The other night, I put on HBO’s The Baby on a whim, and I immediately felt this sense of unease and dread—not because it’s a thriller with a killer baby; I’ve rewatched Misfits enough times where this kind of show doesn’t faze me too much. The dread came from the fact that this show, completely without intending to, is airing in the same timeframe that the U.S. Supreme Court’s draft ruling to strike down Roe v. Wade was leaked.
The more I watched the series, the more I felt this knot in my stomach. It was both a positive and negative experience. The positive is, yes, we should be portraying women in their 30s (and above) who have no desire to have a child, and we shouldn’t be afraid to express the difficulty and ambivalence of parenthood every once in a while. The negative is, well, damn, I have no doubt that having a child forced upon you, against your will, would feel terrifying, whether in the real world or one where it’s literally a psychokinetic serial killer.
I don’t want to sound flippant. Nor do I want to downplay what’s happening in the U.S. to abortion rights by likening it to fiction. But allegory can be helpful—showing audiences a microcosm of larger issues in a compact and absurd way. The beauty of this show is that it’s got that “Misfits-y disposition”—of owning the fact that you’re standing in a shit creek (and wading through it isn’t a pretty process). But there’s also no other choice if you want to get to the other side. That’s kind of how it feels to be a person with a uterus in the U.S. right now. The Baby in The Baby becomes the perfect metaphor for the looming threat that, at any point, regardless of what we want or need, we could be forced to carry a child to term, no matter the danger that may pose to us.
Maybe you’re reading this and thinking, Sheesh, what’s the big deal? It’s just parenthood. Lots of people all over the world have kids and are fine. But what The Baby so excellently shows is that experiences in pregnancy, birth, and parenthood aren’t universal. There are hundreds of thousands of people with uteruses in our country who simply cannot afford to have a child or aren’t in a situation they want to bring a child into. Or were sexually assaulted. Or simply don’t want to have kids—in that moment or in their lives. Not everyone should be a parent, and certainly not against their will. Those who will never be in the position to become pregnant are betraying their comically inflated egos to assume those choices are any of their business.
I say this being a person who does want a baby at some point, far ahead in the future—very far ahead, because like many twenty-somethings, I cannot afford a baby, and even if they don’t turn out to be a serial killer, who’s gonna help me look after them right now?
Watching The Baby, I was reminded, once again, that at the end of the day, it’s not even about the babies; it’s about control. Control over anyone with a uterus’s body. Control over our choices. And the fear you can install when half the population knows we can’t control our own bodies and future. To not control whether or not you’re a parent is monstrous, something made literal in The Baby. And the unease within me only grows, knowing that any of those government toads who get off on denying women choice will probably watch this show and think, Well, maybe this is good for her.
The Baby makes me think of all the women who’ve had their own choices ripped away, their own agency denied, in my life and in general. The Baby makes me want to scream. And I can’t wait to see what happens next.
(featured Image: HBO)
