I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Deville.

Poor Amos. Poor, poor Amos. Exposed to demanding Italians and pushy, helicopter moms just so that his parents can say, "You think he should be a baby model? Well, he already is."

Monday was an interesting yet dull day. So goes the life of a glamorous model, as you may have learned from the many "reality" shows about models. There was surprisingly little pampering of the beautiful tots, and even less of the weary mothers. Not a single supermodel showed up to judge us. Pfft.

It was three hours (yes, THREE) of waiting around for Italians to show up at the location, which just happened to be a luxurious house for the mere asking price of $2.1 million. Then, the Italians ate lunch while we waited around some more. Finally, it was a sudden death match in Italians Versus Babies: Who Will Melt Down First?

As it turned out, neither. A mother went berserk.

One lady's boy had fallen asleep right when things were finally starting to happen. Amos, the sleeping boy, a girl, and a boy dressed as a girl (yeah, you tell me what that was about) were hustled into the first shot. Amos looked around in wonder, and the sleeping baby was a floppy mess of a boy who just wouldn't wake up. The Italians yelled at his mother, "Mama! Mama! No good! You done!"

In one of the most beautiful displays of human meltdown I have ever witnessed, this mother freaked out and spilled curses at those Italians that would have made even the most hardened Italian cab driver proud (and blush). She didn't throw obscene hand gestures at them, but she did bleat out at least four "f words" in their general direction.

"I've been here FOUR EFFING HOURS?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"

(edited for family-oriented readers)

And other wonderful things, such as:

"You're telling ME I'm DONE?! WHAT THE EFF DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?! YOU'RE TELLING ME I'M DONE?! EFF YOU, MOTHER EFFERS!"

Etc., etc. It was shockingly wonderful to watch after sitting around a sterile yet expensive home with nothing to do but stare at other babies. I thought that the lady was taking off and ready to key the Italians' rental cars, but alas, they brought her back once the baby woke up.

Amos, however, was less amused by the display of adults gone mental. At one point, the Italians were trying to get three babies to smile at once. HA! Good luck, jerks. So, they began clapping and singing loudly while scrunching closer together toward the bewildered babies. Understandably, Amos began to cry. How would you feel if you were surrounded on all sides by white prop walls, bright lights, and scary Italians who are screaming at you?

So, they again yelled, "Mama! Mama! No good!" Except this time, I was the mama who was no good.

I hustled Amos off to the side and cheered him up. I brought him back for more shots, and then I was yelled at again. "Mama! Mama! Out of way! Move, Mama!" I was trying to cheer up my kid, jerks, so you can have your precious picture that you made us wait FOUR EFFING HOURS FOR. Heh.

One more baby melted down. And then another. Then another. I'm guessing the Italians suddenly realized that it was NOT a good idea to make babies wait for four hours before they needed to be happy and sell their clothes.

So, Amos broke down again. And again, I hustled him out of the shot as I was yelled at in various Italian ways. After calming Amos down, I noticed that boy-dressed-as-girl had suddenly changed outfits and was ready for the next shot. And, sleeping-boy-baby-son-of-Mother-Effer had made a return. Suddenly, the Italians had learned to take the shots without yelling or clapping, because hey, somehow QUIET helps babies to feel a little better about strange Italians and a strange yet expensive house.

We just stood off to the side, even though Amos was happy, smiling, and ready to go. Yet, we were not asked for another shot. We weren't asked to change into a new outfit. Amos, the cutest human ever born, was rejected by the Italians.

Another photographer who was standing nearby took many shots of Amos against a wall while he was in his happy phase. So, if Amos does end up in this particular catalog campaign, it will be because of that very nice photographer fellow. If it happens, I'll let you know. Otherwise, that catalog is going to be covered in the pictures of Mother Effer's boy. I guess it takes an Oscar-worthy spewing of curses to get a baby into the limelight. Is that how Lindsay Lohan started out?

I was too laid back as a stage mother, I suppose. I guess I should have put on my diva outfit after all.

"WHY AREN'T YOU MOTHER EFFERS PUTTING MY BOY BACK INTO THE SHOT?! NO MORE WIRE HANGERS!!!!!!!!!!!"

Perhaps we're not meant for this kind of life.