One day last week, I was looking at some pictures of the baby boys and thought, “Maybe I should look into child modelling.” I’ve been brainstorming to try to figure out what sort of employment I can take on while still nursing and spending most of my time with the kiddos, and well, the kiddos would definitely be there.
I ran the idea by Kent and he vehemently objected. Kent auditioned for a TV show when he was in high-school, and he remembers a waiting room full of ridiculous stage moms holding their children’s portfolios and one-upping each other with Asher’s shoe ad and Penelope’s laxative commercial.
“You’ve just described every play group in suburban America,” I replied. My “Vienna Moms” playgroup for Fluffy was all about how Lucy’s rolling over at 8 weeks meant she was going to be an Olympian and Harlow’s signing “all done” at 7 months was a mile marker on his path to the presidency. Competitive mothering is not unique to the modelling and acting world. You find the same phenomenon in childhood sports, music, spelling bees and goodness knows where. I think the real issue is the idea that there is something inherently more meritorious in kicking a field goal (that’s from some kind of sport, right?) and correctly spelling “zwischenspiel” than in smiling for the camera. Maybe that’s true.
Fluffy would be perfect for reality TV because it is almost a physical impossibility for her to look at the camera. I’ve already spent way too much of my life repeating, “Fluffy, look at the camera. With your eyes. Not just your face. Fluffy! Look at the camera with your eyes.“