My son doesn't know how flawed I am, how flawed we are. He still likes us so much, and that's so incredible to be around.

I don't know what I can do about the aging. Yes, I am aging. Oh my God, I'm aging all the time. It's like those flowers that wilt in front of you in time-lapse films. But what can I possibly do? Look like a lunatic?

I don't look to play people that are familiar. I look to play people that are different, challenge, unknown, foreign, and therefore scary.

I feel conflicted about my relationship with social media.

My job requires me to put on a little dress and run around the streets of New York in heels. But I also had the financial means to hire a yoga teacher to come to my house while my sitter watched the newborn. For 95 percent of the world, that's not realistic.

I'm not on Twitter. In theory, I really like Instagram. I think it's a warmer environment. I think, though conversations can erupt that aren't always friendly, you have an opportunity to jump in and redirect and even caution people against language and behavior that I personally object to.

I strangely feel better before I go through hair and makeup. Maybe that's just because I feel like me.