I chuckle as I observe Kate's dramatic movements on the couch, shaking my head in amusement. She's clutching her stomach, clearly in discomfort, when I return home fifteen minutes later with my backpack full of groceries. As I walk in the door, she informs me with a whimper that we're out of ice cream. Knowing her, this probably means her cramps are particularly severe this time, given that she's still lying on the couch.