Then, as if it were nothing at all, my doctor asked when I would like to be induced (within a window of given time of course). And it was nothing to her, just another day, but to me it was asking someone to choose the date everything would change forever...good and bad. We made small talk and I chose my day- Emerson's potential birthday- before my best friend and Marshall's dad left home, obviously. And then she offered to try to induce labor naturally. An offer I had been told to expect and one I had been told would "feel like a melon-baller to my insides" but I accepted, because, despite all of my fear and apprehension, I wanted to do everything I could to bring this little man into the world in a natural way (up until the point of the epidural anyways).
In a delightful process, deemed 'stripping the membranes', my doctor (for the first time in her celebrated career) accidentally broke my water. A process she said would have only happened if my body was ready anyways and that it was better to have happened in her office than once we got out to the car. Ironically enough, Marshall and I had joked about bringing the hospital bag with us to the appointment because we had been told the process was so effective, but of course we didn't. Pfft. Parenting newbies.
So she sent us home, to eat a light dinner, grab our bags and with instruction to be back to the hospital by 8 that evening if the contractions weren't firing like a pistol first.
We drove home, awkward and giggling. I was thinking I could have babies for a living (ha, bless your heart you naive you) because I hadn't had a single contraction yet. And then we ate our last meal as just the two of us: toast and eggs and watched a game of the world cup.