holycrapimyourmom

I have a new segment for this blog, and also my life, that I will call The First 15 . This is a play by play of every event that has taken place during the first 15 minutes of my day. My life now, as you will discover, is a complete and utter shit show from the jump. This is not a unique experience for most mothers, but I continue to be flabbergasted by how insane it all is, all the GD time.  Enjoy. 6:43 am -I awaken to the dulcet tones of my baby screaming. He is laying right beside me in bed, because I was too tired to put him back into his sleep nest last night, so it's really f'ing loud. 6:44 am -I manage to shove my boob into his mouth so he stops crying, even though I'm fairly certain my exhausted, drained breasts have nothing more to give. I re-close my eyes, hoping to fall back asleep for a little while. But then... 6:44 am -My toddler, smelling an opportunity to rip sleep away from me, starts calling, nay, BELLOWING, my name over and over from her ro

I'm sorry it's been so damn long since I've posted anything. Truth be told I never have six seconds to myself ever. I'm not kidding.  I'm typing this while wearing Charlie, who has barfed on me twice since I opened my computer. I mean, he's cute and stuff, but holy shit can this kid puke! He's def gonna make his goal weight. Meanwhile Bo is watching Despicable Me 2  in the living room, but keeps screaming "MOMMY! HELP!" And when I run in to check on her, she says "HI!" I thought when people said it was much harder with two kids they were being silly. They weren't. More on that....soon. I hope. Anyway, I wanted to post about this fun podcast I did about moms who kill, just in time for Mothers Day! It was the only time I left the house that week. Freedom, as it turns out, tastes a lot like the two vodka sodas I slammed once I knew I would be in front of grown up's for the first time in a while and could take an Uber with n

Bo holding her little brother, Charlie, for the first time. Clearly she thinks he should be able to handle his own neck by now.   On March 26th at 4:06pm Charlie Wilder Cobb was born. He decided that his accommodations in my uterus had grown stale and that he would make an appearance three weeks early. Cheeky little fella. Since he was early no one was here to help out yet, which is why at 2:00 am that Monday morning when my water broke we made the decision that I would drive myself to the hospital. Bo was still asleep and going through the experience of waking her up out of a dead sleep would be way more painful than any labor pains I could have. It honestly seemed easier to just get myself to Cedars Sinai and figure it out later. The moment after my water broke and our new Ikea duvet cover is destroyed. While I'd like to be viewed as a total bad ass driving myself during the beginning stages of labor, the truth is it wasn't that big of a deal. See, in mo

If you're a parent I bet your days are filled to the brim with utter fear and anxiety that at any minute the world will end. It's scary enough having kids and worrying they're going to hurt themselves just by falling off their roller shoes, let alone the possibility of them walking into a Chuck E Cheese on a random Tuesday and having to duck and cover because one of the animatronics with a history of violence has beef with the day manager. (How did he get hired in the first place?!) So what are we, as parents of the future generation, supposed to do to deal with all this insanity? While there are the logical and thoughtful solutions suggested time after time like, uh, how about we don't give that dude who with a Google history exclusively on "How To Burn A Cat Alive Without Making A Mess" that AR-15, ideas like that  are clearly insane and threaten the very core of all American values of being able to own ALL THE GUNS.    It seems like the only thing we can

" Fuck, Mommy! Please, fuck, Mom! Mom, fuck, fuck! " said my two and a half year old while watching Zootopia one evening during dinner. My husband and I looked up from our food/computer and stared at each other wide eyed. Then our our expressions began to change slightly. His look became that of a quiet accusation, and mine, guilt. Our toddler is saying "fuck" over and over again, and we both know who she heard it from. It is 100% Mommy's fault , and I know it. Obviously, if you've read previous posts, it's no mystery that I am a person who swears. I swear alllllllll the time, and I always have. As I turn to avoid my husbands gaze of disapproval I flash back to my past filled to the brim with potty mouth behavior. It all started when I was about two or so. My grandpa was holding me, cooing, making me laugh. And as he came in for a snuggle I flashed a big smile and said, "Fuck bullshit shit dammit!" then let out one of those precio

I don't know exactly what it is about me, but I've always been the type of gal that people think they can just say anything to. Perhaps they think, " She's funny! And has the bone structure of someone who doesn't get offended easily! I think I'll cover her with word vomit! " This rule of thumb didn't disappoint this pregnancy. So, for your amusement may I present the top five weirdest things people have said to me during this gestation process . Luckily, I still have about six weeks left so fingers crossed I'll be able to alter this list by then. 5. " Oh my God, are you pregnant? Oh good. I asked a woman that the other day, and she said no and got SO upset!" This was said to me by a young girl who works in the piano lab where I'm taking classes. She has seen me many times before and we've never had to venture much past "Which room would you like?" and "Great, you have an hour, thanks!" I have liked