Before my son was born, I used to go to the movies about once a week. I went with my husband, with girl friends, alone. I watched good movies, bad movies, ones I’d already seen before, ones I barely knew a thing about. It didn’t matter much what I watched. It was a comfort thing: the dark space, the surround sound, the people there but not there. I liked how the sun made me squint when I emerged from the theater.
When I was a teenager, my mom used to take my brother and me to the movies a lot in summer. He liked Sci-Fi and action movies. I liked romantic comedies. We would sometimes do a double-feature. And yes, we bought tickets to both. We would spend half the day at the theater.
Sometimes, people turn their nose up at movies and TV. As a writer who can be a little too serious about ART, I downplay my love for them. I take deliberate breaks from them where I only read literary fiction, practice some self-restraint.
In the two years since my son was born, I have been to the movies once. There have been some huge adjustments since I became a mother. I’m not ashamed to say that this is one of them.