Letter to Past Me: That Sorry Baby Movie Is Definitely Not A Comedy

Dear Jess from six months ago. You're currently sitting on the faded living room rug in your yoga pants, elbow-deep in a mountain of mismatched toddler socks, staring blindly at the streaming menu. Your oldest is trying to feed his grilled cheese to the dog, the middle child is destroying the screen door, and you're desperately looking for something, anything, to drown out the noise. You typed baby m into the search bar because your brain was too fried to even spell out 'baby movies' completely, and the algorithm served up a title that caught your eye. You saw Sorry, Baby and thought to yourself, "Oh, bless. A quirky little comedy about a messy mom trying to hold it together. Perfect."

Y'all, I'm writing this from the future to tell you to put the remote down immediately. Turn off the television. Go outside and look at a tree. Because what you're about to watch is going to absolutely wreck you in ways you're not emotionally prepared for on a random Tuesday night in rural Texas.

The indie studio naming trap that caught me totally off guard

I'm just gonna be real with you right now, I've a massive bone to pick with whoever is in charge of marketing at A24. This is an acclaimed, highly mature, heavy-as-lead 2025 indie drama written and directed by Eva Victor. It's an exploration of trauma, depression, and the aftermath of sexual assault. So why on God's green earth did they name it like it's a sequel to Boss Baby?

I'm so tired of these film festivals and art-house studios slapping cutesy, innocent-sounding titles onto the most devastating psychological black comedies known to man. It feels like a trap. You think you're settling in for some lighthearted parenting humor, maybe a few jokes about sleep deprivation and diaper blowouts, and instead, you get a two-hour deep dive into the darkest corners of the human experience. If I see one more bleak, emotionally ruinous film named after a children's lullaby or a playground game, I'm going to lose my mind and write a very strongly worded letter to Hollywood.

I mean, the MPAA rating system is practically useless these days anyway, but they really need a separate warning label for "will make a postpartum mother question the fundamental safety of the universe."

When your toddler eats the coffee table instead of their food

Right now, as you sit there contemplating your movie choices, your actual biggest problem in life is that your middle child is turning into a literal beaver. The teething phase has hit our house like a freight train, and it's humbling. It’s funny how we spend all this time worrying about the big, scary world, when the immediate crisis is just a tiny human screaming because their gums are staging a revolt.

Let me save you some future headaches. While you're sitting there, go ahead and order the Panda Teether Silicone Baby Bamboo Chew Toy. I'm not exaggerating when I say this thing saved my sanity and my Ikea coffee table. Last week, I caught my youngest literally gnawing on the wooden leg of our media console like a termite. I bought three different expensive water-filled rings before I found this panda one, and it's honestly my absolute favorite thing we own right now. The flat shape means he can actually get it back to those painful molars, and it doesn't immediately become coated in dog hair the second it hits the floor like those sticky gel ones do. Plus, it's only about fifteen bucks, which is way cheaper than replacing my furniture. Pop it in the fridge for ten minutes, hand it over, and enjoy the glorious, blessed silence.

What my therapist thinks about the trauma stuff

But back to that night on the couch. Once the baby finally went down, clutching that cold silicone panda for dear life, I hit play on the movie. And y'all, the story of Agnes is not something you just watch and forget.

Agnes is a literature professor whose life basically derailed after she was assaulted by her college thesis advisor. The movie doesn't show the assault on screen—thank God, because I absolutely couldn't have handled that—but she describes it to her best friend in a way that just punches all the air right out of your lungs. It brings up all these really complicated power dynamics, like how a professor taking advantage of a student completely erases the concept of consent because of the authority involved.

I was actually talking to my therapist about this movie last week, because I couldn't get it out of my head. She said trauma is basically this sneaky little ghost that haunts you when you least expect it, and the brain literally rewires itself to protect you, or something along those lines. It’s not like you just cry for a week and then everything is fine. The movie shows this perfectly. There's this one scene where Agnes is just driving, three whole years after it happened, and a completely normal conversation triggers a massive panic attack behind the wheel. It's messy, it's non-linear, and it's so raw that I had to pause it just to go check on my sleeping kids.

Why I'm sweating about the teenage years already

Watching this made me look at my three tiny kids and panic about the future. Right now, I control their whole world. I decide what they eat, what they wear, and who they hang out with. But one day, they're going to be out there in college, dealing with professors and relationships and a world that isn't always kind.

My grandma always used to tell me that you can't protect your kids from the storm, you just have to teach them how to hold the umbrella. Sometimes I think she got half her wisdom off cross-stitch pillows, bless her heart, but she was right. We have to build a foundation of safety now, so that when they're fifteen or twenty and something feels wrong, they know they can come home.

I’ve been trying to make our house feel like that safe, cozy landing pad, which is why I've been nesting again even though I’m definitely not pregnant. I even bought that Flutter Sleeve Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit from Kianao thinking I’d take some aesthetic, peaceful nursery photos to make myself feel better. Look, it’s undeniably gorgeous and the organic cotton is incredibly soft, but I’m just gonna be real with you—my youngest had a massive, mustard-colored blowout in it within twenty minutes of putting it on. It's just okay for the price. Organic cotton is wonderful for their sensitive skin and keeping away eczema, sure, but it ain't immune to breastfed baby poop. Keep the heavy-duty stain remover handy and maybe save that forty-dollar outfit for church or grandma's house, not for tummy time on the rug.

If you want something for everyday wear that won't make you cry when it gets ruined, their basic Sleeveless Organic Cotton Bodysuits are way more practical for the daily grind of spit-up and mashed peas.

How we actually talk to our kids about this heavy stuff

So how do we take a heavy, adult movie like this and genuinely use it for good? If you've older teenagers, this is the part where you've to do the hard work.

Don't just sit your teenager down, demand they watch an R-rated movie with you, grill them about power dynamics over meatloaf, and force them to sign a contract about consent. That's a recipe for getting them to shut down completely. You just need to casually leave the door open for them to talk about boundaries without making it a whole awkward, after-school special. Bring up the friend in the movie—Lydie. Ask them what they think makes a good friend when things go bad. Because honestly, the way Lydie just sat there, believed Agnes without question, and didn't force her to "get over it" on a timeline was the most beautiful part of the whole film. If my kids grow up to be half as fiercely loyal as Lydie, I'll consider my job as a mother totally done.

Make sure they know that if someone in a position of power ever makes them feel weird, your door is always open. No judgment, no getting their phones taken away, no grounding them. Just a safe place to land.

If you need some retail therapy after that heavy realization and just want to focus on the simple baby days for a minute, go browse the Kianao wooden play gyms or something to remind yourself that right now, your biggest worry is just keeping them entertained while you fold the laundry.

Before you scroll down to the FAQs, do yourself a favor. Go hug your babies. Smell their little heads. And maybe just put on Bluey tonight instead. For real.

Questions I had while stress-eating popcorn

Is this movie genuinely safe for teenagers to watch?

Look, I'm not the parenting police, but Common Sense Media says 15 and up, and honestly, I'd lean toward older mature high schoolers only. There's heavy profanity (the f-bomb gets dropped like 40 times), discussions of self-harm, and very candid, awkward sex scenes. It's absolutely not a family movie night pick. Watch it yourself first before you even think about letting your 16-year-old see it.

Does the movie show the actual assault?

No, and thank God for that because I'd have turned it off immediately. The trauma is entirely based on Agnes describing what happened after the fact to her friend, and dealing with the psychological fallout. But fair warning, just hearing her talk about it's incredibly intense and triggering.

Why did she have a panic attack three years later?

My doctor explained this to me once when I was dealing with my own postpartum anxiety. Trauma doesn't have an expiration date. Your brain basically files the memory away incorrectly, and years later, a random sound, smell, or even a casual comment can trick your nervous system into thinking the danger is happening all over again right now. That's exactly what happens to Agnes in the car.

How do I explain 'power dynamics' to my kid?

Keep it simple. I plan to tell my oldest that when an adult, a teacher, a boss, or anyone who has power over your grades or your job asks you for something romantic or sexual, it's impossible to give true consent. Because you're always going to be afraid of what happens if you say no. It’s not a fair choice, which makes it wrong every single time.

What if my teenager won't talk to me about this stuff?

Welcome to parenting, y'all. They probably won't want to talk about it. The goal isn't to force a deep, tearful conversation right this second. The goal is just to say the words out loud—"I'll always believe you, and you can always come to me"—so that it's filed away in their stubborn teenage brains for when they seriously need it.