Finding It: And Finally Satisfying My Hunger for Life by Valerie Bertinelli

am giving away something valuable.
    Somehow God has figured this out for us. I’m sure that’s why it takes almost ten months for a woman to have a child. You need time to prepare. As thrilled as I was when I got pregnant, I would have been in major trouble without time to get ready. In retrospect, my first three months of morning sickness was a little test. It was God saying, Take a crack at this and let’s reassess your attitudes and readiness. If I couldn’t handle a few months of nausea, how was I going to handle adolescence?
    I used to sneer at all the experts who advised living in the moment. Then I came to realize that a moment is about all I can handle—or want to handle. The past and the future as concepts are way too big to grasp. But within the span of a moment I can usually manage cravings, exercise, doubts, worries, arguments, guilt, a sputtering self-image, and a crisis of faith.
    A case in point: One night, Tom and I sparred over Wolfie and his girlfriend. He was on tour and still blinded by Liv. Most of our conversations were about his desire to visit her or arrange for her to visit him. I laughed off his social activity of long-distance play dates, but Tom thought I was too lenient and not paying enough attention. He thought I was setting Wolfie up for trouble by not cautioning him to slow down. He also worried that I paid more attention to his travel bills than the possibility he might make me a grandma ten years before I was ready.
    I leaned back on the sofa and shook my head in quiet amazementat the way the two of us had changed sides in this matter. We hadn’t articulated it quite this clearly before, but it was pretty apparent that at some point I had given up worrying about where Wolfie was sleeping and what might happen if, yikes, something unplanned happened.
    To be honest, I had made sure Wolfie was informed. He knew I didn’t want him to be a parent anytime soon, at least not until he learned to keep his bedroom clean (that’s a joke, said nervously). I felt like I couldn’t do anything else. I knew how I had been at his age. I didn’t want to worry myself into five unwanted pounds.
    In the meantime, Tom, who had no concerns about weight gain, worried freely and openly. He only seemed to think about condoms and unwanted pregnancies.
    “It’s because I have two daughters and you have one son,” he said. “I worry about a million penises, and you just worry about one.”
    “Apparently not enough for you,” I said.
    “I’m just saying,” he scoffed.
    “And I’m just saying I can’t worry about what I can’t control,” I explained. “It’s like my age. I am getting older. I can’t do anything about it. Instead of worrying, I’m planning the party I want when I turn fifty.”
    “Oh?” Tom asked.
    “Think Italy.”
    “But what about Wolfie?”
    “He can come if he’s not at home taking care of my grandchild.”
    “Seriously.”
    “I am serious,” I said. “Like I said, I don’t have any way of controlling him. So I’m hoping that he won’t get anyone pregnant. I’mhoping he will be responsible. I’m hoping that if he gets married it will work out. I’m hoping that if he gets his heart broken, it won’t last too long. I’m hoping that all of his good qualities only get better when he’s an adult. I’m hoping and praying that things work out. And for some reason, I think they will.”
    About a week later, Tom and I hit New York City for my birthday. We arrived from Cincinnati, where I had stopped for a book signing, and checked into our hotel. I woke up the next day to a happy-birthday kiss. After a workout in the hotel gym, I taped a segment on the
Rachael Ray
show. My parents surprised me by flying in and joining us for dinner at an Italian restaurant (big surprise), where we ordered my favorite champagne and clinked glasses.
    “The only thing that bugs me about my age is that my knees ache when I get out of bed in the morning,” I said.
    “Then you get to