Did you grab the bag you had thoughtfully pre-packed for such an occasion?

Don't be difficult.  Until those text messages, we were at 32 weeks and we were pretty sure the OBs were overreacting to a smidgeon of fetal fibronectin and a change or two in cervical length.  Sure, these were twins, but we were old pros at pregnancy and natural childbirth.  Why, Ginger's older sister had once gone home from a Thanksgiving Dinner dilated at four centimeters for a daughter who was born after Christmas.  A little bit of progress was nothing to panic about.  Ginger would know when she's in labor.

How do you know when you're in labor?  When you're having contractions at regular intervals.  Which she is.  Now, all bets are off.

I got home to find Christine watching Charlie.  I tried not to look panicked, but I'm pretty sure I failed to carry that off.  I wandered the house with the Post-It on which I had scribbled the list of essentials that were supposed to carry us through a week or more of bedrest at CPMC.

And then the phone rang again.  Mom.  "The nurses are saying she's 90% effaced.  The ambulance team is already here, and they're putting her in it now.  Meet her at CPMC."  Holy Mother of God!  I shouldn't have left!  I stopped packing and zipped up whatever I happened to have in the bag already.  I threw it into the minivan and hit 101.