It was Sunday, June 21st, 2015. I woke up in the morning feeling sad, as this was the first Father’s Day I was not spending with my father who had passed just two months before I got pregnant. Trying to keep busy (and in full nesting mode) I finished my final touches downstairs in my birthing suite (my birth was at home) and my mother came over to take me to Walmart for some things I felt I had to have before I went into labor. I still needed a curtain rod to hang my curtain, an end table in the living room for my guests, bathroom supplies and more. After putting only a quarter of the stuff away, exhausted and missing my nap, my mother left and I began to cook a Father’s Day dinner for my fiance. We probably ate around 7:30 pm and then I asked him if he minded if I left the dishes until morning, I needed to lay down! He of course said he did not care and up to bed we went. We watched our Sunday night TV and just before 11:00 pm I got up, went to the bathroom, turned the light off and got back in bed. We both said goodnight and closed our eyes. Not even three minutes later, I yell,
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