Will loves cats. From the looks of this pic I think it's safe to say that as soon as he starts crawling, our girls are doomed.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Meowch!
Will loves cats. From the looks of this pic I think it's safe to say that as soon as he starts crawling, our girls are doomed.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Go baby, go!
I decided to dial up Ford Models today and find out their criteria for baby models. Figuring I'd get a recording - this was Ford Models, after all - I wasn't prepared when a decidedly disaffected voice answered on the other end.
"Ford Models."
"Hi! Wow!" (I tend to get panicky when surprised.) "I was calling to find out what you need... what you look for in babies."
"Babies?"
"Model babies."
I could hear the woman sigh. She probably gets 500 calls a day like this, from parents who think their child is beautiful. It reminded me of the last time I called Ford. (Believe it or not, there was a last time.) New to the city and desperate to quit my job at Banana Republic (barred from the registers, I spent weeks relegated to the dressing rooms) I somehow got it into my head that I could become a hair model. So I called Ford. Why start small?
(1996) "Hi. I was calling to find out what you need... what you look for in hair models?"
"Are you at least 5'9?"
"You have to be 5'9" to be a hair model?"
"It's modeling."
Welcome to Ford.
Every mother is convinced that their child is beautiful. But there's beautiful and there's Beautiful beautiful. Transcendently beautiful. Ford Model beautiful. I have a friend with a baby like that - delicate, vaguely European. The child practically glows - and while my baby is cute as a whole button factory, he is not necessarily that.
(Beat.)
If you think that's going to stop me from submitting his picture though, you don't know me at all. (My kingdom for a faster aperture!)
"Ford Models."
"Hi! Wow!" (I tend to get panicky when surprised.) "I was calling to find out what you need... what you look for in babies."
"Babies?"
"Model babies."
I could hear the woman sigh. She probably gets 500 calls a day like this, from parents who think their child is beautiful. It reminded me of the last time I called Ford. (Believe it or not, there was a last time.) New to the city and desperate to quit my job at Banana Republic (barred from the registers, I spent weeks relegated to the dressing rooms) I somehow got it into my head that I could become a hair model. So I called Ford. Why start small?
(1996) "Hi. I was calling to find out what you need... what you look for in hair models?"
"Are you at least 5'9?"
"You have to be 5'9" to be a hair model?"
"It's modeling."
Welcome to Ford.
Every mother is convinced that their child is beautiful. But there's beautiful and there's Beautiful beautiful. Transcendently beautiful. Ford Model beautiful. I have a friend with a baby like that - delicate, vaguely European. The child practically glows - and while my baby is cute as a whole button factory, he is not necessarily that.
(Beat.)
If you think that's going to stop me from submitting his picture though, you don't know me at all. (My kingdom for a faster aperture!)
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
I'm ready for my close up, Mr. DeMille. (Or not.)
Yesterday I dropped by my commercial agency for the first time since giving birth. I brought Will along under the guise of introducing him to everybody, but mostly I was hoping his massive cuteness would compensate for my lingering belly. (What's the statute of limitations on claiming that you've "just" had a baby? Three months? Six?) Lucky for me, it worked. As soon as Will gave that wide, two-tooth grin the agents practically shoved me out of the way to get to him. No "Good to see you" or "Glad you're back" from this crew. Nope, the first thing out of their mouths:
"So, is he going out?"
Is he going out? Outside the apartment? On hot dates? It took me a minute to realize what they were asking. Is he going on auditions. Meaning, will I let him go on auditions. Meaning, Do I Know My Kid's A Star.
Uh...
We used to think about getting Will into baby modeling. As a dear friend reminded me, college doesn't pay for itself. (Hell, pre-school doesn't pay for itself.) We figured we'd do what our friends do: Stop auditioning when he turns 2. That was the cut-off. I'm an actor. (Or was an actor. I'm not sure of the statue of limitations on that either.) It's a Really. Hard. Life. I don't want my kid to feel the ick of competition before he absolutely has to. I spent years chasing fame, and while I still spend an inordinate amount of time pretending to be interviewed by Vanity Fair, for the most part I'm content to let it go. But then there's the other part - the part that, 20 years from now, could end up sad and alone, chain smoking outside of Mr. Chow's. (I'm Will Cody's g-d mother! Don't you know who I am?!) Show business can suck, and I'm a grown up. I don't need Bonaduce to tell me that getting Will involved is a bad idea. So what did I tell the agents when they asked if Will was going out?
"Um, I'm not sure I guess so maybe."
We'll stop when he's 2.
Monday, June 30, 2008
This should be fun.
Today the boy figured out how to turn his musical aquarium on and off. And on and off. And on and off.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Let's play Guess What Time Will Woke Up?
Today I hit a new low.
Will would not nap this morning. Even though he kept yawning and rubbing his eyes until they were pink, he would not, not, not go to sleep. I would rock and pat and sing until he drifted, then gently put him in the crib only to find him, five minutes later, grinning at me from between the slats. (Serves me right for trying to sleep in the same room.) We went through this THREE TIMES - rock, rock, sing, pat, snooze, smile. This is the part where a sane person would have gotten up, said Fuck it, We're Done and gone on with her day. An hour and a half later I was still sitting there in the g-d nursing chair, bawling into Will's hair. I literally wiped my nose on my kid's head. Nice.
Somehow I have lost all objectivity. When I was a nanny I was a realist. The boy wouldn't go down for his nap, oh well. As long as he was quiet and didn't bother me he was fine. As far as I was concerned if he wasn't sobbing, he was resting. Sleep would happen or it wouldn't, but it was out of my control. If he missed his nap, oh well. Guess he'd be tired.
Where the hell did that person go?
It sounds ridiculous to say that I feel psychologically damaged from the first few months of Will's life but between the colic (did you know that they play the sound of babies crying in prison camps to trigger anxiety?) and the miserable experience we had with Cry It Out, I've lost my marbles. All these newly babied celebrities keep gushing about how wonderful and fuzzy and great and sweet Life With Baby is, and it is, but I'm just dying to hear Julia Roberts announce that if her twins don't start sleeping through the night she's going to give them to the pool boy.
Will would not nap this morning. Even though he kept yawning and rubbing his eyes until they were pink, he would not, not, not go to sleep. I would rock and pat and sing until he drifted, then gently put him in the crib only to find him, five minutes later, grinning at me from between the slats. (Serves me right for trying to sleep in the same room.) We went through this THREE TIMES - rock, rock, sing, pat, snooze, smile. This is the part where a sane person would have gotten up, said Fuck it, We're Done and gone on with her day. An hour and a half later I was still sitting there in the g-d nursing chair, bawling into Will's hair. I literally wiped my nose on my kid's head. Nice.
Somehow I have lost all objectivity. When I was a nanny I was a realist. The boy wouldn't go down for his nap, oh well. As long as he was quiet and didn't bother me he was fine. As far as I was concerned if he wasn't sobbing, he was resting. Sleep would happen or it wouldn't, but it was out of my control. If he missed his nap, oh well. Guess he'd be tired.
Where the hell did that person go?
It sounds ridiculous to say that I feel psychologically damaged from the first few months of Will's life but between the colic (did you know that they play the sound of babies crying in prison camps to trigger anxiety?) and the miserable experience we had with Cry It Out, I've lost my marbles. All these newly babied celebrities keep gushing about how wonderful and fuzzy and great and sweet Life With Baby is, and it is, but I'm just dying to hear Julia Roberts announce that if her twins don't start sleeping through the night she's going to give them to the pool boy.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
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