Momlogic's Yvette: Giving birth doesn't necessarily make you a parent. 

My daughter was born on May 6, 2001 at Lenox Hill Hospital on the Upper East Side of of Manhattan. After nine hours of labor and 50 minutes of pushing (thank goodness for ample Greek hips and whoever invented the epidural), Christiana made her grand entrance into the world. But that's not the day I became a mother.

On September 11, 2001, Christiana was 4 months old and I was home on maternity leave. My husband Dave, a cameraman, called and told me what had happened less than a mile away, just across the river from our apartment--where our beautiful baby sat in her bouncy seat playing with her stuffed bear.

I grabbed Christiana and headed to the roof deck of our apartment and there I stood, alone with my baby in my arms, and watched as the North Tower of the World Trade Center burned. The gaping hole was huge, the smoke and fire horrendous and I knew that Dave was either down there already or on his way to cover this catastrophic accident. That's what we all thought--it had to be an accident, right?

I stood on the deck with Christiana in my arms and watched the smoke fill the air, praying and wondering what it must be like for those poor people trapped inside the burning building. I watched as a grey plane came into view from the tip of New Jersey. I watched as it headed towards the towers and I silently thanked God. It must be a rescue plane, I thought. They're going to rescue people from the roof, above the fire. They're going to douse the flames so more people can get out. 

But of course, I was wrong.

See Dave's gripping original 9/11 footage, shot minutes after the first tower was hit, below. 

Yvette's Family Gallery	Remembering 9/11