I spent my late twenties and all of my thirties figuring out what I was supposed to be doing and where my home was.

My first husband and I never came close to having kids.

If you want to become a mother, you can. I promise. It may not happen the way you think, but it's possible. It just takes a combination of a little planning and a lot of living your life.

Getting a pedicure seems to be a standard pre-birth ritual, presumably because it is relaxing and makes you feel pretty even though your little piggies are going to be covered in those awesome no-skid hospital socks which I kept on for three days.

Whether you plan to labor with an epidural or the Pitocin Fairy pins you down or you end up having an emergency C-section, there are still choices you can make throughout your entire birth experience that allow you to feel some control over what is probably the most dramatic day of your life.

I have no problem being full-term pregnant and do not understand women who say, 'I can't wait to get this baby out of me!'

Am I an elitist because I like wine?

Divorce court seemed to inspire in my girlfriends 1940s-era fashion fantasies, not only for me, but for themselves.

Whenever I told women - friends or acquaintances - that I had to go to divorce court, they'd invariably, without skipping a beat, ask, 'What are you going to wear?' It was like instant female solidarity: of course it mattered what I was going to wear.

For weeks I ran through a mental inventory of my closet. Did I want to wear something new - to christen it and forever make it The Divorce Dress?

Approval makes the world go round, even if many of us want to transcend our hunger for it.

Famous people I've interviewed - powerful people, brilliant people, people whom you look at and think, 'Seriously, do you not have pores?' - have turned to me after interviews and asked, 'Was I okay? I hope I was okay.'

I asked God for a healthy baby. An answer arrived in my daughter.

Having grown up Catholic, my prayers were scripted - memorized and deployed in church and before bed. As a young adult, I veered off script and talked to God more plainly. And by 'talked to,' I mean that I basically asked for things to turn out the way I wanted them to.

I once accidentally 'replied all' and sent an email complaining about my then-boyfriend to a bunch of strangers. It was meant for my friend who was a bride, but I ended up addressing her entire wedding party. Her marriage lasted; my relationship didn't.

Snowflakery is simply being human, which makes it a pretty flakey insult.

I'm an old mom of a young baby, and every moment matters.

If I could have had my baby sooner, I would have, simply to spend more years with him.

Mothers of all ages delight in their children, but I don't know that, if I were younger, I would feel as acutely, profoundly, preciously grateful for every smile, squeal, and - yes - diaper blowout.

Despite amazing advances in fertility to help older women get pregnant, the complications, increased chances of autism, and chromosomal abnormalities are significant considerations.

To my knowledge, there are, pretty much, two ways to be interesting: One is to actually do interesting things, achieve the remarkable. The other way to be interesting is to be interested, curious about the world and about other people - not relentlessly revelatory about yourself.

Not that I'm any good at it, but the beauty of meditation is that it liberates us from our own thoughts.

One man's content is another woman's crap. And the crappy content - let's call it crontent - will never go away.

I think the curation consternation is this: Just because you like something or list something, are you really curating?