Joni Edelman

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.

It doesn’t get any more difficult to insult ourselves, regardless of how old we are. It would be ideal if it got easier to respect ourselves, but it generally doesn’t do that either. Every year you age, and every year the aging you looks at the you of the years before and thinks, I can’t believe I thought I was fat/ugly/etc.

And what’s better than eggs? Eggs direct from the cloaca of your own chicken.

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.

With the help of the midwife—and immense effort on my part—Ella finally slid out into the water. But she was limp, pale. It was scary.

She says she’s worried that the cat, whose name is Jack, doesn’t know what’s going on. She tried to explain to him that she was leaving for a while.

I did The Today Show, and after that spent 45 minutes talking to Inside Edition. If you're confused, imagine how I felt.

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

Look, I'm not saying McDonald's did this themselves, I'm just saying, a lot of the people that work there probably agree.

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.