Mariah was almost born in 1990. We thought she would be; everyone said so. Her due date was January 8, then it was January 5 (I never understood why it changed, but it did), and everyone said first babies were late, and we were heartily sick of the 80s (the ME Decade, right?), so we thought that was fine. (Later we realized about the tax deduction, but that was later.)
So 18 years ago today, I went to the doctor for my 38th-week of pregnancy checkup. I'd had my appendix out at about 29 weeks and had been briefly reclassified as a "high risk" pregnancy, but I'd healed nicely and was back with my regular doctor at the regular time. He checked me out and all was well. He left the room at one point--maybe the checkup was over and I was supposed to be getting dressed? I don't remember--and when I stood up my water broke.
And that was that. Someone got some towels, someone else got a wheelchair, and I was headed to the OB ward to have a baby. Never mind that I wasn't in labor; this was a big fancy teaching hospital and they didn't let people break their water on their premises and then just leave. (The doctor was a resident who saw me in the family clinic in the basement of the hospital--and yes, it was just as nice as that implies. Still, for grad student health care, it was pretty plush.) I was whisked through the emergency room and up to OB...to wait. We made a few phone calls, noted that OB was a nicer place when you weren't there for an emergency appendectomy, and waited some more.
And about 15 hours, plenty of drugs, and one blown-up surgical glove later (Mark drew a face on it to amuse me), Mariah arrived. And tomorrow she'll register to vote.
Happy (Almost) Birthday, Mariah! Welcome to adulthood!