Help Is On the Way

by Mindy Kaling

“Never complain, never explain” is the old saying, and my mother completely embodied it. Me, on the other hand? I love complaining. Almost as much as I love explaining! If I could just kvetch and give disclaimers all day, I would be so happy.

She leaned back and took a long sip of her coffee, which is universal friend body language for, You’re a complete fucking idiot.

A little spooked, I contacted a childcare agency to start looking for baby nurses. I felt it was irresponsible to hire Rose without any context of other baby nurses, which killed me because I am actually a person who hates making choices. Those noodle places that give you a little card to check off what you want in your pasta drive me insane. I’m not a chef! I start off making a pad thai–type dish and ruin it by adding marinara sauce. I should not be given that much power.

I wore my Dartmouth sweatshirt to show her that sixteen years ago, I had been considered smart enough to graduate from college.

I can barely take care of my car! I use the drink holder compartment to stash old sticky receipts, and I once backed into my own mailbox!

Normally, I am very good under pressure. When I was working on The Mindy Project, I could stay up all night editing a script, drive myself home, sleep for three hours, wake up, glance at my lines while brushing my teeth, drive to work, and go act all day. I know how to do that. But I’m absolutely terrible when I’m not prepared.

But not having a mom around to support me was torture. It felt especially cosmically mean that my mother had been an obstetrician and gynecologist and I’d had a tough delivery.