Month 14: Celeb Obsessed

Those who know me know that I’m a teensy bit obsessed with celebrities. OK, more than a teensy bit. Like, if you asked which celebrity named their son Homer, I could tell you. (Anne Heche) If you wanted to know which actress Brad Pitt dated early in his career, I could tell you. (Juliette Lewis) Thanks to my Access Hollywood, TMZ, and US Weekly habits, I know more about celebrities I don’t even like than I do about my own brother.

It’s not something I’m proud of. In fact, I try to downplay my celeb-obsession whenever possible. I don’t subscribe to any of the tabloids, I just read them surreptitiously at the gym and the checkout counter. I don’t follow celebrity blogs or have their fan pages bookmarked or anything. I’m in no danger of veering into stalker territory. Even if I do occasionally have imaginary conversations with certain celebrities. What? That’s normal, right? ;)

Take Jennifer Garner, for instance. I think we could be pals. She seems pretty cool and down to earth. I think Violet and Miles could have some fun times at the playground together. Jen and I could talk about when and how to break the pacifier habit, and about our husbands’ Red Sox fixation.

I’d probably be too intimidated to talk to Angelina Jolie if I saw her, though I’m dying to know how she carries around at least two kids at all times, one in each skinny arm. I just about die carrying Miles from the car to the house. I think I could muster up the courage to talk to Brad Pitt, though. I’d casually wheel my stroller over and comment on Shiloh’s Black Sabbath T-shirt. I might even ask him whether the kids’ wardrobes are his doing or Angie’s. I’m all for hip kids’ clothes, but black? On a baby?

Julia Roberts is a crunchy mom, so I’m sure she’d be happy to weigh in on the best baby slings and organic applesauce. I bet she even makes her own. Katie Holmes would just annoy me. I’m sure she’s one of those moms who wears heels to the playground and refuses to admit her child’s not sleeping through the night.

Courtney Cox seems too type-A for my taste, the kind who wouldn’t let her daughter eat anything if she came to play at our house and would disinfect all Coco’s toys the minute they got home. Reese Witherspoon could be a little like that, too, but she does let her kids have soda and ice cream, so maybe not.

I never thought much about Brooke Shields, but I recently read her memoir on postpartum depression, Down Came the Rain, out of curiosity. Wow, did her life suck for awhile. I really felt for her, and anyone else who's gone through such an awful time after having a baby. Just the fact that Brooke Shields couldn’t get out of bed for weeks and didn’t know who to call and felt like a terrible mom was fascinating to me.

I think my celebrity fixation has less to do with wanting their fabulous lives and wardrobes than wanting to know that behind the photo shoots and red carpets and mansions, they struggle with some of the same things the rest of us do. Parenthood is the great equalizer. Whether you wear Prada or Payless, you're going to get spit up on. At least that's what I tell myself to justify knowing the names of all three Beckham boys. (Romeo, Cruz, and Brooklyn)

TIP O’ THE WEEK: For more, check out the Celebrity Baby Blog. On a serious note, Fisher Price recalled a bunch of toys containing lead paint, including Elmo and Dora items.