On This Day
Today, July 16th, 2026, my daughter Amanda turns thirty-six. Also, on July 16th, 1969, Apollo 11 was launched. Four days later NASA faked the moon landing (kidding).
The two have nothing to do with each other, just a fun fact.
Initially, Amanda's due date was July 7th (7/7), which ironically is her mom's favorite number (7). Every day after the due date was filled with anticipation of the big moment.
On Saturday, July 15th (not knowing yet what would happen on the 16th), I brought home all the fixins for ice cream sundaes.
A decision I would regret later.
Afterwards, to fill (and kill) the time before the big event, we decided to go to the movies.
We bought tickets to see the Warren Beatty movie Dick Tracy. Dick Tracy is either a very bad movie, or a movie so far ahead of its time, time hasn't caught up with it yet.
Either way, five minutes into the movie, Arlene grabbed my arm in a death grip and grunted, "We gotta go."
So off to the hospital we rushed.
I don't remember all the logistics, but around ten o'clock that night, Arlene was settled into her room. Now, it was just a matter of time.
And what a time it was.
So many sounds filled those hallways. The grunts, the groans, the curses (and that was just from Arlene).
Suddenly, Arlene reached out and asked for the garbage can, which I grabbed.
Remember those sundaes we ate earlier?
They made a return engagement.
Fortunately for me (and the sheets), I got the garbage can to Arlene in time.
A few minutes later, a nurse came in and put an epidural in place to help manage the pain. That helped.
For a while, at least.
Sometime between contractions, Arlene started to feel more and more uncomfortable. Then the pain became worse.
We called for a nurse. When she checked, she realized the epidural needle had slipped out.
The nurse examined Arlene, then told us she was too far along and could not put the needle back in place.
From this point on, until delivery, Arlene was on her own (drug-wise, at least).
It was a long night. Not for me, but for Arlene. Going through the night without pain medication was unexpected and difficult.
For hours, Arlene went through contractions, but was still unable to deliver the baby. We did not know the gender before birth, so, for the moment, the baby was simply "the baby."
Hours passed with no delivery in sight. During that time, Arlene had a few choice words.
By morning, she shouted, "Get this thing out of me!"
Well, maybe not those exact words, but you get the idea.
By nine o'clock that morning, the doctor decided that Arlene would need to have a C-Section. They wheeled her away. I was left behind in the hospital room.
As I waited, I was surprised to see a friend from high school walk by. Cheryl was a nurse, and after a quick exchange, I explained why I was there.
"Follow me," she said, and led me down the hall.
She handed me a set of scrubs (which I still have today), and directed me to the room where Arlene was.
I slipped on the scrubs and stepped inside. Arlene was on a table. All I could see was the top of her head. A large white screen separated me from what was going on with the C-Section (thank you, God, thank you).
I didn't know what they were doing to Arlene, but whatever it was, the table shook (a lot).
After some time, I heard the distinct cry of our baby.
A baby girl.
Someone called me over, but I still could not see anything. I was handed a device to cut the umbilical cord.
They handed the baby (our baby) to me.
Life will never be the same.
After that, the days that followed were a blur. Arlene's hospital room soon filled with balloons and flowers from family and friends.
Our new baby's name?
Amanda Rose.
I thought it was a pretty unique name. That was until I saw two separate groups of balloons and flowers being delivered to different rooms with Amanda Rose on them.
So, thirty-six years later, once again, Happy Birthday, Amanda.
Oh, and by the way, you still owe me money for those Dick Tracy movie tickets.
