It's her day. Sure, they say that about a woman's wedding day, her quinceañera, hell maybe her last teeth-cleaning, but the difference, and an important one, is this: on none of those occasions did she find herself occupied with pushing a human the size of a young pumpkin out of her body via an egress the size of an kumquat.
I laugh a little, because I always laugh when someone talks about farting or peeing and she just mentioned both. And also because Ally, the physical therapist who I just met, is staring at my lady parts. I tense my pelvic floor muscles while she watches. I feel like I am winking at a stranger. With my vagina.