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I f you want your nine-months' pregnant wife to burst into uncontrollable tears, by all means, take her to see Knocked Up, the new film from writer/director Judd Apatow.

I mean, it’s not like we didn’t know what to expect from the movie. We’d both seen the trailer and the commercials and all the glowing reviews, and we thought it was a pretty appropriate movie to see as we entered the 38th week. It was very funny and we enjoyed it, but we were both left a little out of sorts as the closing credits rolled.

M aybe it’s a little bit premature to worry about that, but for me it’s a real and tangible fear. What if he’s just born bad, like in an old blues song, and he comes out looking for a score to settle and hell to raise? What if he’s a biter, or he hits other kids, or he becomes a playground bully or a surly teen?

W ith the impending birth of my son getting closer and closer, the time had come for me to give up my office and make room for the nursery. But as I dutifully started to pack up my belongings, a terrifying thought struck me.

Where will I hide my porn?