We think we might be in labor. We planned a short trip to visit friends and relatives in Baltimore, thinking that some spicy Maryland crabs would trigger a visit from the stork. Of course, it turns out that this care-free act of pending baby-ignorance was the very thing that made the little guy start wriggling down the birth canal. "Crabs," he heard, "would be delicious this afternoon."

Boom.

It started after this morning's breakfast of bagels and cream cheese. [Crazy person notice: this statement in no way conveys our belief that bagels and cream cheese trigger labor. In fact, we've had ourselves a lot of bagels and cream cheese and no baby action until this morning.] K started having nausea and some diffuse pain, on no particular time schedule. Then the pain became sharper, moving from the back to the front.

We called my father, the physician pilot, and described the sensation. He immediately diagnosed it as labor, though we're both skeptical. Okay, K's skeptical. I'm convinced that ever wince is labor, that every sigh is water breaking.

Anyhow, they keep coming, but it could be hours and hours before we know anything meaningful. This could be it. Or nothing.