Birthday Parties …Cry if you want to

I just got home from a birthday extravaganza at Sea World. We saw the Shamuu Show, fed Sting Rays, fed Harbor Seals, touched a Penguin, rode a rollercoaster, went on a simulated helicopter ride through the artic, met a giant stuffed Shamuu and ate pizza & cake. Did I mention the extravaganza was a birthday party for a 6 year old? Ah yes, birthday parties: the new frontier of consumerism. I want to make it perfectly clear that I had a blast at this party. It was amazing and I am thrilled that someone else paid for me and my kid to have an unforgettable day at Sea World. But are birthday parties getting out of control???

Do you remember birthdays of old when some friends came over, played musical chairs and pin the tail on the donkey, ate a piece of cake and went home. We thought it was awesome but my daughter would think that that party was a joke. She’d ask, “Where is the bouncy castle, face painting, where is Chuck E. Cheese, an animal farm or pony rides…where is the live musical act dressed in loud colors or Care Bears or Dora the Explorer??” Without these there is no party!

I also remember party favors. This was a piece of gum or candy or one small item you took home. There were no “bags of goodies”. Goody bags make me crazy. First of all, why should guests of parties get presents? This makes no sense. Your present is that you got to come to a party. And the contents of said bags also drive me crazy: stickers, tiny stuffed toys, plastic necklaces & rings, plastic figures. This is the crap that piles up in your kid’s room or finds its way to the floor where you can step on it in the middle of the night.

In NYC very few people have birthday parties at their homes. I thought it was ridiculous, but I understood it. Most people’s apartments were either too small or filled with too many antiques to host a bunch of screaming kids. I honestly thought this was a psycho New York City thing. But no, birthday excess is alive and well all over the country. Since we moved to Orlando, we have been to birthday parties at Chuck E Cheese, the Bounce House (giant room with tons of inflatable houses), Sea World (twice), and a fabric store called Joanne’s where they do craft parties.

I used to believe the excessive party was a status thing, but I am starting to realize it is really about convenience. The parents can just sit back, enjoy the party, watch the delight in their child’s eyes and then go home to their perfectly clean house. I know that everyone reading this is picturing me having a party at my home with old time games, cake and no goody bags. The truth is I talk a good game. Let me describe my five year olds’ last two parties. One was at a craft shop in NYC. My friend, Ceci, had a coupon and her son’s birthday is a week before my daughter’s. We combined forces and sat and watched our kids and their friends make stuffed animals, dance, and eat pizza and cake. The next one was a Princess Party. It was at home, but I rented a bouncy castle and had my makeup artist, Vandygayle, paint all the little princess’ faces. Were they out of control? Possibly. But in my defense, NOBODY GOT A GOODY BAG.

“Kids” on a Plane

We are planning a trip to New York and I started thinking about how much traveling my daughter has done in her short life. She is five years old and has been on about 50 flights. The frightening thing is she knows what she is doing. We were on the way to the airport last month and I was listing the things I had for the plane ride to my husband … an apple, a peanut butter sandwich, 3 books, some juice boxes… when all of a sudden a voice pipes out of the back seat, “Mom what are you doing? We can’t take the juice boxes through security. They’re liquids!”

We were actually flying the day they banned all liquids on planes because of the terrorist threat in London. There were about 600 people standing out in front of La Guardia Airport in New York City and lots of drama. In the end I was able to get my makeup and hair stuff in the luggage (thank goodness) and we got on our flight. I made Charlotte drink three apple juice boxes while waiting for security. There were rumors about no drinks at all and I was worried she would get thirsty on the flight. To this day, she thinks the police with M16’s were there to make sure everyone drank all their juice.

I have done seven flights over 8 hours with Charlotte. When my daughter slept they were fine but I vividly remember doing 9 and ½ hours of hard time on a flight to London. My lovely little girl never slept once. She wanted to play! After the 15th game of Old Maid I finally said, “Do not get out of your seat. Mommy is falling asleep.” Shortly thereafter, I saw the Jodi Foster movie where her daughter gets kidnapped on a flight while she is asleep. I still feel really guilty about that nap. I remember telling a friend of my sisters this story and she looked at me like I was an idiot and said, “Didn’t you give her something to help her sleep?” The friend is a Mom and a pediatrician.

I have learned some important lessons: always, and I mean always, drug them. Now this sounds harsh but a small dose of Tylenol is a wonderful attitude adjuster. If you are traveling with an infant, make sure they nurse during take-offs and landings. It is the only way to keep their ears from hurting. I still bring a “sippy cup” for my daughter just in case. Try to find airlines that have TV’s at each seat. I like Jet Blue and Virgin Atlantic for just that reason. I should probably just invest in a portable DVD player, so bring one if you have it. NEVER let them get up and walk around on a plane because once is NEVER enough. I don’t even let Charlotte sit on the aisle because she sees other kids moving up and down. Always bring activity books and at least one new toy. I like to wrap up the toy and then give it to her once the plane is in the air. Make sure your kid knows there is a present in the carry-on. You would be amazed at how pleasant the boarding process is when your child wants their surprise.

Finally, and this is VERY important, never give your child M&M’s before a flight. This goes hand in hand with ‘bring extra clothes for your child and you.’ I give this advice from the heart and with the cold, cruel voice of experience. If you are wondering what happened, let’s just say a lot of people on Delta Flight #85 will never forget my family. Use your imagination. It was not pretty.

Plank is just another word for fun...

“Plank is just another word for fun,” said my trainer Reuben as he forced me to hold the weight of my body up with my toes and forearms. He then requested that I lift my left arm and right foot. I had a response in mind but it required using the “f” word and “off” and that didn’t seem polite. Usually I am unwilling to pay someone to work me out. I would rather buy shoes, but I had reached a point that I could only describe as… sloth-like.

Let me back track a bit. I have always been good about exercising. When my parents took up jogging, they quickly decided it would be good for the whole family. I didn’t live with “the Great Santini” but sometimes it felt like it because my entire household got up every morning at 5:15AM and ran 4 miles. This started in the 5th grade and ended when I graduated from high school. My Dad felt he was preparing us for a lifetime of exercise. I thought he was trying to torture me. When I went away to college, I did not exercise for six months and then I promptly started running again and have been at it ever since. I hate to admit it but my parents were right. I have been pretty dedicated to working out my entire adult life. I did the aerobics thing, boot camp, ran the New York City Marathon (which I highly recommend because you can eat as much as you want), rollerblading, circuit training, rowing, biking, strollersize, etc. If there was an exercise fad, I got involved. I am not a skinny person but I am usually pretty fit.

When I moved to Florida to host “iVillage Live”, I was also under contract to do six episodes of my show on A & E called “Clean this House”. I was working all week on one show then flying back to NYC on Friday nights to shoot the other during the weekends. In between, I was trying to be there for my daughter as she adjusted to a new school and home. Something had to give and easiest thing to drop from my schedule was exercise. I have periodically stopped working out because of crazy times, moving, tough rehearsal schedules, and pregnancy. But -and it’s a big one- I had not taken time off since I turned 40 and this was a gigantic eye opener. First of all, I got weak really quickly. We have trainers from Bally Health Clubs each week on “iVillage Live”. They lead me and our audience through different workouts. It got really funny because I could not get through the exercises. Here I am on live TV just laying there because I can’t do another lunge or sit-up. It seemed ridiculous because I once ran 26.2 miles without stopping. Only six months before the show started I was able to do hundreds of lunges and squats, and now I am just laying there like a pile of blubber.

The scary thing is that once my schedule calmed down, I still wasn’t working out. I had really lost all interest in exercise. I would think about the horrible shape I was in and just eat another package of starbursts. But then I noticed the changes that would turn my slovenly ways around. My body had turned to cottage cheese. I am used to a little cellulite and, I promise you, I have never had great legs, but this was brutal. So I broke down and actually hired someone to make me workout my 40-year-old body. The good news is it seems to be re-motivating me and my energy is getting better.

One of my brother-in-laws won a silver medal in rowing at the 1984 Olympics. He always says, “Energy out, energy in.” I usually roll my eyes at this but now, “Edward, I bow to your insight.” I ran yesterday and today and the “plank man” is here every Tuesday and Thursday. Hopefully in a few more weeks the only cottage cheese I see will be on my plate. Still, I’m not giving up the starbursts!

Biopsy

Today I had a uterine biopsy. These things always make me a little bit squeamish. During a routine sonogram they noticed that the back wall of my uterus had thickened, hence the test. I was actually expecting it to be horrible. I had some pre-cancer cells in my cervix about 15 years ago and that biopsy was torturous. I fainted and everything. This time, the nurse offered me a lollypop to suck on while the doctor was working. Of course, any chance to eat candy is always good news to me. I figure all candy eaten during surgical procedures has no calories. I am not exaggerating when I say that my ob-gyn was halfway through when I asked if she had started. I don’t know if it was the candy, but the procedure didn’t hurt at all. Here is the question-- was the last doctor a scalpel-wielding freak or had having a baby made me impervious to pain? When I think about it, the last major procedure in that area entailed pushing out a 9½ lb. baby. The biopsy was a breeze.

The lollypop really reminded me of my labor. The nurse in our birthing class told us that the only food you could eat during labor was hard candy. It had to be on a stick or you might choke on it. I am VERY serious about food so if there was something I was allowed to eat, I wanted it available. That’s why I brought a bag of Jolly Rancher suckers to the hospital. I absolutely love the watermelon flavor. Everyone always talks about ice chips, but let me tell you, in the 27th or 28th hour of labor there is nothing better than the taste of sour watermelon. It was completely refreshing.

When my friend Judy was having her twins I told her about the lollypops. You know how people kind of nod politely as you are telling them something and you know they think you are nuts as a bunny? I bugged her about it until she agreed to put the candy in her hospital bag just to get me to shut up! True story… she called me immediately after she had her twins. Now I wanted to know their names and how much they weighed but all she could talk about was the lollypops and how delicious they were. While I waited for word of her beloved babies, she rambling on about the suckers and how they were the best thing and that I was a wonderful friend for getting the candy.

Next time you have a baby, biopsy or pap smear… bring along a lollypop. For some reason everything is better when there is candy involved. I really recommend the watermelon.

Thanksgiving 2058

My stepsons are spending spring break with us and I love watching them interact with their half-sister. The boys indulge her endlessly and her laughter is contagious as it rings throughout the house. Charlotte is crazy about her “broders,” but am I kidding myself to picture them someday spending Thanksgiving together long after my husband and I are dead? Probably.

I have many friends who have just one child, and they all look at me as the lucky one because my daughter has siblings without my having to do the usual nine months of hard time pregnant. I wonder though, will she ever experience an amazing relationship like I have with my sister? I’m talking about the kind of relationship where you are so comfortable with the other person that words are not necessary, yet you talk endlessly just because you both have so much to say. I think my stepsons will have that with each other, but I fear Charlotte will become a sort of footnote. Will they periodically wonder to each other, “What ever happened to our little sister?”

When these thoughts enter my head I realize I could either secretly poke holes through all our condoms or remember that a sister is more about connection than blood. I have a friend who is obsessed with supplying her child with a brother or sister, and I do mean obsessed…. Years of painful fertility work obsessed. Ironically, when I asked her about her own sibling she said, “My brother is a jerk and I haven’t spoken to him in years.” Perhaps society tells us we must have more than one child. I was so thrilled with my daughter after she was born and, like every Mother, thought she was perfect, yet the response from most people upon meeting her was, “When are you going to have another”. I always felt insulted and wanted to say, “We are quite happy with her.”

Blended families are often a rag tag collection of kids whose main connection is that their parents randomly fell in love and made them all related. The key is … keep your expectations low. Make sure the children don’t kill each other and remember, they could hate each other just as much if they were 100% blood. Enjoy the moments when the laughter fills your home and picture all of the kids, step-, half- and whole, sitting down to a turkey with your grandchildren. It could happen! Really!

Who’s Your Daddy

When my husband and I met, he had two amazing boys from his first marriage and I had one slightly overweight dachshund from mine. I was 34 years old and quietly desperate to have a baby. I had several male friends tell me I was what they called a “Cougar,” an older woman who wanted to get her claws into you and not let go. Michael and I met, had lots of fun and eventually, much to our surprise, fell in love. We had one sticking point ….the “B” word… oh yes, "Baby."

His life had a nice balance. He saw his kids regularly and we were free. We traveled, went to late movies on a moment's notice and shopped for meals one at a time. I was happy, but my biological clock was ticking, no, pounding out my last seconds of fertility. Not having a baby was a deal breaker for me and Michael understood that. It wasn’t until we were sitting up all night with our daughter screaming that I looked at him and said, “You must really love me to have agreed to do this again.”

When we look back on our debates, I always remember Michael saying that on his life list of “Things to do” he had already checked the box that said “have kids”. To this day he says my best argument was zero population growth… that we 3 (meaning he, his ex and I) would each have just one child. He appreciated that logic as it appealed to his environmental attitude. Finally I said, “Why don’t we just not try not to have a baby, and this (ladies reading who want a baby) is an excellent approach. We agreed that we wouldn’t try to have a child, but that we wouldn’t do anything to stop ourselves from having one…. Get it!!!! Men like this because they don’t have to talk about it and they just get to have lots of sex.

Chris Rock, one of my favorite comedians, says that when a man meets his friend’s girlfriend, he thinks, “Wow what a great girl. I want to meet someone just like her.” But when a woman meets her friend’s boyfriend she thinks, “Wow, what a great guy. I want him.” This killed me when I first heard it but I realized in some cases it’s true. Women often find men who have kids attractive. Men who have children are able to show off their parenting skills and that makes women like me want them even more! My husband is a great Dad; patient but not afraid of being tough. I wonder if there is some primal instinct at work here. Is there some code written into our genome that pushes us toward men who have already produced smart, attractive children? For me, I remember watching Michael with his sons thinking, just like the woman in Chris Rock’s story, “I want him.”

What a shame this doesn’t seem to apply to the male of the species. Most of my girlfriends with kids have a hard time meeting guys who will even go on a date with them because they have children. I guess Mr. Rock got it right for the guys too.

Tell Me I’m a Better Mom Than Your Ex

When my five-year-old is sitting down to another meal of Chicken Fingers and French fries, I sometimes glance at my husband out of the corner of my eye and wonder if he is thinking, “What kind of a Mother would feed our child this crap?” My husband’s ex-wife is very nutritionally-minded and I have always felt like my culinary skills don’t stack up. She has my stepsons juicing, eating salmon and dining on vegetables like Kale. Who eats Kale?? Charlotte is very picky about her food and most of the time I am just glad she is eating at all.

I work in television and I honestly enjoy watching TV. My husband’s ex doesn’t have cable at her house because she feels it might keep the kids from reading. Her plan is working too. My stepsons are unbelievably smart. The oldest missed only three questions out of 54 on the math section of the SAT, and English is his better subject! His younger brother is right in line to easily follow in his footsteps. I am so proud of them, but it does cross my mind that if Charlotte is not a straight-A student, then the weak link is probably me and my TV-loving ways.

Although my daughter loves shows like “Dora the Explorer”, she also loves to read. Books are a huge part of our bedtime ritual. It’s moments like when she is counting and can’t seem to remember the number 14 that I get a bit concerned. I wonder though, am I worried about Charlotte or about looking bad in comparison to my husband’s first wife. Maybe it’s all a matter of time. In four years our marriage will pass my husband’s first one in length. Really 4 years 3 months and 5 days… but hey who’s counting?

Epiphany

An epiphany is defined as “a comprehension or perception of reality by means of a sudden intuitive realization.” I think we all have moments that are epiphanies and I believe they are often tiny moments when we realize huge things. Usually, they don’t happen when you might expect it. Do the real ramifications of being a parent really hit you when they put that newborn baby in your arms and you are astonished that this little person is alive and that you created it? No, the real moment is when you can’t get the car seat to snap into its base and you are in front of the hospital frantically wondering why the doctors, all very smart people, are allowing you to take this baby home. A friend of mine adopted a small girl in China and she said, for her, it was when she had to figure out how to hold her new child when she had to poop because in China they don’t use diapers. She thought, as her daughter’s face grew red, “I am this child’s Mother forever!”

These moments seem to almost crystallize and stop time. I remember the first time I realized my husband was a father. It sounds ridiculous because we had been dating for quite a while and I had met his boys on several occasions. But there was this photograph… Michael was sitting watching TV and Everett, who was about six at the time, was sitting on him. They were both completely and utterly relaxed. I looked at that picture and thought, “Michael is a Dad” and all the ramifications of that responsibility hit me in an instance. My daughter will sometimes walk into a room and sit right on me, curling into my body until she is comfortable and I will think…just like Michael in the photo, I am a parent.

Epiphanies are sometimes Rites of Passage. When I was eleven, our cat got caught under our electric garage door. This may have been before they had sensors to automatically raise the door when you walk under it or perhaps it was broken, but for whatever reason, our cat was literally being crushed before our eyes. My Mother completely lost it! She ran around frantically and then tried to use a crowbar to pry the door open as it was pounding down on our kitten. I remember watching this and thinking for the first time ever, “She doesn’t know what she is doing.” She wouldn’t listen to my brother who wanted to press the garage door button again thereby simply opening it.…She screamed, “NO.” He ultimately went to the car and opened it from there. The cat was fine but I learned in an instant that my perfect Mom was all too human. Another epiphany? Absolutely.

Step On A Crack, Break Your Mother’s Back

My daughter often sings, “Step on a crack, break your Mother’s back” just as I did when I was young. I remember laughing and jumping over the lines in the cement and then forgetting the rules and running with my friends stepping carelessly on countless lines and cracks. I capriciously gambled with my own Mother’s health and well-being on a regular basis. But when Charlotte sings the rhyme now, I stop and tell her to step very carefully. Like so many nursery rhymes, this one seems bizarrely cruel. Poor Humpty Dumpty was worked on by a cadre of soldier and was never rebuilt to his former rotund self, and Peter Pumpkin Eater’s wife, an absolute victim of spousal abuse, was kept a virtual prisoner in a pumpkin shell. Perhaps worst of all, the Ladybug whose family home is destroyed by fire and her children lost, honestly the most horrible scenario imaginable for a mom.

The “break your Mother’s back” line came sharply into focus for me three weeks ago when my husband decided we should rollerblade down some big hills to prepare for our ski trip. Needless to say, parenthood has kept me away from my blades for quite some time. Before our daughter was born, Michael and I spent many an evening in Central Park flying along on our inline skates. I could stop on a dime and always felt safe even as we navigated the busy streets of Manhattan. It was a favorite activity of my step-sons and I loved that it was a sport we could all do together. On this occasion, my husband wanted me to weave back and forth on the hill recreating the feel of making turns on skis. Now I am sure it is obvious to any one reading this that a street is made of cement and a mountain is covered in snow. I remember thinking, “This isn’t like skiing at all”, but Michael asked me to demonstrate my turns and of course I wanted to impress him. I took the second turn, went up into the air and landed hard, right on my butt. For the first time in my adult life I was incredibly happy that I have a well-padded rear end. It hurt really badly but I was more embarrassed than anything else…. I skated some more, albeit very timidly, and we headed home.

In the next few days I thought about going to the doctor but did not for fear that my ski trip would be cancelled. Interestingly, the plane ride was excruciating but the skiing was fine. When I got back I realized I was sitting strangely, lowering myself into chairs and leaning over to the side. A week passed, then another, and if anything, my backside just hurt more and more. It was weird; I could run and exercise but not sit down. I finally called the doctor and found that there were tailbone or coccyx specialists. I am always fascinated by people’s career choices. When does one decide that examining tailbones is a cool job? I went in and three x-rays later found that I had a fractured coccyx. They told me it would take a year to heal. That’s right a YEAR!!!! Apparently since you can’t put your ass in a cast it takes forever to get better.

Here is the funny part. Up until the moment I got the diagnosis, I was constantly telling myself to toughen up. I would think , “Molly you are a total wimp… sit up and deal.” Now I am the complete opposite. Every time I sit down I gasp dramatically and family members rush to my side. My Dad said, “Aren’t you mad you went to the doctor? You seemed so much better before.” Truthfully I am glad and I am secretly enjoying all the sympathy. I love that I now have an actual excuse for not working out. I hadn’t returned a call to a friend and I said, “Did you know I broke my tailbone?” Broken bones make people stop short and they forget your mistakes immediately. Honestly, I feel that if I have to be in pain, I might as well get something out of it.

After a full weekend of martyrdom, I finally realized the Sarah Bernhardt routine had to end. Charlotte was running down the driveway and started in on the “Step on a crack” rhyme. She stopped herself and said, “Oh yeah Mommy, your back is already broken”. Perhaps I need to stop complaining…. But seriously my butt really hurts.

Fish Tank Disaster

I want to start with a small confession…. I am a little crazy about animals. Those who have read my bio may recall that I hosted a show on Animal Planet called “Backyard Habitat”, but truthfully, that is just the tip of the iceberg. I love pets. Living in New York City helped me keep my obsession under control. I could really only have one pet at a time but even in small city apartments, over the last 15 years I still managed to have a dog, two birds, a cat, a turtle and a rabbit.

Now that I am back in Florida and living in a house, I find that every time I am in a pet store I want to get more animals. Recently my daughter and I were standing in the neighborhood pet store where we had gone to browse, and we saw a Chinchilla. Charlotte, who is five, said, “Oh Mommy, I want a Chinchilla” and I said, “Oh, I do too.” I am well aware that this does not sound like good parenting. Parents are supposed to say things like,” You don’t need a Chinchilla. They don’t make good pets. You are not ready for the responsibility of having a small Chinchilla.” Instead I am thinking, “How mad would my husband be if I brought this Chinchilla home?”, and therein lies the problem. My husband thinks that a cat and turtle are quite enough pets. Add to that my parents’ dog and cat and we really have a houseful… which brings me to the fish tank disaster.

I got Charlotte a fish tank for Christmas with one orange goldfish and one black goldfish (if that’s possible), the kind with bug eyes. My husband and I had kind of a fight over whether she needed another pet, but I really wanted the tank. I told him it would be just a simple fish bowl, very inexpensive. When I got to the pet store I realized that a bowl with no air bubbles or filtration system was tantamount to a death sentence for a fish, so… I got the full whammy! I got a “real” tank, grass, bubbler, filtration system, even a small Roman Ruin for the fish to swim through. I told Michael that there was a special and it had all been extremely cheap. This was a lie. A small white lie, but for the health and well-being of these beautiful fish I felt I had no choice. Anyway, just as I was leaving for work one morning, the tank started to leak, and I mean badly, all over my parents’ new hardwood floors. My husband said that he would run to the pet store and take the tank back. “Where is the receipt?” he asked. AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH. Now I had to admit my lie and disclose how much I actually spent. I have to say that my husband was incredibly nice about it and didn’t say anything to me about spending too much money. Let’s just say that he can go and buy the new golf club he has been talking about and I won’t say a word.

He brought home the new aquarium and I got the fish settled… not to brag, but I do arrange beautiful fish tanks. I love planting the grass just so, arranging the ruins, etc., and watching the fish swim around in their new home. Just as I got it all in place, water started pouring out of the bottom. Somehow I had cracked the tank when I was getting it set on the counter. Once again, a mad dash to the pet store ensued, this time for an even larger tank and an ornamental log that I, “just couldn’t resist.” You will be happy to know that “Black Fish” and “Cutie Pie” are both enormously happy in their new digs.

PS. I was editing this entry and my daughter Charlotte wanted to hear what I was working on, so I read her some of the blog. She was concerned at my shoddy reporting of the facts: "NO, no, no!! SANTA brought me the fish tank!!!" Freaking out, I did my best to backtrack...."Mom just got a bigger tank and added things to it," and other lame lies just flew out of my mouth. I fudged the rest of the reading and I am fairly certain that she now thinks I may be the worst writer on the planet. But isn't it worth losing the literary respect of my beautiful, innocent daughter in order to preserve the myth of Santa Claus??

Oldest Mom in the Room

One of the Mom’s at my daughter’s new elementary school in Orlando, Florida happened to mention that her husband had gone to the same high school I went to. I immediately asked her what year he had graduated and she said, “1998”. I kind of choked. I then noticed that her smooth forehead was not that way because of her latest Botox injection. Oh no, this woman had an actual wrinkle-free forehead because she was, well,… young! I did a little math in my head and realized she was 24 years old. I tried to remember what I was doing when I was 24. I hadn’t even married my first husband. I was living a completely selfish life in New York City, auditioning, going to parties and clubs, responsibility free. This lovely woman had a daughter in kindergarten and another on the way. I then realized that life on the Upper West Side of Manhattan gave you a skewed idea of “normal parents.”

Your average Mom in NYC is in her late 30’s to early 40’s and usually has had some kind of career or artistic pursuit that was the focus of her life for quite a long time. Unfortunately, our children often become the focus of all that intensity. You have no idea how much time my friends and I spent debating where our kids should attend pre-school, heatedly discussing the pros and cons of Montessori school as though our lives and children’s college acceptance depended on each conversation. Many of us had just one child and we had taken to calling them “singles” instead of “onlys.” We felt that this just sounded better. My girlfriend Ceci claimed we couldn’t stay friends with someone once they had another child because they obviously weren’t endorsing our lifestyle choices. Many Manhattan Moms felt they had: 1.) already been through too many tough fertility problems having the first baby, 2.) had to get back to their important career or, 3.) they were in a really fabulous rent controlled apartment that was way too small for a family of four.

Now there is something truly wonderful about being an older Mom. You have absolutely no place that you would rather be than at home with your child. I felt like I had already been to every club, wonderful restaurant or show and that I was at the perfect age to be home each night. On the other hand, I was the most pathetic pregnant person of all times. My feet swelled, I gained tons of weight (65lbs), I was exhausted the entire time and got horrible Sciatica. I complained about this to my friend Pam who had had her first baby nine years before me. She said, “You know what your problem is Molly?” I thought she had some fantastic insight or vitamin I could take, but instead she simply said, “You are just too old.”

These questions have always plagued me. Should I have had kids sooner? Are older Moms up to the tasks of parenting? I looked to my closest resource for answers to these questions, my husband. He was 31 when my oldest stepson was born and 44 when Charlotte was born. He said, “When you are young you have more energy. When you are older you have more patience. You decide which is better.” Leave it to a man to sum up all my angst in three sentences!

Live Long and Prosper

I have a major confession to make. I’m Molly Pesce and I am a Star Trek geek. Now I want to make one thing perfectly clear; I have never been to a “trekker” convention though I have seen all the episodes several if not many times. I can quote a lot of the shows. It is embarrassing but true, so when I found out George Takei, who played Mister Sulu on the series, was going to be on “iVillage Live”, needless to say I was thrilled. There is something truly iconic about Star Trek and its cast and it was intriguing to see what he would be like.

George Takei was coming on our show to talk about Heroes, NBC’s new hit series about regular people with super powers. He plays the father of the character named Hiro and has a pivotal role as the mastermind behind the destruction of many of the Heroes. I knew he would talk about his new show, but what about Star Trek? Many times celebrities grow to hate the characters they have previously played. The role that defines their career may also be the one that kept them from doing other things later on. It is kind of like a singer who gets sick of singing their biggest hit. George Takei had none of these issues. He was completely gracious and truly made my nerdy day when he realized I was a fan. He held up his hand, parted his two middle fingers and said, “Live Long and Prosper.”

Thinking about Star Trek makes me wonder if there is a current show that could spawn that kind of loyalty or spin off four other series and many movies. Will we be watching Jack Bauer go through a hellish 24 hours well into his 80’s? Will those poor Lost souls still be battling “the others” on the big screen 10 years from now? All I know is that I enjoy watching TV and since becoming a Mom, my Tivo/DVR is a lifeline. I’m sure I could be working on the scrapbooks I am always trying to finish or taking up sewing, but by the time my 5-year-old is in bed each night, I am fried! All I want is a good show and my PJ’s. So bring on the next iconic hit. I will learn the salute, memorize some shows and go to every movie that comes out because, truthfully, when it comes to TV… I’m Molly Pesce and I am a TV-aholic.