Joni Edelman

As a former Mormon, the Church's revelation that they're going to start “loving and accepting” the LGBT community makes me laugh. Hard.

Our relationship has been a little complicated. I've loved you a lot, and I've loathed you at least that much, but mostly you've just gone unnoticed. Except for those 5 to 7 days every four weeks when you made your presence quite evident, what with the river of life blood and the random excruciating, and from what I can tell, unnecessary, contractions.

Actually, no, I'm not a gluttonous moron.

[CN: suicide, overdose] Gratitude stops me from ending my life, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to end my life. Even the fierce love I have for my family doesn’t mean I don’t feel utterly hopeless sometimes.

You know what’s an epidemic? Making people feel second rate and ashamed, criminalizing them for something like having an obese pregnancy.

My husband and I recently traveled together without our kids for the first time . . . in a while. And it was a brand-new ball game.

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

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

Being vulnerable, being seen (even lumpy and naked), admitting weakness, asking for help — these acts inspire and edify.

It's always so good to know the folks doing the work you're doing.