Stephanie Madeira, a dietician at Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital Rahway, wrote a wonderful article that appeared in the Home News Tribune last week about the challenges of feeding healthy foods to our children and, more importantly, setting the right example so they will develop healthy eating habits as they grow up.

I loved this article because it reminded me of my childhood - and how I've been trying to train myself to eat better now. I'm hoping by the time Hendrick realizes that stuffing one's face with chocolate cake at 10 p.m. because it was a stressful day isn't a good idea, I'll have broken the habit.

Growing up in an Italian-American family in Bayonne I could never eat enough. My grandmother was always complaining that I was too skinny. (She also thought I wore too much make-up, but that's another story.) We'd be having a nice conversation over a bowl of chicken soup or a plate of macaroni and she'd stop mid-sentence and, with a look of angst on her face, she'd yell: "Nina! You have to eat more!"

Ms. Madeira's article is not really geared for parents with babies or toddlers who are just learning to eat. (For us, it's really easy to just buy formula or those little jars of mush; not much preparation involved in that.) But this is the time we need to start seriously thinking about what we we're going to serve for dinner when little Sally starts sitting at the table. What do we consider a well-balanced meal? And how often do we prepare them now?

As for snacking, I could see myself being one of those moms who pulls Hendrick off the monkeybars just to see if he wants a cookie. This article has got me thinking about how my behavior will influence my son's eating habits and his perception of food.

It's time to start filling my refrigerator with only the kinds of foods I'd want Hendrick to eat. That way, unless I want to go hungry, I'll have no choice but to send the right message.

Stephanie Madeira's article: HERE

New study on women waiting to have babies

The big news on the motherhood scene comes from the United Kingdom today. A new study found that - for the first time - the majority of women who are having babies are in their thirties. Also, the number of British women who are giving birth in their forties has doubled in the last 10 years.

Here’s the link to stories on the subject:
www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2007/02/27/nbirths27.xml www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/features/health-and-beauty/article2309239.ece

One of the articles asks a very poignant question but doesn't really address it: Do older mothers make better mothers?

I'd like to think so. At age 38, I have a 16-month-old son and hope to adopt another baby (or dare I say two) within the next few years. I realize I'm no spring chicken but I'd like to think I have enough good years left in me to handle the rigors of motherhood.

I certainly have a much more stable life than I did a decade ago. When I was in my twenties I had 10 different jobs and lived in 10 different places...at least. I was married, divorced and married again by 34. I tried to get pregnant naturally but that didn't work. So at age 37, my husband and I turned to adoption. Along the way I learned a great deal about patience, humility and faith.

Sometimes things just don't happen in your time schedule. I really didn't choose to be part of this trend. For me, it just happened that way. Sure, it would have been nice to have been able to start a family in my younger days, when I had more energy and thought I knew everything. I wasn't thrilled about having to put my career on hold just when it started to get hot. But, hey, that's the way things worked out for me and I have accepted my fate.

I even consider it a blessing...just not late at night when my boy is running from room to room and all I want to do is sleep...I tire out a lot quicker than I used to.

Dissing "Dirt"

Sometimes, after a long day chasing around my 16-month-old son, I just want to veg out in front of the television and find something amusing to watch. Something to take my thoughts away from the mess in the kitchen, the laundry that hasn't been washed, the novels that haven't been read and the bills that haven't been paid.

"I'll get to them," I tell myself. But for right now, I only have the strength to watch TV.

My husband and I decided to give a new show a try: FX Network's new series "Dirt." It's about the tabloid press and we were wondering if there would be similarities between this fictional newsroom and our own. (My husband is the metro editor at the Press.) So we grab our bowls of ice cream, fluff up our pillows and turn on the tube.

It only took a few seconds to realize we weren't going to have much in common.

The show opens with tabloid editor Lucy Spiller, played by actress/producer Courtney Cox, in a graphic sex scene with struggling actor Holt McLaren, played by Josh Stewart. We didn't know she was using this actor as a source until she started asking him questions about his wife's drug habit. The scene got a little uncomfortable, but Spiller sat naked in chair, legs curled up to her chin, and drank her beer placidly while he walked out. Questions unanswered.

Professionally, we were appalled but kept watching. And what we saw was some very pornographic footage. Like the drug-induced menage a trois that included the actor's wife, and a tabloid writer who seduced a young co-worker and secretly videotaped the tryst. (No, we weren't spared the bouncing buttocks.)

Now, the over-the-top sexuality was offensive enough, but the show's whole depressing demeanor and soul-dampening dialogue really made it an hour not worth watching.

That night as I lay twisting and turning in bed, the show really started to bother me. How many teenagers watched that program? Did they think most journalists - or any professionals - behave in that manner? Even worse, how many unsupervised kids tuned in and saw sex scenes their innocent eyes couldn't comprehend?

I started to get angry. Courteney Cox and her husband, David Arquette, are co-producers of this show. They have a young daughter. Would they really want her exposed to this kind of "entertainment"? Have they, and the other executives involved in this production, given any thought to the message this sends to young people? Have they considered that some teens may walk away thinking this kind of lifestyle is normal?

Doesn't Courteney Cox, as a mother, feel any sense of responsibility to protect someone else's child?

I believe it is incumbent upon all of us to maintain a certain level of decency - whether on television, on the job or at home - that serves as a model for children so they can grow into healthy young adults.

This show - and too many others like it - could never foster such growth.

Motherhood in winter

The cold season always seems to go by slowly when you're waiting for warmth. But last winter went by particularly slowly for me, and I never felt so isolated by the elements. There were times I just stood near my living room window and pressed my face against a rickety old pane just so I could feel the cold air on my face, so I could feel connected to the outdoors … and all the life that was out there.

Inside, I felt alone.

Of course, it wasn't just the weather that was keeping me indoors. It was my baby, Hendrick Paul, who couldn't be dragged around in frigid temperatures or the occasional snowstorm just because Mommy was getting a little stir crazy.

My fast-paced life as a journalist came to a crashing halt in the fall of 2005. Hendrick was now the main story of the day, every day, and no other news mattered. But it didn't hit me until winter.

Things seemed different in October 2005, when my husband and I happily awaited the birth of the child we would be adopting. We had three weeks to prepare for his arrival, and, like any good newspaper people, we quickly adjusted to the situation and got to work. Getting the baby's room ready, completing the adoption paperwork, making travel arrangements and, of course, showing up on time for a last-minute baby shower.

We flew to Texas on Oct. 10, 2005, rented a tiny (and I mean tiny) efficiency apartment in a small town and took in the sights for a week while we waiting for Hendrick's debut. We brought our baby "home'' from the hospital two days after his birth and spent the next two weeks taking care of him until we had clearance to go back to New Jersey.

Our boy was the most gorgeous thing we ever saw, with blond hair and slate-colored eyes. We loved him instantly. The whole family was thrilled for us, and everything seemed to fall into place.

Then John, my husband, went back to work at the newspaper. My mother, who flew up from Florida and stayed through the holidays, went back to the sunshine. It was just us, Hendrick and me.

The real bonding was about to begin.

Part of the reason I agreed to write this blog is because I remember how lonely motherhood can feel in the first few months and how confusing it can be when your baby cries for no apparent reason; when your husband doesn't understand why you're so depressed and you feel like crying for no apparent reason; when it seems that everyone else is past this stage and all they have to offer you, at age 38 in my case, is the baby clothes their kids outgrew years ago and the toys they can't wait to get out of the attic.

New mothers need to bond, too. We need to take comfort in the fact that we're not alone, that we can learn from each other and laugh with each other and gently remind each other that we must cherish this time with our babies because this stage will pass all too quickly.

And, as we've all been reminded of many times by more experienced mothers, our children, the ones who haven't learned to roll over yet or crawl or speak in full sentences, will soon be driving.