This time last year...

Nov. 8 will never be the same for me.

For close to nine months in 2010, Nov. 8 was the day doctors projected my life would change forever. Steve and I would become something other than "Steve and Rebecca."

We did not know exactly what that would mean. Not that I didn't try to imagine.

I would look at baby clothes and marvel over their smallness. I would read about parenthood and worry about my skills. I immersed myself in baby gear and deliberated over which of it would preserve and better my child and which might harm or kill.

I sometimes envisioned idyllic family moments ahead: spending afternoons at the waterfront park, picnicking and marveling over our peaceful, happy baby; cuddling with the baby in our bed on any given morning; going for long runs while pushing the comfortably sleeping baby in a jogging stroller ahead and reclaiming my long-lost muscle tone.

As D-Day approached, I became more fearful about how exactly this whole childbirth thing would go down. Reality was settling in that one way or another, this very large thing on the inside would be thrust to the outside. And as committed as I was to doing this naturally, I wasn't sure I would be able to withstand the pain.

I would feel her move and wish that we could just stay this close this forever -- minus the heartburn, swollen ankles and sheer uncomfortableness of it.

I peppered everyone I knew who had ever given birth about their experiences. My mother, my step-mother, my grandmother, my girlfriends, my coworkers. When my friend Nicole had her baby, I rushed over the next week and asked for all the details.

She likened it to running a race: Midway through, you wonder what the hell you were thinking, but you know the end is near.

"One way or another," Nicole said, "I knew that baby was going to come out. He was NOT going to stay in there."

Nov. 8 was a Monday.

I woke up large. Steve went with me to my scheduled doctor's appointment.

The nurse noted my due date and quickly told us she would be scheduling an induction for the following Monday, in case I didn't deliver in the interim. She left the room.

Induction?

Steve and I weren't ready for that.

Dr. Prieto came in and we told him that wasn't our plan. We believed the baby would come when she was ready and we weren't ready to make arrangements for something else.

Dr. Prieto obliged in the same relaxed manner he'd handled every one of our requests all the way through. He checked the baby's heart beat and said things looked good.

"Aren't you going to check to see if I'm dilating or something?" I asked.

"Are you having any contractions?" he asked.

"No."

"If you're not having contractions," he shrugged, "there's no need to."

Then he was gone.

It was me and Steve alone again.

Steve went to work. I went home. And I don't really remember the rest of the day.

I probably napped. I probably read. I probably watched a movie or TV or something. Oprah, definitely. Steve certainly came home and I probably cooked. And then I'm sure we went to sleep.

Nov. 8, 2010, came and went and we were still as we were.

Steve and Rebecca.