When my mother was pregnant with my sister, I was almost ten years old. I already knew everything there was to know about sex and biology and was tragically bored by both subjects. Nevertheless, my mother, in yet another fitof ruthless misunderstanding, requested that I watch an "after school special"called "My Mom's Havin' A Baby," which she felt would clarify any further questions I might have on either subject. The ending of this show promiseda live birth, wherein an actual child would be shown emerging out of theactually pregnant actress. If nothing else, I was curious to see how the network would handle this raunch.
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I sneered through most of the viewing and waited around for the big nudie climax. It was extremely disappointing. The mother was surrounded by some kind of paperymedical tent which obscured everything but the anatomical part itself, which wascompletely trimmed and shaved and powdered for maximum attractive pre-teenviewability. During labor, the actress, unflappable, with perfect hair and makeup, seemed to be "Havin' "a minimum of strain while "Havin' " the baby, engaging in perfectly civil dialogue with all of the participants in thedelivery ward. The emerging head of the child glowed a healthy Revlon peachtone, and was presented in its first moments of life as completely scrubbed,with no attached tubes or unsightly effluvia. I expected the assembled cast to break into a song like the welcoming number in "Annie," with acrobatic nurse puppets spinning the newborn out on a large lacquered plate where it would spring to life in a spangling red, white and blue diaper andweep with musical joy for being born American.
I marvelled at the speed with which the Vatican had dispatched its team of Manchurian Candidate-like experts. I imagined the flock of black cars pulling up in front of R.'s house, furtive bishops and cardinals in blackovercoats, wraparound sunglasses and tall golden hats jumping out like a SWATteam and blasting through the front door. Once inside they had kept her sleep-deprived and shown her films such as "The Miracle of Life" and "My Mom's Havin' ABaby" and an onslaught of animated Disney classics, pumping her full of designereuphorics and lite jazz, until she had that glazed, stoned-out look of exhaustednew-parent love. Then they released her into the world, changed, ready tospread their doctrine. 2ff7e9595c
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