Allison Cooper

** If you haven’t yet watched this series, the below article includes some spoilers. **

I can't just embrace the chaos. I wish I could follow the advice: “Stop stressing, Allison, you work full time, stop comparing yourself to mothers who don’t." But I can’t help but to play that comparing game and label myself as the inadequate mom.

Who better to design something so avant-garde than an artist who exhibited their very first pieces of artwork next to Keith Haring and Basquiat?

I remember very vividly those first days of feeding my son solids.

[CN: mention of suicide] It’s not all real. We don’t live curated lives that are built around purposeful omissions of reality...

I've noticed that some moms include some pretty wild descriptors on their Twitter profiles. While some are out-there and some are just plain boring, reading them has left me scratching my head, wondering that they would waste their 140 characters on these terms.

I think that before I actually became a mom, I dreamt of sick days to be filled with breakfasts in bed, handwritten notes with all the words spelled wrong, and misshapen pancakes — but the reality is far from that dream. I'm flustered just thinking about it.

Finding yourself doing extra loads of laundry because your toddler’s favorite T-shirt is dirty and you know there will be the mother of all meltdowns tomorrow if it’s not clean?

I’m well aware that this should probably be the last thing on my mind as we get ready to deliver Baby Number Two in a few months, but it’s there. Yes, it’s mixed up in my brain with thoughts of getting the right crib and making sure that our organic crib mattress gets delivered on time, but it is a dominant thought, something that I’m legitimately worried about.

I grew up dreaming of living in that house with the perfect blue shutters and the white picket fence, three perfectly interspaced children running