During the early days of 2020, my husband and I received an odd email from our middle child, Anna, who was, at the time, in her last semester of college. Just like her mother, Anna had earned the title “Class Clown” in high school, so we knew from the first line that her email had been written tongue-in-cheek
Believe it or not, there was a time when I didn't know what binge watching was. While our Navy family was stationed in Germany, we felt lucky that American Forces Network aired day-old episodes of “Survivor” and “American Idol.” The rest of the time, we entertained ourselves with middle-of-the-night football broadcasts, quirky BBC shows and strange AFN public service announcements.
After eight hours of labor, a sort of delirium set in. My conscious brain was no longer in control. I fell into a sleep-like stupor between contractions, as if my body insisted on resting up for what was ahead. When each contraction began, I regained minimal consciousness, just enough to grip the hospital bed rail and attempt to breathe through the pain.