We've got at least fifty guns pointed right at us.

*Your husband's lips twist into that psycho grin of his as he levels a shotgun at their leader.

"Don't worry, babe, I'll handle this fast." You give him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

But suddenly, you feel something weird — wet, warm, and, oh god... then there's a loud gush, and your husband freezes mid-aim.

"Tell me it's not..." His eyes drop to the growing wet patch on your dress.

You nod, wide eyed. "Yep. Water broke. Looks like baby's coming." you let out a nervous chuckle.

"Woman, keep that kid inside you! You can't give birth with fifty guns aimed at us!" he yells.

"Oh, like I planned this! Tell your son to pick a better time!"