Сона Мовсесян о трудностях материнства и ностальгии по работе ассистентом Конана О'Брайена

Sona Movsesian is, by her own admission, unrepentantly lazy. In her 2022 book, The World’s Worst Assistant, she writes about working for Conan O’Brien, who thankfully found that loose approach to her job so charming that she became something of a sidekick, eventually joining him on pretaped Conan bits and co-hosting his podcast, Conan O’Brien Needs a Friend. That’s not to say that she doesn’t work hard at things that are important to her, but rather she doesn’t stress herself out about details or trying to do things the “right way.” It should come as no surprise that her approach to motherhood is similarly haphazard. In her new book, The World’s Worst Mom, a sort of sequel to the first, she is no longer stress-free. Like any parent, she is frazzled and tired and overwhelmed and not pretending otherwise. But she’s still laughing through it, because what else can you do? For any parent who has scrolled past a perfectly put-together momfluencer detailing an impossibly daily schedule and scoffed at the absurdity, Movsesian’s book is a balm. And yet, The World’s Worst Mom avoids the relatability trap. Movsesian is well aware that, though much of parenting is universal, she doesn’t have a “typical” life. In this excerpt, she describes telling O’Brien, her “60-something-year-old practice baby,” that she was pregnant and how their dynamic changed when she had two new humans to care for. Excerpt from 'The World's Worst Mom' Conan and his wife, Liza, were the first two people to find out about my pregnancy. We were recording something at Conan’s house during the COVID-19 pandemic, and after a long day of shooting, Conan offered me some wine, which I turned down. Shocked by my sudden sobriety, Conan thought it could only be one thing: pregnancy. He basically shouted at me, “What, are you pregnant?” And, of course, he was right. We had just found out about a week earlier, and I couldn’t lie to him, especially since he and Liza had such a big role in our growing family. After we got married, Tak and I sunk our combined life savings into buying a house in Altadena, a suburb of Los Angeles, and we thought our family could grow in the house with us. We had no idea we’d need expensive fertility treatments before that dream could become a reality, and so when we realized that was the path we’d have to take to parenthood, we had no money to pay for it. We thought about asking our parents or my brother for money, but we knew they would be weird about us paying them back, so we asked my surrogate family, the O’Briens. I hate asking people for help. I hate being vulnerable and showing weakness, but I mustered up my meager courage and asked Conan if I could borrow some money so we could start fertility treatments. When he said yes as soon as I asked — without even thinking — I was overcome with emotion. My first thought was “I should’ve asked for more money.” On the way home, Conan’s accountant called me and said that, on second thought, Conan and Liza wanted to give me the money as a gift, without expecting any repayment. I hung up, burst into tears, and called Tak. We knew it was important for us to prove to ourselves that we were ready to be parents, and paying for our treatments was one of the ways we could do that, so we insisted on paying them back. Even so, every time I think of the gesture, I’m overwhelmed by the O’Briens’ generosity all over again. And yet, it only makes sense that Conan played such an important role in making me a mother. After all, he was my practice child for over ten years, and what better end to my role as a caretaker for him than becoming a caretaker to my actual children? I’m not saying I was maternal with him in the traditional sense of the word, but I did (and still do) worry about him in many ways a parent might worry about their kid. I worried about whether he ate, and whether he ate enough. I worried about whether he was comfortable. Did he have a change of clothes in case something got smudged on his shirt? Did he pack everything he needed when he went on a trip? Is he happy? Is he sad? Is he grumpy? Is he frustrated? Why is he frustrated? Can I help him take deep breaths and relax? Does he need to use the potty? Is there a potty nearby? Conan was the person I worried about for so many years, and when I got pregnant, everything shifted. I’m not saying Conan was jealous, but he did call my babies Rub and Tug for the duration of my pregnancy, like any anxious firstborn might while awaiting new siblings. I was worried that our dynamic would change, and it did. But not for the worst. When my boys were born, I sent videos and photos to Conan regularly, and he was so genuinely happy for me and Tak. He came to our house to meet them when the boys were about six months old and Conan picked favorites right away because one smiled at him and the other didn’t. He then held a grudge against the one who didn’t react to him for months and months after. And no, I won’t disclose who is his favorite because I’m worried my boys will read this one day. I want to hold out hope that they both now find Conan amusing, and any beef he might’ve had with the one who didn’t give him what he wanted has faded away. My first book chronicled the twelve incredibly fun and chaotic years of being Conan’s executive assistant. As with motherhood, I didn’t always get it right. As with motherhood, I often took shortcuts or didn’t pay attention to details. There were days when I phoned it in and didn’t give him the attention he deserved or needed. But everything I did for Conan I did from a place of love. I cared about him and wanted to make sure, above all else, that he was happy and taken care of. I worried about him and wanted to help him when he was having a rough day. He laughs at me like my kids laugh at me. He gets frustrated at me like my kids get frustrated with me, only they yell and scream. Conan wouldn’t throw a tantrum— well, he would actually—but usually, he just becomes more passive- aggressive than usual, which is worse than tantrums in most ways. This is jumping ahead, but a month before my due date, I started training my replacement, David Hopping. I told my doctor I was still going to the office every day, and he said, “I really wish you wouldn’t,” so I took that as a good time as any to start planning for my maternity leave. The closer I got to my due date, the harder it became for me to move comfortably. The Largo is almost an hour away from where I lived in Altadena, so the drive was getting almost unbearable. Tak eventually started driving me to work, but it didn’t make sense for me to keep going to the office, since I could barely move when I got there. No one has ever been happier to convalesce. That is, until Conan had announced that he would no longer be hosting his late-night show Conan. So after almost thirty years, his work in late night was coming to an end at the Largo, and his final show was a week before my scheduled C-section. Against the wishes of every medical professional involved in my birth, I determined to go to the Largo to watch the shows. I knew there was no way I was going to miss Conan’s last late-night show, so I powered through and was able to make it to the theater for his last episode, with Jack Black. My friend Meghan Sinclair was the photographer and took a photo of me grabbing my giant bulging belly and looking through two glassy eyes I know were holding back tears. I’m so happy I could be there, and in a way, my boys were there with me, watching their Uncle Coco and the end of an era. A week later, my baby boys were born. They waited so I could properly finish my time working as the assistant to late-night host Conan O’Brien. I know I’m reading into it, but they held on long enough so I could watch this monumental moment, like they knew how much it meant to me to be there. The version of Conan they know has never hosted a late-night show. Their Conan is the host for the Oscars, a podcast host, a voice in Toy Story 5, a world traveler, an occasional actor, and many other things. More importantly, their Uncle Coco works with their mom, and we work in a building with a lot of snacks. When they’re older, I’ll show them some of Conan’s most notable comedy bits, like WikiBear, or Minty the Candy Cane That Briefly Fell on the Ground, or FedEx Pope, or the Masturbating Bear. Okay, maybe I won’t actually watch those clips with them. Maybe I’ll just let them discover them all on their own. But when they’re old enough, I will show them the episode when their Uncle Coco took their mom to Armenia, and I’ll tell them this was how their dad found out who their mom was and how we met six months later. Maybe I’ll play some of the podcast episodes for them, like the one when I told Conan and Matt I was pregnant, or other episodes when we talk about them. These nepo babies have no idea how much of their life has already been lived in the spotlight. Not getting to work with Conan daily as his assistant has been one of the bigger sacrifices I’ve made as a mom, because I loved my job. I loved helping him with whatever new and exciting project he was working on. Getting the job working for Conan changed my life, and it’s only apt that the next big life-changing moment for me is what changed our dynamic. I miss getting to go on cool trips and eating delicious meals from the best restaurants. Knowing I’ve been able to make this transition to motherhood and not only maintain my relationship with Conan but also introduce him and Liza into my kids’ lives makes me miss my old job less. These days, as I find myself digging into my purse to get a snack for my kids before they have a full-blown tantrum, I’m reminded of all the times I would run to a nearby deli to get a little nibble for Conan before a photo shoot or an event he was hosting. I’m deeply grateful for all the years I was Conan’s assistant, unknowingly training myself for the biggest job I would ever have, and I find myself really missing my 60-something-year-old practice baby. From The World’s Worst Mom, by Sona Movsesian, published by Plume, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. Copyright © 2026 by Sona Movsesian. New! You can now save this product for later.