Play Baby

I've always wondered how it would feel to have my newborn baby ripped from my hands and handed to someone else. I know it happens all the time - sensible women realizing they aren't up to the challenge of motherhood, and rather than abandoning the baby at a church or throwing it in a dumpster, they have made the choice to give it up for adoption. Or surrogate moms who are doing the hard word for someone who can't. Not being a mom myself, I have always imagined it would be really hard, after growing this thing inside of you, living, eating, sleeping, breathing for it, and with it, nurturing it, feeling it, seeing it on the ultrasound. And, oh, that moment of quickening, when you first know there is something alive in there...a piece of you that is NOT you...that little kick you know wasn't from bad nachos...throbbing to its heartbeat, flinching with its hiccups.

Then the pain, the push, the deep breathing, the screams, the agony of delivery....the scars made to your body, the stretch marks and nerve damage, the fallen arches, the exploded veins, the loosened muscles and everything else.

But, then there is this life, this new baby with its sweet eyes, unfocused, but surely staring up into your soul, blinking in the new light. A tiny little hand flailing toward your face, a perfect little foot, which you only imagined as it kicked you in the bladder every night, that you can hold and caress, and smell. Oh, that new new baby smell!

Then, in comes some stranger. She gently plucks the baby from your arms, and it is then that the realization of doing the "right thing" would prevail, right? Giving the child to someone who can better provide, better nurture, better care for that tiny little piece of your self takes over and while it might hurt for a little bit, the reality of what you are doing is salvation.

Bullshit

I am not a mother. I have been pregnant, but I have never given birth...to a human child anyway. My children are the plays I direct. I birth little play babies. First I read them or see them as some one else's play baby, but soon, they become a part of me as they infiltrate my dreams. I see them playing out in my head when I am awake, even while I doing statistics, I imagine the actors on stage, the composition of the stage pictures....the colors of the set and the intensity of the lights. Then come the auditions, and I see the potential humans that could become the actors who bring my play baby to life...and I carefully pick the ones who I think will best suit these characters...For months, I dream about these actors in my play baby. I see J and G and M doing my play baby on my imaginary set.

Finally rehearsal begins and they say the lines out loud, not just in my head and my play baby quickens and becomes real. I can touch it and shape it and nurture it. What I eat and how much sleep I get directly affects my play baby, so I go to bed on time and eat my veggies and drink LOTS of water. I give my actors suggestions and ideas and help them find their way to the soul of these characters who make up the play baby I have been dreaming about for months. Instead of genetic testing and amnios, we struggle with blocking and set issues. The costumer brings in choices...did she not hear me when I said NO GREEN CLOTHES...Does she not realize my lead actress is a red head and looks VILE in red?? The set develops and as pieces adorn it, this big green "emerald city" becomes a home for my play baby and the actors begin to really live the play baby's life, and then we add the technical elements of lighting cues and sound effects, the music score becomes a part of the sense and sensibility of the whole thing, and piece by piece, my play baby evolves.

Before you know it, it is opening night, the final push, the final screams of agony and my baby is born. It is OUT THERE for everyone to see...staring up at you with these innocent newborn eyes, curious, yet calm, and just as you settle in to get to know this new baby, this new creation, everyone ooohing and ahhing and sending you flowers....

Then, your producer sends you an email saying YOU ARE DONE. YOU ARE NO LONGER NEEDED to give notes to the cast or crew. You are no longer welcome back stage. You are permitted to attend the performances if there is room in the house, but no more changes, no more notes. Here is your check, turn in your keys, Buh Bye, have a nice day.

I have directed dozens and dozens of plays and I have never had this experience! I have always been there to enjoy the run of my playbaby, to watch it grow and develop, and watch the actors sink into a warm ease with their characters, and then, at the end, when the play baby is all grown up, and there is a final closing performance, and we all cry and say how much fun we had....and then we gently go our separate ways.

That is the way I wanted it to be. I feel so cheated that I put in all this hard work and effort and instead of being allowed to be involved in its growth and development into a fullly realized production, my play baby was ripped from my arms, I've been shuttled out of the hospital and the door has been slammed in my face. I am numb and cold and lost and ever so depressed.....