Eliana Osborn

I’m a sucker for an interesting woman, so Notorious RBG is obviously my sort of book.

Is anyone else with me on this? White foods are NASTY.

I’m proud of you right now, even with all the sadness. Proud of you for heading to rehab, leaving the kids, the man, the house — all of it — to get on top of things. Doing it instead of just thinking about it, talking about it even, hemming and hawing? That’s pretty badass.

After years in apartments that should have been condemned, even these sad restroom facilities were vast improvements. And so we stayed, the husband and I, vaguely embarrassed when guests stayed over and commented on the bordello vibe of the bathroom.

Then we had a kid. No working bathtub suddenly seemed like a big deal. And the functional bathroom spaces weren’t places you’d want to hang out. There’s a lot of bathroom time once you’ve got tiny humans. (You’ve been warned.)

You may have heard the term "bromance" and tried to wash your ears out with bleach (bad idea). Sadly, scientist types heard the word too.

The most important things my mother taught me included work from Neil Diamond, Billy Joel, Wham! and Whitney Houston.

My husband is worried about stigma, about Owen feeling different, about epilepsy being part of his identity. Those are sweet concerns, really. And I get it — I love the kid too. I’d never want to make his life harder in any way.

I’m not there yet. But I need to be honest—I’m closer to 40 than any other multiple of five.

We take weekend turns. He does vacations and summers. Literally. He takes them away. It is great.

I am going to have amazing posture. My neck will look so skinny just from the way I hold my head.