I was thirty-two years old, working as a financial analyst for a mid-sized investment firm in Baltimore, and trying to prepare for the arrival of two babies while my husband, Todd, traveled constantly for his consulting job.

That particular day started like any other difficult day in my third trimester. The contractions had been coming and going since morning, sharp enough to make me wince, but not regular enough to warrant a hospital visit. I called my OB’s office, and the nurse had told me to monitor them and come in if they intensified or became consistent.