I'm putting this out into the Universe solely for documented proof. I, Michelle Horton, have an eerie connection to the number 27. Against my better judgement, my rational mind, my resistance to the supernatural, I can't shake it.
I was born on August 27th when my Mom was 27 at 7:27
27 months later, my sister was born
My social security number ends in 27, so all of my computer-generated "identification" numbers end in 27 — like my college email address and any account ID numbers.
Out of around 350-ish students, I graduated number 27 in my high school class.
By the time I graduated, people picked up on the funny coincidence. They probably didn't take it all that seriously, but it just kept popping up. It was always there — even in small, insignificant ways — until it felt strangely significant. (That's pretty common — I know. Keep reading, you skeptic.)
Well one day I was chatting with my numerology-loving uncle, and he mentioned that the number 27 really has a base number of 9. The number 9 should be lucky, as well. Look for the nines.
So fast-forward to me getting pregnant — which was shocking, to say the least. We weren't being reckless or irresponsible, and I was exactly on track to fulfill my "life plan" — so none of it made sense. Any faith I had in the Universe was fully shaken. This couldn't possibly be happening to me.
But I was due to give birth in '09, and my uncle's words whispered in my ear.
Although Justin and I planned on building a life together, marriage wasn't a top priority. Whenever we got around to it, whenever we wanted to have kids, whenever it was financially beneficial. The idea of planning a wedding was daunting, and we fantasized about secretly eloping and having a low-key party later. Then, eight-months pregnant, I suddenly wanted to be married before Noah was born. I wanted to have the same last name, the sense of family. It just felt right, and if marriage was inevitable then why not now? (Hopeless romantics, we are.)
So I called several mayors in the area. No responses. Finally a local mayor called and said that he only had one available day, next Saturday.
A Saturday? Are you sure?
Yes, the 27th was the only available day before my due date. So we got married on December 27th.
(I am not making this up.)
But here's where it gets really weird.
Since my due date was February 6, 2009, everyone joked that he'd be born on January 27. That day came and went.
Then, lo and behold, February 6 rolls around and my water breaks — on my due date, which is surprisingly rare. As I wrote in the birth story, my cervix refused to dilate. Finally after almost 20 hours in active labor, my body went from 4 cm. to 9 cm. in about an hour. My body kicked into gear in a matter of minutes, and he was finally delivered just after midnight.
Delivered at 9 cm.
(My hospital room was 276 and he was technically born in room 277 ^^^)
To top if off — and here's the kicker — Noah will be the graduating class of '27.
Am I crazy or is that crazy?
What do you think? Am I totally nuts? Is there some significance here? Have you had a weird connection to a number?