Mom's the word when it comes to overdosing on celebrities
By Beth Teitell
Thursday, June 3, 2004
As news of Julia Roberts' pregnancy zipped around the world, making headlines from People to Pravda, my phone started ringing. My People (as my husband calls my friends) were eager to Discuss, and yet, I couldn't force myself to answer the calls.
What's wrong with me? I wondered as I let the machine pick up for the sixth time. Pretty Woman was pregnant! With twins! And after such a long period of baby lust! I should have gotten a sitter for my own kids and gone out driving and honking, as if my team had just won the World Cup.
Instead, I found myself thinking unkind thoughts, along the lines of: She let the news out too early. So, someone said her stomach looked a little big. Julia, you were in Italy. You don't confirm. You blame it on the carbs. Now the rest of us will have to endure a six-month belly watch, and endless baby-name speculation, and of course a Scare or two.
I felt my forehead, but I wasn't warm.
But I guess you wouldn't expect a fever with an overdose - of celebrity motherhood, that is.
Yes, I know Julia's having twins, but a) what an obvious attempt at celebrity one-upsmanship, and b) Julia, don't you read People? Or don't your people read People? Marcia Gay Harden and Geena Davis just had deuces themselves, and Courteney Cox Arquette might be carrying two bundles of joy - and her baby (or babies) debut months before yours.
Listen, if Jennifer and Brad have triplets, someone call me.
Actually, don't. Such is my celebrity baby fatigue that I feel as if I've been up all night - not feeding newborns, of course, but reading about them.
And it's no wonder. As ``The Mommy Myth'' (Free Press, 2004) reports, the celebrity mom profile ``snowballed as the 1980s progressed, and became a dominant fixture of women's and entertainment magazines in the 1990s.''
I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind reading about a little drug addiction now and again.
And of course there's not just the pregnancy to learn aaallll about. After that news is broken, it's followed by endless progress reports on nursery decorating and figure implications and the (gorgeous) husband's devotion to the pregnant star, who - and this is probably what makes the whole thing so annoying - is totally off-limits to malicious gossip, not only during the pregnancy, but in some postpartum glow period, too.
Ring, ring, ring.
My answering machine couldn't handle any more messages, so I picked up the phone and promptly informed the caller that I did not want to talk about Julia's happy news. ``I'm sorry,'' I said, starting to weep, ``but I just can't make myself care.''
There was silence on the other end. ``You're, you're, you're not sick of celebrities themselves?'' she asked.
Was I? A lifelong friendship hung in the balance. ``Oh, hold on a moment,'' I said, ``my other line's ringing. I'll have to call you back.''
I needed some time to think.
