To misquote Monty Python, this is not a book for reading, it's a book for lying down and
avoiding. Sample paraphrased deep thought: Pregnant women get hemorrhoids! Even celebrity pregnant women! They were the size of cantaloupes! Nobody told me! (Let me repeat: Nobody ever told her pregnant women get hemorrhoids.)

The capper was when she airily confesses to planning a c-section because she didn't want her vagina to get all flappy. (I stopped reading.) One word, sweetie: Kegels. I imagine you could even get a personal trainer to help with that. And if you're that concerned about it, next time plan a VBAC with a nice episiotomy and have the doc take a couple extra stitches, you're so worried.

The main problem with the book (besides all this "who knew?!" stuff about hemorrhoids, morning sickness and the size of one's breasts that anyone who's ever known a pregnant woman or picked up even the most rudimentary pregnancy book knows) is that it thinks simply mentioning bodily functions is somehow refreshing candor. You want refreshing candor, pick up any of the "momoirs" out there by Ariel Gore, Andi Buchanan, Faulkner Fox, Anne LaMott...there are lots of them, many listed here (under both Parenting and Making Connections).

I even like Jenny McCarthy, she's a talented and underappreciated comediennne. But this is a book for a very limited audience: Willfully ignorant, navel-gazing pregnant Hollywood celebrities with personal stylists--and who have never spoken with a pregnant woman ever in their lives.

Lynn Siprelle, Editor