Getting Sticky With Chase Cohl 

Photos by Max Robinson, Words by AnaMaria Glavan

Chase Cohl lives with her partner, Max, and their son, Blondie. It’s a family name: one she felt spiritually tethered to before he was even born. Now she’s pregnant with the couple’s second child.

We spoke with Chase—the musician, writer, and designer whose LP Death of a Fairy Tale is out now—about the pieces that get left on the cutting room floor. Weaning, for one, and the hormonal, human-sized, Miley Cyrus-helmed wrecking ball it can take to a woman’s body. She’s candid about needing extra support to get through it, too, and how validating it was to hear “I need you to understand how normal it is to feel crazy right now” from her no-nonsense doctor. There’s a whole physical circus: weight fluctuations, digestion spirals, skin surprises, the dreaded postpartum bangs. A whole internal Ringling Bros production that you seemingly have no control over. 

We also spoke about relationships, and how the mark of a true soulmate isn’t constant fireworks but a steady rhythm. “Even if your relationship doesn’t have drama, life will provide enough of it. I don’t need a partner who tortures me because life will torture us both at some point.” And still, even the strongest, most loving bonds can get rattled once a crying, whining baby enters the dynamic. The way through, she says, is resisting the pull of the Blame Game: those small, passive-aggressive digs that begin to pile up.

“Vanity ultrasounds" 

Because I miscarried, I was incredibly anxious throughout my first pregnancy. I was so certain it wasn’t going to stick. I would get what we called “vanity ultrasounds” and go to whatever little random place had an ultrasound machine. I spent countless dollars going from one clinic to another. There was one in LA by Jones on Third, another in Midtown, one Uptown, even a place upstate near my parents.

I had two miscarriages. With the first, I was already wary and unsure of wanting the pregnancy at that exact time. The idea of becoming a parent felt so massive and overwhelming. I see this with a lot of friends, where at the beginning you think about it with a scarcity mindset: What am I about to lose? Of course you’re gaining something, too, but it’s so ephemeral at the start you can’t quantify what it’s about to do to your life.

The first loss carried mixed emotions. It was scary, but there was also relief, followed by guilt. It forced my partner and me to sit and wonder. And when the dust settled, we realized a child was something we really wanted. Within three or four months, I was pregnant again, and that second loss was devastating. I was far enough along that we were waiting to find out the gender. The first one had felt like a fluke but this one didn’t. 

Naming the soul 

When I’m in chaos, I don’t panic. I go very calm—almost serial killer calm—and wait until it’s over. Then afterward I can say, wow, that was terrible. But I keep my eye on the finish line in the moment. I’m six months into this pregnancy and this is the first time I’m really talking about it. I’m still careful. My instinct is always to wait and see. I’ve never been the type who feels like they’ve known their baby for eternity. For me, it’s more of a slow burn. 

What connects me most is the naming. With my son, Blondie, I’d had that name in my heart for years. It’s a very sentimental family name. The day I found out I was having a boy, Max said, Okay, we can name him Blondie. That was it. I think he feels a little cheated because we never really discussed it, but I took the win. And of course now he loves the name.

This time, it’s different. I have a name I feel strongly about but Max isn’t fully on board. I joke that it feels like a contract. We’re negotiating. The name I’m holding onto was originally picked for a boy, because we were both so sure that’s what we were having. But something in me—maybe spiritual, maybe instinct—makes me think it could still work. We’ll see. The baby could come out and be a totally different name. It’s such a trip, the whole thing.

Fireworks: not always a good sign 

For years I would hit the five-year itch. I had a string of relationships where I’d reach that point and think, I don’t know if this is right. But kids were always in the picture. The older I got, the more I thought I might do it alone. Being a mother was something I felt drawn to even more than finding a partner. I was always open to adoption, even to bringing in an older child. Mothering was always part of my journey. I’m someone who loves caring for others, who needs something outside myself. 

Max and I were on and off for many years. I’d come out of a long relationship that wasn’t healthy, and he was younger and very sure of me. I was just on the phone with a friend this morning, she’s an artist in a new relationship and going through something similar. We were talking about how we’ve been taught to believe that chaos and love have to go hand in hand in order to feel a spark. It’s such a societal teaching, especially for women.

You feel like you need inconsistency. You think you need that emotional terrorism, that unsureness, that shaky ground. I felt like, this can’t be my person—because it was just easy, and it shouldn’t feel like that. Where were the fireworks? Where was the scary spark?

What I’ve learned, and what’s made this relationship stick, is the realization that love doesn’t have to be the hard thing because life is the hard thing. You experience loss, money troubles, health issues, someone gets sick, you have a miscarriage, you lose a job, suddenly you can’t pay your mortgage. The farther along you go in life, the more responsibility you have, the more you have to lose. So even if your relationship doesn’t have drama, life will provide enough of it.

That was the big realization for me: I don’t need a partner who tortures me, because life will torture me at some point. The relationship artists and creatives have with pain, depression, and failure, that push and pull exists either way. Love should be the container, not the breaking point.

“I don’t know what to say” 

Pregnancy with Blondie was stressful. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop up until 38 weeks. I was incredibly scared of childbirth. I don’t know why those fears aren’t validated more—it’s recognized as the most pain a human body can experience, yet it’s quickly dismissed. People say you’ll forget, but the truth is, it’s terrifying.

The epidural is an incredible drug if you choose that route—no judgment either way—but the pain is still massive. Why is the most common experience that continues the human race still the most painful thing, while something like a vasectomy comes with the highest painkillers possible? I had an emergency C-section and had to fight for one oxycontin in recovery. I was cut open through layers of flesh and my pain still wasn’t taken seriously. It was eye-opening, how little women’s pain is validated.

Blondie being late fed into my fear. By 41 weeks, I was going into the hospital every day and joking with nurses about who I needed to bring cookies to just to get a room. They had no space and I was begging to be induced. And when I was finally admitted, the induction took a turn quickly. I laboured for six hours before they realized the cord was wrapped around the baby multiple times and I needed an emergency C-section. What struck me most wasn’t the surgery itself. It was how little support there was around women’s pain.

I miscarried once in my doctor’s office, and she just said, I don’t know what to say. This is an OB-GYN who deals with this all the time. There was no handholding, no softness. Her style is very straightforward, which worked for me in some ways, but when it came to pregnancy and birth, it felt like there was no space for fear, no acknowledgement of how overwhelming it is.

The incredibly spiritual, hippie-style pregnancy class surprisingly didn’t really land for me either. I realized I fell somewhere in the middle. You have to navigate your own way and figure out what feels right. Some of my girlfriends cared deeply about certain details in their birth plans, for example, and I couldn’t understand how or why. I was too overwhelmed by the pressure of having to make massive, life-altering decisions about something I had never experienced before.

ily but also I H8u and please leave me alone 

The transition into parenthood is unbelievably hard. Even in the best relationship, you’re going to hate your partner sometimes. Hormones will do that. I wish we were told more often that it's normal. I spoke recently to a friend six months postpartum who said, I’ll never feel the same about my partner as I did before. And she’s right. You don’t. The feeling changes. It becomes deeper and different.

The emotional journey for women should honestly be studied in labs. It’s crazy. Going into it a second time, I feel more considered, more experienced. I know now what to expect and what I need to prepare for. Max and I always thought we’d struggle with parenting, not with our relationship. But it’s actually the opposite—the parenting is magical, and it’s the relationship you have to work to protect. It’s so easy to untether what feels tethered. Tiny fractures, small resentments, they build. Even the strongest couples face it, because you’re living the same life but going through two totally different experiences.

Editor’s note: At least he’s not a Scorpio (signed, a Scorpio) 

Miscarriages prepare you for surrendering what you can’t control. That word, surrender, was on repeat in my head: through miscarriages, through pregnancy, even through remembering a past abortion. With Blondie, I had to let go of my timeline. We put these silly expectations on unborn children. I really wanted a Cancer baby, and Cancer came and went. I didn’t want a Leo. I was terrified of having a Leo. I have a complex history with that sign. Of course, he turned out to be a triple Leo and now he's the love of my life. 

Birth itself is another place where expectations can set you up for trauma. You can’t plan childbirth. It’s chaos. When people asked me what kind of birth I wanted, I said, the least painful, fastest one possible. That’s why I didn’t connect deeply with the natural birthing class I tried. It felt like a privileged experience I didn’t have the luxury of. My path wasn’t “undisturbed pregnancy” or anything idyllic like that. I never felt trusting enough of the experience to take any risk.

Even now with the second, I catch myself trying to control the experience—scheduling things, planning too much—and then I have to remind myself: it never goes the way you think it will. 

One of the things that gave me peace was something a makeup artist I know told me. She’s older, deeply spiritual, and she said, It’s the same child. The same spirit. Your baby will find you. That resonated so deeply. I’d felt like I was losing what was meant for me, but now, I see it was always Blondie. 

Everyone loses when they play The Blame Game 

The thing that’s really saved the relationship was deciding early not to blame each other. It’s easy to slip into passive blame, like, Why didn’t you put the sleep sack on? It’s not as direct but it chips away at trust. That power dynamic shifted quickly between us. Max had taken a month off from a project in Austin, two weeks before the due date and two weeks after. Instead, he sat in New York for four weeks waiting for the baby to be born, then had to jump back to work almost immediately.

I have compassion for that now. Nobody would have asked me to go back to work so quickly. But for men, it’s assumed their lives continue. It was brutal on both of us. He was flying in and out of town, exhausted, trying to keep up, while I was at home with a newborn. And when you’re the one home every day, you become the expert fast. Suddenly he was asking, How many ounces is he drinking? What time’s his nap? Those little things shift the balance. You feel trusted but also frustrated, like, why don’t you just know this?

It’s the kind of tiny fracture that can grow if you’re not careful. But it’s also just the pace of life with a baby. Everything changes so fast. Max is the kind of person who works best with checklists—we joke because every time he puts the baby down, he forgets something. Usually it’s the sound machine. An hour later I’ll realize the house is silent, no white noise running, and he’ll shrug. Women multitask differently—we run it like a science—but those little misses are just part of the game.

I’ve heard the second child is a lot harder on the partner. With one, there’s still downtime. With two, it’s all hands on deck. No couch scrolling. You go straight from work into chaos: bath time for one, bedtime for the other. It’s a totally different experience.

Unexpected perks: an emergency dentist on speed dial 

Last week we had our first big baby emergency. Shockingly, I felt pretty calm about it. He hits his head 25 times a day. He knocked his front tooth crooked, and I wasn’t panicked. I have crooked teeth, Max has crooked teeth. Welcome to the club, kid. Honestly, if his baby teeth make it to age five without one getting knocked out, I’ll be impressed. He’s a bruiser. He’s also a big kid—the size of a 22-month-old at 13 months—so he throws himself around like crazy. Now I know the emergency dentist.

Every new parent goes through that rite of passage, the first fall off the bed. For me, it happened when I was alone with him, and the bed was high. I was terrified and called my mum in tears. She laughed and said, The amount of times you all flew off counters, rolled off couches… it’s endless. That helped me breathe.

I try not to give advice but the one thing I tell my girlfriends having their first is: enjoy your princess pregnancy. Take the naps. All of them. I’ve taken one nap this entire pregnancy. With Blondie, I was rested, I did face masks, I went to acupuncture. This time, there’s no lounging, it’s just pregnancy layered onto life with a toddler. The upside is it’s calmed my anxiety. I don’t have time to sit around worrying. This pregnancy has felt more relaxed, even if I’m not as rested.

Hormonal changes outlive the fourth trimester 

Postpartum was something I was terrified of. As an artist who’s cycled through the blues countless times, I knew I was at risk. By the time you process one phase, you’re already in another. Every difficult moment is followed by something incredible, and it’s disorienting. The hormonal shifts are subtle but constant, and it’s hard to catch them in real time.

I only just started getting extra support for my mental health. For me, it’s made a huge difference. The recommendation came because of weaning. That hormonal crash is brutal, and no one prepares you for it. You’re not technically postpartum anymore, not in the fourth trimester, but you can feel like you’re losing your mind. 

The number of women who need medicinal help to get through that change is so overlooked. And my doctor, who does not have soft bedside manner, said, I need you to understand how normal it is to feel crazy right now. Hearing that from someone who doesn’t sugarcoat things carried so much weight.

Beyond the emotional piece, the physicality is intense. The weight loss and gain. Up, down, bloated, not bloated. My digestion is massively affected. Your skin, or whatever your thing is. And the hair—everyone’s losing hair. Or it’s “new hair.” Cool if it’s new hair, but I don’t want it to be this short.  I had a literal nightmare last week about postpartum bangs with number two. I’ve never taken a hair vitamin in my life, but the day I have this baby, I’m starting whatever I can find.