Dear Sarah Jessica Parker

Dear Sarah Jessica Parker,

Last night, during my fairly regular nighttime routine of checking out celebrity news on People's website, I read that you and Matthew Broderick are expecting twin girls via a surrogate. Pardon me for writing to you about this, since I realize you don't know me and I really don't know you either, although I do own the pink-velvet-boxed edition of The Complete Sex and the City series, and I did force my husband to traipse through the neighborhood of New York which contained your apartment on the show, even though it was a bloody hot day. (On the off chance that you were around that day, by the way, I just want to apologize for the tennis shoes. I was horrified to be wearing glaring white clodhoppers while visiting Carrie Bradshaw's apartment, but I don't think I have the same ankle strength you do. Sorry.)

Anyway. I'm not a stalker, I swear. I did read some of the comments on the People story, however, and I wanted to tell you to be sure to stay the hell away from that site. My heart hurt for you when I read "it's called adoption, egomaniacs." I hope that you know there are men and women out there who understand the torment of infertility and the pull toward biological parenthood, even when that seems illogical to others.

And then there were a bunch of comments about how you must have chosen surrogacy because you didn't want to "wreck your body" with a pregnancy, and someone who said, "maybe if you can't have kids, it's the universe telling you that you shouldn't, so why wouldn't you pay attention to that?" I'm not sure why on earth people feel the need to write this stuff on a public website, but I hope you don't read it. I mean, I can't imagine that you sit around your Manhattan apartment reading comments on the People website, but I suppose it's possible. It's even more possible that people have said these sorts of things to you in real life, probably without knowing the heartache you were enduring.

I'm hoping that you might be willing to talk a little bit about living through infertility. I don't know if you've noticed, but your profession seems to be full of women in their 40's who miraculously have twins and swear up and down that they never had fertility treatments. Which means that either a.) professional acting confers on one extraordinary fertility status and I ought to get myself into said profession pronto; or b.) they are lying. In the spirit of Carrie Bradshaw, I can't help but wonder if they know how much damage that does. There's nothing shameful about getting screwed over by your own body. It just happens. It's enormously difficult no matter what form it takes, but it's not your fault.

And to all those people who say, "well you shouldn't have waited so long, you're too old anyway," (yes, actual comment on the website) - well, there are things I could say to them. But I won't. Fertility declines with age; we all know this. But I'm eight years younger than you, and I started trying almost four years ago, and my body would have put these same obstacles in my way even if I had started trying when I was 21. Age isn't everything.

So don't read the People website. (Probably good advice for me too.) Pay no attention to the cruelty in the world. I'm delighted for you. I hope you might have the courage to speak about infertility and give it some kind of decent, intelligent, real-life voice in this world. I wish you all the best.

Sincerely,
Babyinterrupted

P.S. Have you ever called Matthew "Ferris" by accident? Like, if you can't find him in your apartment, have you ever gone around the house saying, "Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?" in a Ben-Stein kind of voice? No. I'm sure not. Clearly I am a child of the '80's.

P.P.S. If you have any extra Manolos in a freakishly-too-large-for-you size (like, say, size 8 1/2), I would totally take those off your hands. Okay. That's it.