen, and later, my biological mom too. I knew what it was like to grow up without steady, constant support.
“When I looked at Cohen that night, all I could think was: Every baby deserves the chance to thrive. What if I can’t give him that?”
From Panic to Partnership: Meeting Danielle
I didn’t know it yet, but help was already on its way through a woman named Danielle and a ZERO TO THREE program called HealthySteps. This would change everything about how I saw myself as a mom.
I first met Danielle when Cohen was just four days old. Those early days are a blur, but she stands out clearly. She was the first face I remember in the exam room, calm and steady when I felt like I was falling apart inside. She introduced herself as part of the HealthySteps program, and said that she was available as part of the pediatric primary care team at the practice to help answer parenting questions and connect us with resources if needed.
Cohen struggled to eat, and Danielle walked me through new holds, new techniques, and new ways to help him latch. At one visit, she showed me a different hold that instantly made feeding easier. I cried right there in the exam room, because something impossible suddenly felt possible.
She was there with us through everything: slow weight gain, daycare sicknesses, missed milestones, all the little worries that sent my anxiety spiraling as a new mom. When Cohen wasn’t walking independently yet, she didn’t panic. She just said, “He has time. This is normal.” And I repeated that to myself every day.
She believed in Cohen. She believed in me. And that belief showed up as real support, not just nice words.
What It Means to Truly Believe in Babies
Working in daycare for 13 years, I’ve watched a lot of children grow up. But raising your own baby is different. It’s one thing to care for kids during the day; it’s another thing to wake up at 2 a.m. wondering if your baby’s cough is “normal” or something more.
Cohen has taught me more about myself than I ever expected. He’s quirky, playful, and his cheeky scrunched-up smile can pull me out of any bad mood. Watching his personality go from nothing to something has been the most incredible journey.
I want him to remember playing on the floor with me and Dean, building towers, turning pages in books, pointing to animals, learning words. I want him to know that no matter what, he can come to us and we will show up.
“But here’s what I’ve learned: Believing in babies means believing in their grown-ups, too.”
Danielle didn’t just focus on Cohen’s charts and milestones. She focused on me—my worry, my questions, my need for reassurance. She turned the doctor’s office into a place where I could say, “I’m scared,” and not feel judged. She gave me simple phrases I still carry with me, little truths I repeat when the comparison game starts in my head
Her steady belief helped me be present instead of panicked, connected instead of consumed by fear. That’s what believing in babies looks like in real life.
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