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Kirstie
must be down-to-earth, of course, because now, at long
last, she is a mother. Her "playful sense of style"
is made evident by the decoupage grapes that grace her
son True's high chair. "It was painted and cracked to
make it look old," InStyle informs us. (Why not simply
rely on natural toddler effluvia to give the chair that
petroglyph look?) True has just turned one; his whimsical
high chair faces an equally whimsical ceramic pig holding
a blackboard on which a new word appears each day to
encourage his reading.
In
our tour through Kirstie's hideaway, we encounter an
entourage--decorators, a nanny, a cook, and various
personal assistants. Kirstie spends True's two-hour
nap time working out with her personal trainer and then
being served a healthful, fat-free lunch by the cook.
Lounging in her living room (painted to "echo" the surrounding
firs and elms), reflecting on the challenges of motherhood,
Kirstie gushes, "Being a mother has given me a whole
new purpose. Every day when I wake up it's like Christmas
morning to me, and seeing life through True's eyes gives
me a whole new way of looking at the world." Perfect
house. Perfect husband. Perfect child. Perfect career.
Perfect life. Kirstie is a perfect mother. InStyle invites
you to curl up on the sofa with Kirstie, but then implies
that you'd probably just spill your tea on it.
Forward to 1997. There's Kirstie again, now the star
of the television series Veronica's Closet, beaming
at us once more from InStyle. "A new man, a new show,
a brand-new life," proclaims the cover. Since 1994,
her island mansion has "become a place to play." Each
of the 15 bedrooms is decorated with Kirstie's "eclectic
and playful eye." According to InStyle, most people
would have found decorating this 16,000-square-foot
house daunting, but not Kirstie. "I'm very fast," she
explains. "I don't shop. I just point: boom, boom, boom."
Having outgrown his high chair, True now has his own
miniature lobster boat. In addition, he and his new
sister, Lillie, can frolic in their personal nursery-rhyme
garden, complete with Mother Goose figures especially
commissioned by "fun-loving" Kirstie because, as she
puts it, "I hope I give my children a spirit of play."
Kirstie
swears by the facial treatment she receives every morning
on her terrace as the fog burns off Penobscot Bay. It
involves "blasting her face with oxygen and enzymes
. . . through a plastic hose hooked up to two pressurized
tanks." Though her life was perfect in 1994, she has
since set aside her husband, Parker Stevenson, in favor
of her "soul mate," James Wilder, who "is a cross between
Houdini, Errol Flynn, and Marlon Brando." Apparently
Kirstie uses the same technique for choosing her lovers
as she does for choosing sofa fabrics. With James, "it
was like comet to comet. Boom . . ."
Not
that we ought to single out Kirstie (although such self-serving
bilge makes it irresistible). Celebrity-mom profiles
are almost all alike and haven't changed much over the
years, except that the houses and toys are more lavish.
Celebrity moms are shown embracing motherhood after
years of sweating under klieg lights, which apparently
brings them in touch with their true, essential, feminine
natures. Most important, motherhood is a powerfully
transforming experience, akin to seeing God. It always
changes these women, and always for the better. "I feel
more enriched and compassionate toward others since
having my son," says Elle McPherson.
Ladies'
Home Journal tells us that Christie Brinkley's third
child, daughter Sailor (her father, Brinkley's fourth
husband, is a descendant of Captain Cook), "barely tipping
the scale at eight pounds . . . has become Brinkley's
anchor, a midlife miracle well worth waiting for." Of
her second child, Jack (from her third marriage, which
lasted only a few months), Christie was equally lyrical:
"It's like I went to hell and came back with this angel."
We assume that most (but not all) of these celebrity
moms are not trying to gloat, or to rub our noses in
our own poor lifestyle choices (which invariably include
the failure to choose being thin, white, gorgeous, and
rich). And we've all said mushy things about how much
our kids mean to us, especially in the immediate aftermath
of birth, before the months of sleep deprivation and
projectile vomiting produce a slightly more jaundiced
view of the joys of motherhood. CLICK
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