Food for Thought

In the nearly 12 years I've been married to my One True Love I have developed a pretty accurate radar about what he might like/dislike in movies. He has the same sensitivity about my preferences... so if he wants to watch Lord of the Rings (HATED IT!) or some gory action flick, or I want to watch some mindless romantic comedy, we just save them for a time when the other is not going to be around. There are plenty of movies we enjoy together, so an occasional solo doesn't seem to be any problem.

This weekend I have a bunch of recorded shows and movies lined up to choose from, because Matt is camping on a "Dad's Retreat" with a few good friends. (They claim they're roughing it, living off the land, but I saw the makings for s'mores go into the bag, and I'm pretty sure cowboys don't pack an airbed, pump, and adaptor. Also, do cowboys eat blackened Cajun salmon? I didn't think so...) One of the movies seemed super extra mindless, but fun, so I put it on last night while I folded laundry and tidied up the kitchen. Maybe you've heard of it, or even seen it...Knocked Up.

This movie has an up-and-coming professional woman getting accidentally pregnant by a down-and-out stoner loser guy, and then they sort of stay together to go through the experience together. Of course there are hiccups in the relationship, but because this is a movie, it all works out in the end... happily ever after, right?

First of all, movies like this demand you not only suspend disbelief, but move to a parallel universe. Suuuuurrrreee this could happen. Suuuuuurrrrreee this is how these characters would react. Suuuurrrrreeee. But once you get past that urge to sigh and roll your eyes, it's just plain fun. (Here's why Matt can't enjoy them: his urge to sigh and roll his eyes is really, really strong. He can't help it. And he can't help an occasional snort, either, which is distracting when you are trying to pretend that this pot-smoking shlub is just what this TV host needs in her life.)

At the end of the movie there was a montage of baby photos from the cast and crew, and I was bawling in that sappy, tired, "oh-my-God, it's a newborn!" sort of way -- well, it was way past my bedtime, and I am a sucker for babies, so I got hit with a double whammy there -- and I thought about one of my "101 Goals" -- namely, to be present at the birth of a child. (Other than my own, obviously -- I was there, and I have the Mini Me clone kids to prove it.)

I love the miracle of birth, the moment that a new life emerges into the world and completes a family unit in a whole new way. I love the elation that wipes out all the hard work and pain. I love the sound of a newborn protesting the change in environment, and then the squeaking mewling sounds as baby and mom lock eyes and bond. I love it all...

When my two were born, Matt and I didn't have any extra people in the delivery room. (One of my relatives wanted to be there, but since they don't give epidurals from the neck up, I vetoed the idea. I didn't need the stress...) We were perfectly happy to have that moment all to ourselves, and then to invite everyone and their brother in to see the brand new baby immediately after. At the other end of the spectrum, one of my sisters in law had everyone she's ever known or gone to church with present for the births -- seriously, ushers and stuff showed up -- but I didn't want to add to the circus. Another friend of mine had both sets of grandparents-to-be in the room... except when she sent her dad out to get an ice cream sandwich, and he returned with a Costco sized box. ("Well, you wanted an ice cream sandwich!" Don't you just love dads??) I remember thinking it was pretty big of the laboring woman to tolerate all that commotion, but if it gave comfort, then I guess it was worth it.

Have any of you been present when a baby was born? How does it compare to being the one birthing the baby?