I’m putting this out into the universe solely for documented proof. I, Michelle Horton, have an eerie connection to the number 27. I am the personified number 27. What this means, I’m not so sure. But let’s explore.
There must be times when you see that life is riddled with funny coincidences, and maybe you ponder the possibility of “fate” and “karma,” but on the whole you assume life is a product of your decisions. And it is, right? You do your homework, you get a good grade. You drive drunk, you get a DWI. You mess up your birth control, you get knocked up. Right?
Let’s start with this:
- I was born on August 27th when my Mom was 27 at 7:26 p.m. (but really, SOMEONE’s watch must have said it was 7:27 so that’s an iffy one);
- 27 months later, my sister was born;
- My social security number ends in 27, therefore making all of my account numbers, college usernames and generated passwords end in 27; and
- Out of around 350 to 400 students, I graduated number 27 in my high school class.
At this point, everyone in my life knew it was a weird coincidence and often joked about it. Did anyone take it seriously? Probably not. But I couldn’t help but notice that the number always popped up in my life. It was always there, even in small, insignificant ways — like the number I was given at the deli or the consistent time on the clock. But enough insignificant run-ins amount to something significant.
One day I was talking to my uncle who is into numerology, and he said that if my number is 27, that means my base number is 9. The number 9 should be lucky, as well. Look for the nines.
So fast-forward to me getting pregnant. I was completely taken by surprise, shocked as to how I even got pregnant. I was using protection, so physically I didn’t understand it. That was the only month that Justin and I were living in separate cities, so statistically I didn’t get it. And, more than that, I was exactly on track to fulfill my “life plan,” so my faith in the fairness of the universe was shaken. But I was due to give birth in ’09, and my uncle’s words rang in my head.
In 2008, I was engaged to my now-husband but we really didn’t plan on getting married anytime soon. Whenever we got around to it, whenever we wanted to have kids, whenever it was financially beneficial for us to do so. To us, the idea of planning a wedding was daunting, and we fantasized about secretly eloping and then having a low-key party later. Then, seven months pregnant, I decided that I wanted to be married before Noah was born. I wanted to have the same last name, the sense of “family.” It just felt right to me, and if we were going to do it we might as well do it now. So I called several mayors in the area.No responses. Finally, a local mayor called me back and said that the only day he could do it was the upcoming Saturday. A Saturday? Are you sure? Yes, the 27th was the only available day he had.
I am not making this up.
So as you can imagine, since my due date was February 6, 2009 everyone joked that he’d be born on January 27th. That day came and went.
Then, lo and behold, February 6th rolls around and my water breaks. Who goes into labor on their due date? As I wrote in my 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 seemed to kick into gear out of no where, and the baby was finally delivered just after midnight.
Delivered at 9 cm.
To top if off — and here’s the kicker — Noah will be the graduating class of ’27.