Creative Nonfiction

Mother of the Bride, I wear this dress like my role; no one sees underneath. Anarchist in beige and ivory, purple eyeliner without my glasses. No one recognizes the anarchy.…

My husband and I both knew we wanted one child before we even got married. In part, it had to do with our own failed sibling relationships and with wanting…

My mom got knocked up in college. She claims she conceived my sister when she lost her virginity, or as she puts it, when she finally succumbed to my biological…

There it was on the ultrasound: a tiny but unmistakable penis. We were having a son. My husband glowed. The radiology technician oohed and aahed. Me? I was panic-stricken. I…

I never thought I had an addictive personality until the time I stayed up all night watching an online spat. The moment of truth came during a slow period in…

My husband came home from shopping the other day with a size-five pair of pink sneakers with sparkles. He bought them for our 16-month-old daughter. I cringed. My insides were…

It is rather unusual for me to tear off on roaring, spontaneous tangents. In fact, I am fairly level-headed about most things, although I am known, by those who know…

“She has your eyes,” says the woman at the toddler park. It’s true. My daughter Mira has my blue eyes and the dimple from my chin. When it’s just Mira…

I’m all for natural childbirth. I think it’s great when women give birth under the influence of measured breathing, hot baths, and long walks, and I’m firmly against scheduled c-sections.…

Twenty-five years ago, before the ink dried on Roe vs. Wade, my father set out to protest. Every Sunday, his only day off, he picketed the local hospital where the…

“You wanna hear the latest?” It’s Diana, my best friend of forty years on the phone, and I know what’s coming: a tale of a recent confrontation with her daughter…