Sunday night. (Or Monday morning, if you prefer.) I woke up at around 2 a.m. with some pain in my lower right abdomen. I got up to pee — which is not unusual these days — and went back to bed. "The pain will subside," I told myself. "You've been having tons of pregnancy-related twinges, pangs, and aches over the past few months. It'll go away." It didn't. By 2:45 a.m. the pain had gotten so bad that I was thrashing around on the bed. And no, J didn't wake up because he's the world's deepest sleeper which has me convinced that I'll be doing all the 3 a.m. feedings by myself when the baby comes. I finally couldn't take it anymore and poked...