Five years ago just about right now, my partner and I were at the transition from expectantly waiting in a dimly-lit room to everything-is-happening-now. Our kid would be here real soon now.

We’d gone to the hospital for a planned induction, and for most of a day, basically nothing happened. The meds were doing their thing, but slowly. My partner’s body wasn’t quite ready to let go of this kid yet (looking back, I get it; I often don’t want to let go of her, either). It was going to take a bit for it to get used to the idea. So we waited.

There were two dear friends, plus my partner’s mother, we’d hoped to have at the birth. As it got later and it was clear nothing was imminent, we told them to go rest; we’d let them know when to come in, when things were moving along more. At the rate things were going, surely they’d have plenty of time to get to the hospital. Surely.

Every parent or anyone who’s been at a delivery knows babies, from the moment of arrival, are terrible at keeping to other people’s schedules. Our kid was coming into the world the way John Green described falling asleep (or, at least sometimes, falling in love) — “slowly, and then all at once” — and we were at the “and then” in that sentence. The medical team had suggested maybe a bath would help my partner’s body relax. And it sure did. We went from everyone moving slowly, talking softly, nice and relaxed, to we-are-having-a-baby-now in what seemed like seconds.

I’d promised the people we’d told to rest that I’d let them know when things started moving along, so I texted them all quickly. Quickly enough that I wasn’t paying close attention to the words (that was not a priority). Our friend Sarah got what is now, and may forever remain, my favorite typo: “So… aubergines coming now!” Of the three folks we’d hoped to have there, only Sarah made it, and barely. If only the others had known there’d be eggplant involved.

Exactly an hour after that text, our daughter came into the world, and falling in love, too, went from slowly to all at once.

Happy birthday, Celeste. I love you.