Joni Edelman

I want my kids to have an understanding of the truth of sex, the ins, the outs, the details no one wants to ask anyone—least of all their mom.

Now that I've embarked upon the decade I once considered "old," there are a few things I'd like my 20 (and 30) year-old self to know.

I didn't get a lot of mothering as a child, but when I did, it was from her. She taught me how to sew, how to crochet. She taught me how to stand up for myself, to be tough. She taught me how to make fried chicken and fried okra, which I will never make, because it's fucking gross.

If you decide pit or leg hair isn't a big deal, then bam! It's not a big deal.

When I was little, any time I got an insect bite or stubbed my toe, I had to ask my mom, “Am I going to die? If I was going to die from this, I’d already be dead — right?” I also had a 30-minute prayer that I needed to say at each meal or else everyone would be poisoned and die. And corners. I had to check all of them before I went to bed.

“I don’t even know what to say, Joni. Your baby isn’t alive.”

When I heard about accusations that Lena sexually abused her sister, I was astonished. And my visceral emotional reaction prompted powerful questions.

If you're brave enough to take the DIY Brazilian plunge, these tips are a must-read. As in, tip #6: It hurts, but not more than having a baby. Good to know.

You can work your butt off and still be left with a tummy. Bummer.

New research suggests that brain inflammation occurring independent of a disease may be linked to depression. Could a "cure" be on the horizon?