The Practice
Awakenings

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And baby makes two?

Previously, on The Practice: Oh! Babies! Ellenor announces she is pregnant. Lucy enlists as a rape counselor and finds herself unable to cope when she actually has to help a victim. Rebecca gives her a pep talk. The victim comes on over to The Firm and lets Lucy know that without her help she never would have made it through. Aw. Not. Oh, and the office explodes. Kapow! Mrs. Washington refuses Rebecca a blood transfusion that might save her life. Bobby and Lindsay give birth.

The Hospital of Uncertain Amounts of Pain. A tubed-up Rebecca lies unconscious. Machines bleep. CCH Pounder is right by her side. The Emperor Rod walks in carting Prince Bobby, the Wonderful Baby. Mrs. Washington coos at the sight of him. Okay, for a premature baby, this child is huge. Massive. Larger than any baby I've ever seen in my life. The pair make conversation about how gorgeous the baby is, about how much he's grown, and then Rod walks around the side of the bed with the baby, mumbling, "Hey, Bec? They let me in here with little Bobby." Okay, that child is at least three feet long. Mrs. Washington tells Rod that Rebecca's neurological responses are improving. The swelling in her brain is almost completely subsided. Bobby says gruffly, "Three days." He shakes his head back and forth, because his hands are full with fifty pounds of baby: "Enough is enough." Things beep. Machines flash, but even the forceful insistence of an Emperor can't wake Rebecca from her coma.

Hellenor's. Ellenor is entertaining Ted McGinley. They are looking at some terrible examples of photojournalism. The two make pleasant conversation. So, from the National Geographic rip-offs, we're supposed to discern that Michael, Ellenor's friend, is a photographer. Got it. So, Ted, fresh from an earlier career as a photographer on The Love Boat, is now making an appearance as a photographer here, on The Practice. Now, should we assume DEK's trying to be funny, or is he just lazy? I'm going to go with "lazy and uninventive" rather than "ironic and postmodern." Oh, and don't show me any more of those horrible pictures. Thanks. Ellenor is kind of giddy. It's cute. She looks very pregnant. Over on the table next to the fireplace is a folder, which Ellenor picks up and brings back to the couch. "This is what I call an amazing picture!" she exclaims as she brings out a picture of her ultrasound. Oh, cute. I love those ultrasound pictures. Honest. I'm not kidding. The two of them wonder at the amazement of the miracle of birth for an instant. Ellenor's grin splits her face in half. Still staring at the picture, she says, "You helped make that! Can you believe it?" Yeah, Ted's not so impressed; he looks a little sad and concerned. I can't help but think his horrible wife Marcy is waiting outside, ready to throttle him. He puts his portfolio and the picture down: "That's what I came to talk to you about, Ellener." Yes, he says "Ellener." Like he's Jed Clampett or something, chewing on a piece of field grass and farting. He's not sure he can stick to the "deal." Pardon? Man, he wants to help parent the baby. The Symphony of Single Mothers Who Want To Stay That Way salutes Ellenor's anger as she insists they have a signed, sealed and delivered contract. He's a donor, not a father. Well, his lawyer thinks that he can get around the contract. She fumes, "You've been to a lawyer?" Jerk. Twinkle. Twinkle. The piano insists he speak up for a minute: "It's one thing, to -- but to have a baby." She interrupts, "You don't have a baby, Michael. I have a baby. You provided sperm." Major McGinley McJerk doesn't want "her" to grow up without a father. Hey, if he's feeling left out of the whole "parenthood" aspect in his life, he can just go buy a baby from the same place Calista Flockheart did. They seem to overlook the whole "able to feed yourself" aspect of motherhood and just hand you over an infant. Their standards might be forgiving of you, you photographer you.

I would rather be eaten alive by Jaws then have to sit through this theme music.

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The Practice

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