Not long after the actress Sharon Wheatley wrote her first parenting column in the Actors' Equity Association's newsletter, a reader e-mailed her to say he had heard about a parent support network for actors a few years earlier -- but it turned out to be for people who were transitioning out of theater. The mix-up did not surprise Wheatley, 41, a mother of two and a Broadway veteran with the distinction of having performed in 'Cats,' 'Les Miserables' and 'The Phantom of the Opera.' 'The minute you say, 'I'm having a kid,' I swear to God, people hear, 'I'm getting out of the business,' ' Wheatley said. Given the challenges of being a parent and a working actor, it's not the craziest assumption. Who could be expected, as a pregnant Wheatley did, to take a look at the touring schedule for 'Phantom' and determine that she would need an obstetrician in Providence, R.I., because that's where she was most likely to deliver? In the end, her husband, Rob Meffe, a conductor and a professor of musical theater, landed a job that took them back to New York before her daughter was born. Wheatley, who is an understudy in 'Avenue Q,' has a lot of great stories about how she has managed to hold on to both of her roles, mother and Broadway performer; the problem has been finding people who will not just laugh, but nod along knowingly. 'There just aren't a lot of Broadway moms,' she said this week at her apartment in the Inwood section of Upper Manhattan, as her 11-year-old daughter, Charlotte, baked oatmeal cookies and her 19-month-old, Beatrix, napped. 'Our childbearing years are exactly the same as our leading-lady years. A lot of women phase out.' Not enough women even think it can be done, in Wheatley's opinion, which is why she and the Actors' Equity Association Parents' Committee fought to get her a column in the newsletter, to create a sense of possibility and unity among a group that has yet to coalesce. In that first column, Wheatley talked about a challenge that every working parent faces but one that poses particular economic hardships for the auditioning actor: child care. It's bad enough having to pay for child care to go to work; imagine having to pay for child care just to beg for the opportunity to work. For Wheatley, the sunk cost is usually $60 to $80 for the four or five hours it takes to get downtown, audition and come back. Rather than pay for full-time child care, she and her husband usually hire a sitter at the last minute -- sometimes, in desperation, one that her daughters have never met before. 'We have ridiculously detailed written instructions on file that I can just hand off because I'm usually flying out the door,' Wheatley said. It usually takes about six hours into rehearsal before actors start talking about how everyone there has started to feel like family (even if it's the highly dysfunctional kind). With so many metaphoric families forming and disbanding every day in the world of theater, the old-fashioned kind seems to have little space to flourish. Wheatley's column is one baby step toward the committee's goal of creating better support for parents in the theater, who often have to negotiate for perks like a nanny's airfare and hotel room when a show hits the road. A day care center catering to the needs and the hours of actors is another dream project of the parents' group (it would also accommodate other workers with irregular hours near Times Square). The Rev. Richard D. Baker of St. Malachy's Church on West 49th Street, which is known as the Actors' Chapel, is raising money to move the plan ahead. 'We see it as a God-given gift these people have,' Baker said. 'They shouldn't have to give up their family.' When Wheatley was in her 20s, an agent told her that actors her age were a dime a dozen, that she would have a better shot at stardom in her 40s -- by then, there would be more parts available because her competition would start dropping out to have babies. If Wheatley had her way, all those women would have their babies and still give her a run for her money. 