Joni Edelman

I just listened to my four and six year-old children (one boy, one girl) have a lengthy bathtime conversation about babies, growing up, m

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

The argument against homeschooling is always the same: “Kids need to socialize.”

My decision to bed-share with my children despite potential SIDS risks has less to do with studies, and more to do with instinct.

I was told that feminism is man hate. That abortion is murder. And then I thought, "What am I doing here?"

I don’t think anyone who has been to the spirited child parenting rodeo would call a mother who screams, “bad,” or who loses her temper, a “failure.” I think we all understand parenting is really really hard from the get go, and parenting a kid who won’t sleep, who screams and kicks and says they hate you, is its own challenge

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

Compassion for myself is not a thing I do. It is not a thing I have ever done. It is not a thing I feel comfortable doing. It's time I stop for compassion.

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.

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