I clicked play on Dear Professor You Are My Baby Daddy at 1 a.m. because the title felt like a dare. By sunrise I was yelling “Just adopt her, you gorgeous nerd!” at Luke Sawyer’s perfectly stubbled jaw.

This is not a recap; it’s the caffeine-fuelled diary of a girl who fell for the cast harder than Cora fell off that library stool… yes, the one that started everything.  

• Part 1: Everything You Should Know About the Plot of Dear Professor You Are My Baby Daddy
• Part 2: Meet the Coolest Characters and Cast of Dear Professor You Are My Baby Daddy
• Part 3: Cinema Gold But Tough Expectations That Were Unresolved
• Part 4: Conclusive Thoughts and Stuff About Dear Professor You Are My Baby Daddy

Part 1: Everything You Should Know About the Plot of Dear Professor You Are My Baby Daddy

Picture the first day of med-school clinicals: you’re in scrubs two sizes too big, your stethoscope is already tangled, and the guy you had one reckless night with last semester swans in as the new visiting professor. That’s Dear Professor You Are My Baby Daddy in one heartbeat.

Cora Johnson is the poster child for over-achievers who forget Plan B; Damon Hawkins is the billionaire genius who donated a wing to the university and apparently also donated… other things.  

The show refuses to drag out the secret. By episode two Cora’s nausea is front-page bathroom-stall gossip; by episode three Damon’s calculator-brain has already added due dates to her hCG levels. What could have been a cheesy whodaddy plot pivots into a negotiation: she wants to finish rotations, he wants to co-parent without looking like a cliché.

What next? Late-night ultrasound dates, amnio in a limo, and one awkward ethics board hearing where the dean asks if Damon’s “hands-on teaching” violates policy.  

Mid-season drops the real twist: Damon isn’t just rich, he’s royalty of a biotech empire Cora’s dead mother once worked for. Letters hidden in a childhood jewelry box suggest Cora might be the illegitimate heir to the same company Damon stands to lose if scandal hits.

Suddenly “baby daddy” becomes “business rival,” and the crib is sitting on a fault line of stock options.  

You think the story ends with Damon on one knee in the NICU observation room, monitors beeping like tiny wedding bells, while Cora holds a positive paternity stick in one hand and an unsigned non-disclosure agreement in the other? Maybe.

No cliff-hanger, just a close-up of her tear saying “I need a minute.” I actually clapped, in my donut pajamas.  

Part 2: Meet the Coolest Characters and Cast of Dear Professor You Are My Baby Daddy

Cora Johnson – Natalie Collins

A spectacular actress. I heard Natalie graduated from real med-school two years before booking the role, so she already knew how to hold a scalpel like it’s a pencil. She plays Cora’s panic attacks with amazing prowess: pupils dilate, pulse visible in her neck, then she slaps on professionalism with ease.

My favorite beat is episode four when she heaves in a bio-hazard bin, wipes her mouth, and keeps moving with the patient case. I think she mentioned she based that on her own first cadaver lab experience… except the cadaver didn’t later buy her a pony-shaped push-present.  

Damon Hawkins – Luke Sawyer

Luke Sawyer looks like he was sketched by someone who loves sharp angles and sad eyes. He could have played Damon as smug Bitcoin bro, but he chooses curiosity instead. Watch how he listens: head tilt, slight nod, like every word from Cora is data he wants to patent.

Rumors are that Sawyer spent two weeks shadowing a pediatric surgeon and came back obsessed with the way doctors touch: firm but gentle, always announcing the move. You see it when he cups Cora’s belly for the first time: “May I?” A cringey but sweet line; he added it because consent is sexy and, frankly, so is he.  

Alyssa – Haley Jordyn

She kinda deserves her own spin-off. Haley gives her character the energy of a girl who’s classist yet still believes in soul-mates. She delivers exposition like gossip and gossip like lullabies: perfect jealousy, imperfect angel.  

French Head Chef – Samuel Code

Samuel Code is actually British, but his accent is so buttery you forgive the geographical fraud. He plays the palace chef who feeds Cora’s 3 a.m. cravings—think croquembouche at dawn. Code improvised a running gag where he names each dish after NICU fruit sizes: “Your mango-sized fetus demands beef bourguignon.” The writers kept everyone.  

Even the ultrasound tech has a stan account. That’s the power of this ensemble: nobody winks at the camera, yet everyone knows the assignment: make the dumbest premise feel like the most important detail you’ve got to keep track of.  

Love a great cast ensemble. How they flow so easily is the coolest thing to see on the screen.

Part 3: Cinema Gold But Tough Expectations That Were Unresolved

I expected Dear Professor You Are My Baby Daddy to be a meme factory: hot prof, knocked-up student, hallway make-outs, fade to black. Instead I got a semester-long thesis on power imbalance, annotated in red ink and heartbreak.

What stunned me is how decisively the show hands Cora the agency. It refuses the usual academic-romance power fantasy where authority automatically equals dominance.

Cora negotiates every boundary with scalpel precision—her body, her grades, her future. Damon’s wealth, which could’ve so easily tipped the scales, becomes a safety net instead of a snare.

He offers stability, not ownership; support, not supervision. I walked in ready to despise him on principle, armed with my moral highlighter, and the script ambushed me with nuance.

And the pregnancy? Not a single slow-motion baby-bump montage. No “adorable pickle cravings” or sitcom-level tummy rubs. The show goes full biological realism: Cora’s morning sickness looks like something the Geneva Conventions should address.

Damon, usually composed to the point of smugness, googles “hyperemesis gravidarum” at 2 a.m. and dissolves when he realizes this is pain he can’t intellectualize or fix.

The man who lectures on Renaissance ethics ends up whisper-apologizing to a toilet bowl because love, in this story, is measured not by grand gestures but by the willingness to witness someone’s suffering without turning away.

If I expected popcorn, the show handed me a dissertation—one that argues intimacy is strongest when both people learn to relinquish the illusion of control.

The romance beats are there: spectacular kiss, rain-soaked confession, dramatic “choose me” speech… but they’re hard to see, not handed out like popsicles.

My cynical heart expected to laugh; instead it downloaded a meditation app and texted my mom “thanks for not disowning me during my surprise pregnancy scare of 2017.”  

Part 4: Conclusive Thoughts and Stuff About Dear Professor You Are My Baby Daddy

The internet is such a leaky IV bag. I heard set decorators were spotted buying newborn-sized Red Sox onesies… possible hint that Cora delivers in Boston, not the Hawkins penthouse. That could mean Damon loses his company board vote and then relocates to keep the baby near Cora’s dream residency program.  

Luke Sawyer recently followed three wedding photographers on Insta, one of whom specializes in hospital chapel ceremonies. Draw your own confetti. Natalie Collins posted a cryptic TikTok stacking plastic baby dolls like Jenga: caption “finals week.” Could season two open with time-jump twins?

I mean, it tracks: six-week-old newborns are easier to insure than freshborns.  

Reddit sleuths found a casting call for “toddler with curls,” age 18–24 months, suggesting we might jump ahead again and watch co-parenting in real time. If that happens, expect Damon to ditch the suit for dad jeans and a Baby Björn: Sawyer’s quads are already preparing.  

Until the streamer drops the official renewal, I’ll keep rewatching the elevator scene where Damon counts Cora’s pulse against his thumb. I still can’t decide if it’s romantic or medical, but I know the cast sold me both diagnoses.

I mean, the intimacy is so clinical it circles back to romantic: like he’s diagnosing his own feelings through her heartbeat, terrified the data will confirm what he’s been suppressing since episode one.

The cast sells the scene with the kind of micro-acting you only notice on a rewatch: her breath catching half a beat early, his jaw tightening as if his thumb just reported a truth he didn’t request. The elevator might as well shrink to a confession booth with worse lighting and better acoustics.

If loving Dear Professor You Are My Baby Daddy is wrong, I’ll see you in detention. Bring pickles.