The first contraction hit while I was peeling potatoes. It started as a tight band of pressure low in my abdomen, then bloomed into a wave of pain that stopped me mid-slice. I grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter, breathing the way the nurse had shown me in prenatal class. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow. Controlled. Except nothing about it felt controlled. “Dinner’s not ready yet,” Travis called from the living room. He stood in the doorway a second later, loosened tie, work