I’m going on a week-long work trip, by far the longest I’ve ever left my little family and am feeling a variety of feelings (“feeling a variety of feelings” — how is that for good writing?).
Nothing — and I mean nothing — in the world can make me feel more frustrated and helpless than a bad dressing room session.
Do you ever feel that way, new mom? That you are invisible?
So, when do we fill out the police report?
This essay also includes my secret shame. At least one of them.
Why I try to watch the “c” word when describing women.
I guess I have a habit of not really thinking too far ahead of things. But I just couldn’t picture the human being inside me.
Let’s just say that on Yoga Pant Saturdays, I don’t have such a hard time leaving the apartment.