Now here I am staring at my screen and every story I can think of centers around Arlo. It’s as if he’s cast some kind of spell on me – like a wizard. Or maybe Voldemort. So, as an experiment, I’m going to try and get through this column without making it all about the baby. 


I tend to be too hard on myself and slack is something I only cut other people. Which is why it’s been a little tough around here these days. I’m a new mom and failing is part of my every day life now.


The week before, I took out every book on our floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and dusted it. Last month, I emptied out my office and donated half of everything to Goodwill.

I believe this is what people call “nesting.”

A Heartbeat

After all the shots and medications and surgeries, the doctor was finally going to take one of our embryos out of its petri dish and put it in me.

Ouch: And Other Stories Of IVF

I’ve always resisted acupuncture. Every time I thought about it I could hear my grandfather’s voice asking why I would pay someone to stick me with a bunch of needles when he could just gather up some nails and do that for free.

If you ever want a good laugh, pull up a real estate website, type in Los Angeles and see what you can get for $150,000 (nothing). Or $400,000 (a tiny house in a neighborhood that has a not-so-tiny crime rate.)


But what does it mean to be a fraud? Is it that you aren’t touched by a muse every second of the day? Is it that you’re not wearing a cozy sweater at sunset, congratulating yourself over how brilliant you are?

I Miss Dating

Last week, it sent me into a little bit of a tailspin. Five years suddenly became FIVE years. And thinking about the next five had me gripping the steering wheel on the way home from work in blind panic.

Nine Drafts

Most of the scripts I’d written up to now were tucked away safely in a file on my computer. Or, at best, read by Studio Executives who called my agents and said, “We loved it but can it be more murder-y?” 

Watering Stones

Hope is like strapping on a bulletproof vest. While you're wearing it nothing can touch you. You’re safe and secure and happy. You believe in a world that’s full of miracles.


My little tattoo was like a marker for this time in my life. A little flag planted in the ground of my thirty-third year.


I felt like a junkie who couldn’t get her fix. As my withdrawal deepened, I tried to tell myself I didn’t care. Maybe this was my wake up call. Maybe I’d be one of those people who didn’t have a personal Facebook account – like Barack Obama or my dad.