August 11th is likely an insignificant date for most people on this planet.
Not so for me.
On this day in the year 2009, I woke up, jumped in the shower and readied myself for my final appointment with my OB.
Before I could get there, my water broke.
My OB didn't believe me.
So instead of going to the hospital, we went to the movies.
An invisible person stabbed my lower back with a jagged knife over and over and over and over again throughout the entire two and a half hours.
But since my all-knowing OB reassured me I was NOT in labor, we went to Squatters for our final meal as childless Reece and Jessica. With each bite of my veggie burger, I became more and more panicked.
We went home.
I curled up on my bed and started to sob.
My cats curled up around me.
My tears stained my decorative pillow.
That stain is still there.
8 p.m. rolled around. We drove to Jamba Juice.
We made this video:
I didn't say one thing the entire way to the hospital. I found myself wishing we lived further than 5 minutes away.
We parked the car. I started crying again. We walked up to the looming glass entrance. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.
We rode the elevator up to the labor and delivery wing. I clung tightly to Reece's hand as we reached our floor.
We ran into a man who had been in our lamaze class. He was wearing scrubs. His girlfriend was due 5 weeks after me. He told us she had to have an emergency c-section. I nearly puked right then and there.
We checked in. We were shown to our room. The room where our daughter would make her debut into the world just 12 hours later. I put on the sexy gown and sticky socks.
Reece took pictures. He posted something on my facebook page. I nearly puked again as I saw the woman who would be our labor nurse enter our room with what looked a lot like an IV kit.
Turns out, it was an IV kit. I thought I could convince her to put off the inevitable, but she apologetically jabbed the giant needle into my hand before I had time to prepare myself.
There was no going back.
I figured the time had arrived to inform the nurse about my, for lack of a better term, leakage. She checked, and confirmed what I had suspected all along. Then she called my OB an idiot. I decided this nurse was my kind of girl.
About 30 minutes into our Arrested Development distraction-fest, I started to really understand why the women in those natural childbirth videos often scream bloody murder.
And then came midnight.
I'll save the rest of my remembrance for tomorrow.
Because that's when my baby turns one.
My mind is officially blown.