motherhood

This is what it's like to be a feminist on the Internet who also happens to be a mother.

She knows you’re not supposed to call it an “it,” but she honestly can’t tell if it’s a boy or girl or . . . undecided.

I could tell my therapist that tomorrow I will eat toast for breakfast instead of a bagel, and technically I will have done what she's asked.

I’m four months pregnant and already can’t bear the sight of my growing stomach. I'm worried I'm not eating enough and that scares me.

Body image, BDSM, Zumba, and polyamory. Just another week at Ravishly . . .

You see, before I became a soccer mom, I was a sex writer. And a damn good one.

Fresh orange juice, milk, thick slices of ham, a block of cheese, a carton of eggs—her husband kept it this way should this moment arrive.

Seven years before I was born, my mother made a decision that would change her life—and lead to mine.