Mommywood

by Tori Spelling

  Cameras have surrounded Liam since the day he was born. They’re both mundane and fascinating to him the way lamps or doorknobs are mundane and fascinating to other babies. When we moved into our first house, a tech company came to install top-of-the-line baby monitors that let you watch the baby on video online. Why such fancy monitors? Well, because we got them for free on condition that we let the company film the installation. Such is the world of celebrity perks: it’s not all handbags and high heels. So the tech company had their film crew in the house, with cameras and lights. When Liam saw them he got so excited you’d think it was Christmas morning. At first I thought, Oh look at my son, the budding filmmaker. He’s excited because he thinks they’re lining up a great shot. Then I realized that he thought the cameramen were our cameramen. We’d been on hiatus for a month, and he thought the crew for our show had returned. You could see it on his face. He was thinking, They’re back! Everyone’s here! Finally, my family’s all together again!

  Okay, so that’s a little weird. My kid expects to be surrounded by cameras. But (thanks to another celebrity perk) he also is accustomed to remote control toilets. And if my husband worked for a dry cleaner maybe Liam would expect his T-shirts to be lightly starched. Or if I were I hairdresser he’d request a trim every other day. Lots of people have jobs that affect their children in one way or another. As far as these things go, I don’t think we’re inflicting major trauma. Thanks to the reality show he’s very socialized. He’s not scared of people. Or large cameras. Or electronics. Or sudden flashes of light. Take this kid into an alien spaceship and he’ll feel right at home.

  I don’t worry about the cameras per se. The part of leading a public life that I worry about the most is something I can’t really change and that’s this: people know who Liam is. People on the street in our neighborhood. People who see us when we travel. People we run into on vacation. Liam will grow up being recognized, and as his parent I have to think about how it affects him.

  This hit me recently when Dean and I went on a tour of a preschool for Liam. We were in a classroom watching five cute little kids in a yoga class. (Pause for laughter. So Los Angeles. We’re all hippie health nuts. Okay, resume playing.) As those kids worked on their downward-facing dog poses, I looked around the classroom and noticed little cubbyholes with names on them. The name “Deacon” jumped out at me. How did I know that name? Then I realized, Oh, that’s the name of Reese Witherspoon’s son. Deacon. Looking back at the kids, I saw that, indeed, one of them was Deacon Phillippe. I recognized him. How weird is that—to be able to identify a four-year-old? He’s not a celebrity, and I don’t have any personal relationship with him or his parents beyond occasionally being on the same page of magazine photos showing that we celebrities are just like you, but I recognized him in his preschool yoga class. I thought, This is going to be Liam’s life. He’ll forever be recognized because of who his parents are. It could have been worse. We could have named him Blanket. (Just kidding. Blanket—it’s a lovely name.)

  The truth is that Liam’s life is already like that. We were walking into a department store and a mom looked at him and asked, “Was he in my son’s class?” Then “Is he a catalogue baby like my daughter?” Then she recognized me, said, “Oh, never mind,” and hurried away, embarrassed. The same thing has happened to me ever since I can remember. People come up to me and say, “Didn’t we go to high school together?” I’m thinking, Um, only if you went to the fictional school appearing in Beverly Hills 90210.

  I’ve actually always found it kind of sweet that when people recognize you from magazines or TV, they think you’re an old friend, that you go back a long way together. It’s like we all shared something, even if we were on different sides of the experience. But when I saw and recognized Deacon, for a moment it was like I was outside the fishbowl looking in. I was like those fans, like any mom anywhere recognizing Deacon or Liam, and I felt a little sad. These young kids are already being seen in a different way, and they have no say in it. Does it make their lives harder? Does it change the way people treat them? Does it change the way they see the world? I wish I knew the answers.

  I grew up in Hollywood, but like I said, I didn’t grow up with the paparazzi—not like there are now. At each event there was maybe one photographer, a legitimate professional whose job was to capture the event, like a photographer at a wedding. Now there are masses of people with cars and cameras stalking celebrities, shooting up your skirt as you climb out of a car and bombarding you as you enter or exit an event or restaurant. The pictures of me with my parents at events show that I was shy but used to that single flashbulb. Liam would think it was strange if we came out of a restaurant and there weren’t four or five photographers with flashes going off in his face. This is the first generation of kids growing up with that.

  In the outside world, like any mom, there’s only so much I can do to protect my child. I shielded his baby carrier, but he’s too old for that now. I’m not going to lock him away. I’m not going to put a mask on him. I don’t want him to feel embarrassed about or restricted by who he is. There’s a point at which the protecting can do more harm than the threat itself.

  I can control the reality show—the cameras inside my house that expose Liam to millions of viewers every week. It’s my choice as a parent to allow that to happen. But I love doing our show. I actually think it’s changed the way people see us. Some of the people who recognize me on the street now treat me more like a friend than a celebrity. A couple will tell us that they had the same fight that Dean and I had, or a mom will tell me she has the same issue with her son that I’ve had with Liam. It actually makes me feel more normal. The media puts celebrities up on a pedestal; even when they say we’re “just like you,” one page later they’re separating us again. The show is my chance to say that even though our world may be a little odd, we’re still just people. I hope Liam will be proud to have been part of it one day. The show is my livelihood, and it allows me and Dean to spend more time with Liam. It keeps our family together.

  I didn’t choose my upbringing, but now I’m making decisions about my own children’s lives and that upbringing is the only personal experience I have. I skipped college to stay on 90210. I worked on 90210 for a total of ten years—so long that when I finally walked out into the bright sunlight of the real world I couldn’t imagine being anything other than an actor. I still can’t. I have no other life skills. Entertainment is my life. I was born in it. I grew up in it. I’m stuck in it. And I love it. I can wonder about taking Liam out of the spotlight until the end of time, but the truth is I don’t really feel like I could support my family any other way.

  I glanced back at the yoga kids, now rolling on their backs in happy baby pose. Deacon seemed fine. The other kids in his class didn’t see him as different. They were all only three or four. School, I hope, will be a safety zone for Liam, where he can be himself without all the cameras.

  When Liam is older, I’ll try to give him options. I mean, I’m a proud mother and I have to say that I think Liam’s a natural-born entertainer. He is funny and outgoing and loves to be the center of attention. But I’m going to make sure he has the college education I missed and the self-confidence I lacked. I want him to feel free to pursue whatever life appeals to him. When it matters to him, I hope I’ll have given him all the tools he needs to be able to live out of the spotlight if that’s what he chooses.

  Baby Honeymoon

  When Liam was born, Dean and I took two months off Tori & Dean: Inn Love. We had a maternity/paternity leave. It was a brief, idyllic period when Liam got to be a baby just like any other baby and I felt just like every other mom.

  At first I was breastfeeding constantly. But I wasn’t producing enough milk, so I supplemented with a bottle. We fell quickly into a rhythm. Liam would sleep, wake up, nurse, have a bottle, play, go back to sleep. He slept a lot, and I had downtime during the day for the first time in years. Patsy (remember, our baby nurse) got me back on soap operas. I ha
dn’t seen soap operas in years. But nothing changes on soap operas. They practically move in real time. Here were all the same characters and story lines that I remembered from ten years before. In one day I was completely caught up. And hooked. So the schedule was more like watch All My Children, nurse Liam, watch One Life to Live, give Liam his bottle, watch General Hospital, nurse Liam, watch Oprah, and so on. It was a taste of what being a stay-at-home mom would be like, and I loved it. (Okay, a stay-at-home mom with full-time help—not realistic, I know.)

  After a little bit we started to take Liam out in the world. I’d never had a baby before. I didn’t know what to expect. But Liam was happy to go anywhere. We’d bring him to a restaurant in his car seat carrier. If he was awake, he’d look around and smile. If he was tired, he’d take a nap. Having a baby was a piece of cake. Patsy told us not every baby was so accommodating. We’d been blessed with an easy baby and we took full advantage. We were blissfully happy and we wanted to celebrate. We went out for brunches, dinners, and drinks. It was the hotel hop—the Four Seasons for cocktails, the Peninsula for tea, the Beverly Hills Hotel for early dinner. Sometimes it was just the three of us: Dean, Liam, and me. Sometimes we brought Patsy to show her places she’d never been before and tell her stories about what had gone down at one hotel or another in my single days. Every day we went out to walk and eat at least one meal with Liam. The baby nurse, the fancy hotels, the time off, the easy baby—these made us different from some, but the feelings we had were just like those of any new parents. It was so exciting. We were so proud.

  When our two-month break was over, we went back home to our duties running our bed-and-breakfast, and our cameras followed for the second season of Tori & Dean: Inn Love. We packed up our car, drove up to the inn, showed Liam around, and settled in. Within a few days the phone rang. It was an offer from the TV station that was launching the first season of our show in England. They wanted us to come to London to promote the premiere. I ran to tell Dean the news. Dean’s initial reaction was to say, “No way! We just got geared up to work here. Liam is two months old. We can’t do it.”

  I said, “But they’ll fly the whole family! And Patsy! To Europe! We should do it. It’d be really great. The show could follow us there and film the trip.”

  Dean still thought the idea was insane. He said, “Okay, it’s crazy to do this right now. We’re still adjusting to the new baby. But as long as we’re there, I want to take you to Scotland.” Dean’s family is Scottish. He wanted me to see the homeland. So now we were going to London and Scotland. And then to Toronto to do press for the Canadian release of the show. Our little trip grew to three weeks long.

  We boarded the flight and walked to our seats in first class. Peter Falk had the seat in front of me, and as soon as he saw that we were traveling with an infant, he pushed the call button. We heard him grumbling and talking with the flight attendant, and then they moved him upstairs (it was one of those double-decker planes with two stories of first-class seats). We were a little insulted. Why wouldn’t someone want to sit near a baby? We didn’t know it was unusual that Liam never fussed. Now I don’t blame Peter Falk for moving. How could he have known that Monkey was an angel baby?

  Liam did everything with us. He slept in cribs at the hotels. He came to every stop we made on our media tour. We went on Friday Night with Jonathan Ross, who’s like the Jay Leno of Europe, and Liam and Patsy hung out in the green room waiting for us. The chef Gordon Ramsay was on the show the same night we were. Dean is a huge fan of his. Gordon got us reservations at his newest restaurant, Maze. It is one of those hot, trendy restaurants that you usually need to book far in advance. We brought Monkey in his pajamas. As we ate the chef’s tasting menu at nine p.m. on a Friday night, Liam was snuggled up in his car seat, sound asleep. That was the moment when I thought, Wow, you don’t have to change your life for the children. Liam was fine. More than that, he was happy to be with us.

  Part of me worried about the Peter Falk factor—that people would judge us for bringing a baby to a fancy restaurant. There was something awkward about arriving at a hip, upscale restaurant and asking them to put the stroller somewhere. It felt a little inappropriate. But we knew Liam would be quiet and we figured a little extra gear never hurt anyone.

  In Scotland we took the opportunity to visit some local bed-and-breakfasts, just to see the difference. They were all very cute and charming. One day I didn’t feel so hot and I wondered out loud if I could be pregnant again. Once the idea entered my head, I liked the sound of it. Dean and I knew we wanted more kids. Monkey was only two months old and I was still naïve about how children would affect our lives. Being a parent seemed so easy. And I’d loved being pregnant so much. I missed being pregnant. I thought, Great, perfect, another one. I felt a little sad when I found out I wasn’t pregnant. Maybe it was soap opera withdrawal, with a touch of jet lag. But I knew it would have been crazy: we weren’t ready yet.

  As we flew home with our peaceful babe in arms, I thought about how much had already happened in Liam’s short life. If this was what raising a child and being a TV star meant, then so far it seemed harmless. Not just harmless, it was great! Liam was traveling. He was seeing the world. One day we’d take him back to Maze. We’d tell him how young he’d been when he first went. When we returned, he’d be old enough to taste the pressed marinated foie gras with Lincolnshire smoked eel, baked potato foam, and dill, or the confit rare-breed Sussex pork belly, pig’s head, quince confiture, and parsnips. He’d see the land of Dean’s ancestors again, and next time he’d remember what he saw. It wasn’t a “normal” childhood, but we could make it a good one.

  It was still probably too soon to tell, but having Liam didn’t feel like a disruption. It felt like a gift. When work started up again, my soap opera habit was gone for good. No more midday TV. No more working on Liam’s baby book. My days of being a stay-at-home mom had been all too brief. What I most regretted was the state of the blanket I was knitting for Liam. I started the blanket on the set of Smallville in Vancouver, just after we’d announced that I was pregnant. I fantasized that he would take it to college and say, “My mom made this for me before I was born.” Then, when he got married, he’d show his wife the blanket and say, “My mom made this for me before I was born.” One day he’d have his own little boy. He’d give him the blanket and say…Oh, you get my point. When work kicked in again, I had to put the blanket aside. It’s in a storage bin somewhere, still unfinished. If I stayed home to complete it, we’d never be able to afford for him to take it away to college. But I figure I still have time to work on it. I have until he’s old enough to leave for college, don’t I?

  Daddy’s Boy

  Leaving Liam to work on our show was an issue for me. Of all the things I wanted to do differently from my own mother, most important was that I wanted to be there. I always planned to raise my kids myself instead of leaving it all to a nanny. But I’m a working mom. I have to have help when we’re doing the show. There are even some days when Liam’s babysitter is with him all day long. It’s really hard for me. It’s an ongoing struggle, and it’s one I expected. What I didn’t expect was the challenge of being married to a hands-on dad.

  Ever since Dean and I met, we have spent all our time together. Then we started spending all our free time in a threesome. Um, I’m talking about Liam, of course. Dean loves children, and that’s part of what attracted me to him. Liam has a poopy diaper? Dean is on it. Liam takes a tumble? Dean’s there before he hits the ground. Time to get Liam out of the car seat? Dean’s already doing it. I want to do all those things for Liam, it’s just that Dean always gets there first. When it comes to parenting he consistently beats me to the punch. He swoops right in there so fast that I’m left saying, “Um…I can do that…” to a no-longer-crying baby or an empty car.

  When we brought Liam home from the hospital, the first thing Dean said to our baby nurse, Patsy, was “I change a mean diaper.” Within minutes they were having a showdown, demonstrating
their flawless high-speed diaper changes and swaddling techniques. Meanwhile, I was still in the beginner’s ring. I was like, “Excuse me, guys? The cartoon characters go in the front, right?”

  There’s a reason he could change a mean diaper: he’d done it before. Dean has a son, Jack, from his first marriage. Dean’s experience often comes in handy. Back when I was pregnant, I’d gotten excited about a cool high-tech diaper pail and Dean said, “Oh, Jack had that one. It doesn’t work.” Later, when Liam had blisters on his toes and it turned out to be hand, foot, and mouth disease or hoof, tail, and tooth disease or whatever, Dean just said, “Jack had that, it’s no big deal.” Even when Liam had a seizure (more on that later), Dean was unfazed: “Jack had those too. He grew out of them.” He saw Jack learn to walk; he heard Jack learn to talk. It’s great that Dean has experience. It’s nice that he’s calm when I’m worried. But even though we share all of the big parenting moments, bad or good, I don’t get to share the newness with anyone. It makes me sad sometimes.