Today is the birthday of my eldest child, Jackson. Eight years ago they sliced me open and pulled his little tiny body out of me - a few weeks premature and less than 7 pounds, with legs that looks like they had been in a circle inside of me, like a Gumby doll. His little face squished, rosebud lips, puffy eyelids, perfect round head, olive skin that soon became yellower with jaundice for a few days...Grandma thought there was something wrong with him. Of course there wasn't...he was perfection in a baby. I started nursing him immediately when we settled into our room and he was a natural - so was I, I guess - no pain, none of the horror stories I hear from other women. I thought, "Wow, I am pretty good at this! Perfect baby, and I can feed him myself!" It was the start of a new life for me. Jackson will always hold that special place in my heart - one person who changed my life forever from the very moment I met him. John has another spot like that in my heart, as does Sulli. But Jackson - ah, Jackson...he owns a place that no one else could ever occupy. He is the person who made me a mother.