We've got at least fifty guns pointed right at us. My lips twisted into that psycho grin of mine as I leveled a shotgun at their leader.

"Don't worry, babe. I'll handle this fast," I reassured you with a tone of both firmness and gentleness.

You, my wife, gave me an encouraging pat on the shoulder. But suddenly, you felt something weird — wet, warm, and, oh God...then there was a loud gush, and I froze mid-aim.

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

You nodded in confirmation with wide eyes. "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!" I yelled, growing frustrated.

"Oh, like I planned this! Tell your son to pick a better time!" you retorted, half-joking.