childbirth

I’ve done 200,000 Kegels, and a good joke will still make my panties wet (and not in a sexy time way). It's pee. In my pants. I pee my pants!

Logically speaking, I fully understood and appreciated the necessity for the shift, but my heart was far less forgiving.

Getting pregnant after postpartum depression may have stolen a lot from me, but it gave me a lot more.

I can't do this on my own. This life thing, this parenting thing, this figuring out how to make it all work thing? Yeah, those things. I can't. And what's more is I don't think any of us are meant to. It's time to shed the taboo around asking and receiving help.

What I was not prepared for was this. When it was time to give birth to the placenta, gross thing really, it just kind of flops out and they drop it into a bucket. Splat.

My daughter was just reaching her first birthday before the dense fog of postpartum depression started to lift off of me. I didn’t realize it right away, though – and I certainly hadn’t even realized I was suffering from PPD at all.

Judith Shulevitz recently noted in the New York Times that although “unmarried childless women have overcome every barrier to opportunity you can think of... Mothers, on the other hand, aren’t doing nearly as well.” According to Shulevitz, this is because the feminists of Hillary Clinton’s generation focused on demanding equality for women in the workplace.

When I found myself facing an unwanted pregnancy, and after having spent the good part of two years pregnant, I knew right away that I would have an abortion.