Fertility Comedies

I’m not pregnant - I just had a baby.
This shirt exists to remind you not to bring your skinny jeans to the hospital

Having a baby makes ready cinema. You got a built-in ticking clock (and a handy indicator of the passage of time) and act breaks (conception/realization of pregnancy = end of act I; going into labor = beginning of act III). And for third act drama, can you beat a sweating, screaming woman? The entire catalog of Sam Raimi says, no, you cannot.

It’s like how the court case makes ready drama. Again, a built-in ticking clock (the limited run of the case, although realistically that can be two years) and act breaks (disillusioned/greedy lawyer takes the case = end of act I; closing arguments = beginning of act III). And for third act drama, can you beat two lawyers making impassioned speeches to the jury? The entire catalog of Raymond Burr says, no, you cannot.

But there is something terribly missing from fertility comedies. To be fair, I’ve only seen Juno and Knocked Up, not yet Baby Mama. I will give Tina Fey double plus awesome points if she includes any of the following hilariawesomeawful moments:

(And I haven’t even had a baby or even finished that one book my gymmin’ friend lent me, so I know nothing. NOTHING! But I know this…)

  • If it’s your first bebe and you go to the hospital at the first sign of labor, they will send your punk ass home! They will say, go home, watch a DVD, try to take a nap, and we’ll see you in twelve hours when things get really interesting. I love watching them rush a first-time movie mother to a hospital. Dude. You got time. So much time. Bring a Sudoku.
  • The enema! AH HA HA HA. THE ENEMA. I can’t believe Mr. Apatow skipped this part. Even informing Ms. Heigl’s character that, yes, we’re going to give you one, and yeah, Seth, you might want to step out for a bit. THAT IS COMEDY GOLD. For when bebe mashes down on all your innards, and oh how he will mash, he will mash out everything that’s not tethered down. So if you don’t empty your pipes by friendly, hygienic means, your bebe will empty them for you at the moment you really want to be trying for happy thoughts. Am I asking for either an enema scene or a colossal delivery room crappapalooza? Yes. Yes, I am. I am a classy lassie.
  • Come on. No one refuses an epidural. Stop making characters give birth without it for contrived reasons — it’s just mean. You will get plenty of sweating and screaming regardless. Instead, profit from the comic potential of squinching the heroine’s knees up to her eyebrows and stabbing a needle into her back again and again while she’s having contractions. Now THAT is mean funny.
  • When you’re done, you’re not done. There’s like naming and paperwork and circumcising, if you’re into that, and I don’t know how a woman reacts to pushing a human being into the planet that was not formerly there, and then receiving a brief SAT prep course, but I would like to be something like DEAR GOD GET AWAY FROM ME AND THE NEXT PERSON WHO SHOWS THEIR FACE IN MY ROOM BETTER BE HOLDING A MEATBALL SUB.


Draws. Sweats. Eats too much sugar-free candy.

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