BREAKING NEWS: Motherhood is WILD

I'm a Journalist by Trade. A Mom by Choice.

I’ve got two wonderful monsters: a baby boy who’s three (yes, I’ll call him a baby for as long as I want and there’s nothing you can do about it—but no, I won’t describe him by how many months old he is. I’m not a complete psycho, thank you very much), and a baby girl who’s one. I’ve also got a very needy rescue pup who’s four — and, if I’m being honest, he requires more attention and patience than both of my kids combined. My son goes exclusively by Lightning McQueen, so that’s what I’ll call him here for fun. My daughter is his absolute shadow and adores the crumb-covered ground he stomps on. She’s affectionately (and appropriately) known as Baby McQueen in my house. So we’ll stick with that and stay on brand. (No, I’m not endorsed by Disney—but here’s to hoping.)

My Story (AKA: “What did you do before kids?”)

I used to run through crime scenes. Now I dodge Hot Wheels and toddler tantrums. (Equally dangerous).

I’ve spent my entire professional life working for a company, a newsroom, or on a freelance contract. I spent the better part of a decade in TV news, working as an on-camera reporter and anchor. That meant live shots at 5 a.m., chasing down stories, writing to deadline, and occasionally sprinting in heels wearing an expensive-looking Ralph Lauren dress I snagged at a deep discount (shout out to Marshalls). Crossing icy parking lots with a tripod on one shoulder and a lukewarm caffeinated drink in hand while piecing my story together was thrilling and exhausting and deeply personal — and I loved it.

Come to think of it, kind of like being a mom. But this? This is so much harder, and so much more rewarding.

I remember flopping on my bed one night, sobbing on the phone to my mom in my very humble apartment—one I was still extremely proud of because it was mine and I paid for it on my own—telling her I was “wasting the best years of my life” and that I’d “never meet anyone up here.” I was twenty-three and deeply melodramatic.

Spoiler: I met someone. I fell hard. And I remember thinking he would make a great dad—a thought I’d never had about any other guy. We survived long distance, job changes, and several moves. I went on to work in the Bronx and Brooklyn, reporting and anchoring all hours of the day and night. And now here we are: two kids deep. Nap schedules rule our lives.

When Lightning McQueen was six months old, I left my job and leaned into freelance writing, juggling 30 hours a week while full-time momming. Halfway through my second pregnancy, I got very sick. We made the call: I’d pause work and focus on mom life.

I love being a stay-at-home mom—but I hate how society (and my inner critic) makes it feel like that’s somehow not “enough.” (Much more to come on that in future posts.)

A Monster Truck in the Butt

So I finally sit down—deep breath—fire up the laptop, feeling proud, feeling ready to write… and immediately get a literal pain in my ass.

Not a metaphor. A literal monster truck (specifically that S.O.B. Grave Digger, hey Boy moms hey) had been left on the porch swing, right where I parked it.

Because: toys. Toys everywhere.

It was this oddly perfect moment: a little slice of clarity, some peaceful mental space all about my thoughts, my identity, punctured (physically) by a tiny truck.

If that’s not motherhood, I don’t know what is.

So, Why Now?

What finally got me to stop making excuses and start this Substack?

Honestly, it was telling my fear of judgment to shut up. It was saying screw you to the imposter syndrome that pipes up every time I make any decision (big or small).

It was refusing to let my soul-crushing, unrelenting exhaustion win. (My youngest is 15 months old and STILL—yes, still—not sleeping through the night.)

It was a need to reclaim a sacred space: writing. Using my voice, sorting through the chaos in my brain, putting it somewhere. It was a hope to connect.

Because every mom I know is still searching for that mythical village we were told would show up. You know, the one that never came banging on our door when we were one week postpartum, leaking through our nursing bras, crying at 3 a.m., unshowered, underfed, and feeling utterly alone.

So Here’s the Vibe

These days, I spend far more time chasing toddlers than chasing news tips, but storytelling remains part of who I am. The Mom Report is where I’ll share honest reflections, helpful finds, funny moments, and thoughtful reporting on the wild ride that is modern motherhood.

My hope is that reading this feels like we’re sitting together in someone’s kitchen—mine, yours, doesn’t matter. Ignoring the dishes. Ignoring the mess. Letting the to-do list fade for a minute. Stealing lukewarm coffee sips between bursts of real, honest talk. Laughter. Maybe a few tears.

Sighing in relief because—no—you’re not the only one thinking that or feeling this.

Swapping toddler war stories while someone tugs at our yoga pants, demanding another snack.

What You’ll Find Here

Reflections. Reviews. Chaos. Comfort. A little of all of it.

And here’s what’s been on my mind lately. I finally decided to write it down:

Things I Wish Moms Talked About More

I wish more moms talked about:

• Postpartum depression.

• Postpartum rage.

• The weird heartache of transitioning from one to two babies.

• The identity crisis that hits you when you realize how completely you’ve disappeared into motherhood.

• The longing to feel proud to be “just” a mom without having to qualify it with a side hustle or title.

• The guilt of enjoying time away from your kids and the pain of missing them.

• The craving to be alone—not to escape, but to rediscover who you even are now.

• How your brain does change after babies (it’s not an excuse—it’s science).

• How you can sit down with old friends and realize you have nothing to say except “my kid does this cute thing now” and how weirdly insecure that makes you feel.

• How social media is stealing our ability to be present.

• How terrified we are of screwing our kids up and passing on the anxiety we’re just now learning to navigate ourselves.

• How the days you “do nothing” as a mom are usually the days you’re showing up the most.

• How the days you “do everything” leave you feeling guilty for not doing more with your kids.

• How some days you’re flying and some days you’re absolutely drowning.

• How motherhood can bring you closer to faith.

• How none of us have a clue what we’re doing, but we still waste energy worrying about what strangers think.

• How this life—the huge mess, the intense love, and the sound of that baby giggle bubbling over—it’s all kind of extraordinary.

If You’re Still Here

Whew. Welcome to the inside of my brain. Exhausting, right?

But doesn’t yours look a little like this too?

Like the mess just outside the frame of your Instagram post. The closet or basement you pretend doesn’t exist when company comes over—but it’s still there, waiting for you to find time to sort through it.

If this sounds like something you need, too…I hope you’ll stick around.

Reporting live from the chaos — this has been The Mom Report.