Before I was put on hospital bed rest for PPROM (don’t bother reading up on it if you don’t need to know — but it’s a thing), I finished the first episodes of season seven of Mad Men on Netflix. I knew the last seven started the next weekend, and I asked my dad to DVR them and I had a plan to somehow get to my parents house and spend the weekend binge-watching it before our new baby came. I didn’t want to wait a year until the rest came on Netflix, because if there was a surprise ending then I could only keep from finding out for so long.
Mad Men has been a show I’ve always liked (though seasons five and six weren’t as interesting to me, Don-wise). I’ve only watched it on Netflix. My husband stopped watching it with me after a few seasons, so I would watch it by myself. I never thought it was that great when there weren’t new episodes for me to get through, but then while I was watching it, all I wanted was to start the next episode and I wanted everyone to be a year behind with me so that I could talk about it.
One of the first thoughts I had when I was hospitalized — after I started to have thoughts that weren’t panicky and sad — was that if I stayed in the hospital as long as I was supposed to, I could finish Mad Men. I could watch it live on cable TV like a rich person, not like the can-of-beans-eating-Netflixer that I was. Mad Men would get me through most of my bed rest.
So Mad Men became more important than it normally would have. I enjoyed watching it on Sundays, talking to my dad and other people about it, and reading all the recaps I could on Mondays so I could get another take on what I watched (the problem with a show like MM is that it’s been stretched out so much that I don’t catch all the symbolic call backs).
When the marathon started last Wednesday, I watched as much as I could between hospital interruptions, visitors, and seeing my family, and it was nice to go back and notice things, including how much Megan was in whatever season she showed up in (I don’t think I noticed her until the episode when Sally is at the office, but she was in the background or being talked to in lots of scenes before that), how lucky the show was with Sally’s casting, how the characters talked to Peggy and Joan in season 1, knowing how they turn out, Stan’s changing hair, and the friendship between him and Peggy. And Pete Campbell has always been terrible.
I kept making the joke “I just want to make it to the last episode of Mad Men, then I don’t care what happens,” which is true because I wanted to see the show end, but also because the finale coincided with the weekend I turned to 32 weeks — which is a basically full term for a premature baby.
Now that it’s over I don’t want to go into labor yet, but I don’t feel like I have anything non-baby to talk about, and even that news hasn’t been refreshed in a week (I have told everyone a story about a hawk and a squirrel that I saw that I’m not even sure is interesting). I’m going to think about baby stuff and make sketches of what Stan’s facial hair will look like throughout the ’70s until I have the baby.
I liked the ending, though. I’ll talk to you losers about it in a year when you catch up on Netflix.