My husband spent his childhood dreaming of athletic stardom and, to this day, falls asleep to ESPN radio. So there I am, 10 hours into my first labor. I'm sweating and huffing and refusing all meds (my resolve will fizzle three hours later, but that's another story). And this sports-fan husband of mine slaps me on the back and says, "C'mon, Con-ster, you can do it!" To which I snarl: "My name is 'Connie,' not 'Conster,' and this is not one of your teams and you are NOT my coach!" That silenced him.