Julia Fox Recalls Son's Birth — and Anger She Felt Over 'Unfair Dynamics' of Child Rearing (Exclusive Book Excerpt)

In her new memoir 'Down the Drain,' Fox reveals the visceral love she felt after her son's birth - and the anger towards his father for the parenting dynamic

<p>Rachpoot/Bauer-Griffin/GC</p>

Rachpoot/Bauer-Griffin/GC

Actress Julia Fox, 33, has become one of the most photographed women on the planet, thanks in part to becoming a household name after she dated Kanye West in early 2022, and her much-talked about daring red carpet looks.

But at the end of the day, she's also just a mom — one who is deeply in love with her son Valentino, 2, but also one understood very quickly after his birth just how "unfair" the dynamics were between her and her ex, who didn't have to face the same responsibilities that she did when it came to taking care of him.

In her new memoir Down the Drain (out Oct. 10) Fox writes candidly about everything, including her son's birth. She also writes about her childhood growing up in New York City, being a wild teenager in the downtown nightclub scene, developing a heroin problem and landing a role in the Adam Sandler movie Uncut Gems.

<p>Richie Khan / Simon & Shuster </p>

Richie Khan / Simon & Shuster

She also writes about her experience with dating Kanye West after his breakup from Kim Kardashian. — admitting that she didn't sign the NDA he wanted her to sign while they were together.

Below is the exclusive excerpt from Down the Drain, in which Fox describes the visceral love she has for her new baby, and how she begins to resent Valentino's father, who doesn't help out at home. She also discusses her best friend, whom she lost to a drug overdose before Valentino's birth, and how she knows that she's lucky to be alive after such a wild ride.

During a routine checkup on January 16, three weeks before the due date, my doctor delivers the news no mother wants to hear: My blood pressure is approaching the danger zone and they want to induce labor today. I begin to panic. I don’t have diapers or a crib. I don’t even have a car seat or a stroller! I tell the doctor I feel fine and beg for a few hours to gather my things—and, more importantly, to have my maternity photos taken.

 Once I get home, my best friends rush over with makeup and clothes, and within an hour I have my maternity photos and am on my way to the hospital to give birth. Due to COVID restrictions, only Andrew is allowed to visit me, but I keep Gianna’s ashes in the floral pink urn by my bedside for the duration of my delivery. As I endure the intense pain, I grip her urn tightly and feel her presence with me, and I know that she is so proud of me.

Valentino has come a few weeks early, but he’s absolutely perfect. He is the most beautiful little boy I have ever laid my eyes on. When I see him using every bit of strength to inch his body close to mine, I am filled with a love so visceral, it could shatter the earth. I am his. And he is mine. It’s the kind of love that claws its way out of your gut, rips you apart, and puts you back together again. He is worth all the blood and pain, all the tears, and all the sleepless nights.

 I wonder sometimes, if Gianna hadn’t died, if he would be here. I think he would be, and so would she. I can picture her sassing me and bossing me around, reprimanding me when I’m being lazy, and telling me what to do because she always knew best. I can hear her voice so clearly yelling, “He’s my son too, ya know?!” I just know she would have moved in with me and never left my side. I can’t help but feel like I was so close to achieving my ultimate dream scenario. It feels like I played the lottery and got every number right except the very last one, instantly crushing any faith I had in life.

At night, I whisper in Valentino’s ear and tell him all about his guardian angel, his aunt Gianna, and how much he would have loved her. Then I remind us that she’s still here, inside both of us. She never left. I feel closer to Gianna in her death than I do with Andrew in our home. There’s no intimacy between us anymore. We don’t talk unless it’s about the baby and we haven’t had sex since way before the birth. He leaves in the morning and comes home at night, after Valentino has already gone to sleep. He doesn’t help me with feedings or diaper changes or cleaning or anything around the house. In fact, he somehow creates more work for me. His voice starts to irk me when he comes home and excitedly tells me he’s taking up skateboarding and made a new best friend. I start to resent him. How could he have time to do all these things? Why does he get to go on with his life unbothered while mine has been flipped upside down? I’m starting to see how unfair this dynamic is.

 One day, he comes home in the middle of the day as I’m lying in bed with our son, and I pick up a faint buzzing sound coming from the bath- room. I slip out of bed so as not to wake Valentino and tiptoe toward the bathroom, where I peek inside and find Andrew shaving his pubic hair. I feel a bolt of rage shoot through me then immediately diffuse itself. I’m too tired. I don’t want to argue and I don’t want to know. I run back into the bedroom and pretend to be asleep.

 I get a text from Liana congratulating me on the birth. Even though I’m still mad at her, I invite her over to meet him. I may have my resentments but I wouldn’t want Valentino to not get to know his auntie over a stupid grudge. Her hands tremble as I place him in her arms. I see her eyes filling up with tears through her thick lenses. “I can’t believe you made this baby,” she says in disbelief. “I know, like, how am I somebody’s mother right now?!”

 We both start laughing and I feel my anger dissipate. I find it hard to believe that I didn’t share my pregnancy journey with her, but I know it’s for the best. We spent so many years glued to each other for fear of being on our own, and maybe we needed that distance to establish our own identities, separate from each other. We’ve come so far from the raggedy greased-up teenagers we used to be, from that first time I saw her on the 8th Street stoop in those pink patent-leather platform boots. It’s truly a miracle that we are even still alive.

From DOWN THE DRAIN by Julia Fox. Copyright © 2023 by Julia Fox. Reprinted by permission of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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