Not Knocked Up

The husband and I saw Knocked Up recently. It was a sneak preview for the press--and the company that organized it offered free tickets to fill the rest of the theater. The husband and I see a lot of movies this way. Free! We like free. This time I was late. I drove into the city, miraculously found a free parking space and ran in, expecting to be hassled and turned away. Instead, I got a knowing nod, a quick, “Press, right?” and a seat in the VIP section. Yes, I am press. I write a blog, people! Sometimes being a stuffy attorney in a suit carrying a briefcase has its perks. I do admit that I feel somewhat guilty about it. But really, there was a whisking, a flashlight, an arm steering, etc. Would you stand and argue? The husband had no idea I had arrived, let alone seated, and so we each watched the movie solo.

I missed the first twenty minutes. I sat down just as the main character slowly realizes that she may be pregnant, and that the father is likely a man she knew all of twenty minutes. She and her sister make a mad dash to the pharmacy to acquire about six dozen pregnancy tests. And she uses them all. And there are a lot of scenes of the two of them sitting on toilets, peering at tests, turning them upside down, staring at smiley faces or glowing suns or 3D plus signs. And there are moments when this thing, this infertility thing, this recurrent miscarriage thing, completely knocks me out. Moments when I can’t watch some harmless, goofy movie that involves pregnancy. Moments when I sink lower into my seat and wonder if I should just make a quick exit. It is not always like this. There are days where I can, and in fact do, talk to women about their pregnancies, go to chi-chi baby clothing stores (RED ALERT: Do not go to baby clothing stores with your mother-in-law, she will insist that the young boy be dressed like Little Lord Fauntleroy, complete with velvet suits, lace collars, sashes and short knee-pants, and she will become insulted when you suggest that the boy’s mother might not want to dress her newborn son in what looks suspiciously like girl's clothes), listen to my sister describe each and every one of her four birth experiences ad nauseum in the same conversation we were discussing my INFERTILITY and I am fine. There are some days, however, when it is just decidedly, absolutely, not. I decided to stay. And afterwards, it was just so nice to see the husband. It was raining ever so slightly. And he really, really enjoyed the movie. I asked him why and he said, “Well, I thought it was really funny, and well, really, I just love babies.” It is so sweet to hear him say that, and so devastating as well.

Today was the due date of my last pregnancy.