The Longest Day

I know the thought going through your mind right now. This is either a long and boring critique of a well-known war film, or she's trying to be funny by making a reference to ancient pop culture that applies to something in her own repertoire of experience. I am glad to inform you that this post falls under the latter option, and that whether or not you wish to hear, you are about to learn of my run-in with what I like to call: The Very Long Day. Rather impressive, isn't it?

I'm going to recount my experience with the use of italics, because it's more dramatic.

March 18, 2014. 4:39a.m.
I stumble out of bed, half-awake and bleary-eyed, with my coordination skills still asleep. After some hasty make-up application, I climbed into the car with Faith, Claire, and my parents, who were looking remarkably awake for it not being morning. It was a little after 5:00. 

5:45a.m.
We arrive at the hospital. After an unremarkable elevator ride, we walked down a corridor to stand before double doors, locked. Dad picked up the phone on the wall and said, with all the calm of past experience, "Stephaney Carpenter is here to have a baby."