sex symbol shares her stretch marks
Tuesday, March 31, 2009 by kate
I just wanted to pre-empt this post with a note (mainly for my mother). I’m not pregnant. Even though I picked Jenny McCarthy’s Belly Laughs to review, I am not – nor do I wish to be in the near future – pregnant. And I don’t think you necessarily need to have the belly bump to enjoy this book.
Just the fact that a former Playmate model gained 60 lbs, had really bad gas and wore granny panties is reason enough to read Belly Laughs.
“To women who escape getting stretch marks, I offer you lukewarm congratulations. No, scratch that. I actually hate you.”
I actually struggled not to chuckle out loud while reading Jenny’s take on water retention and morning sickness:
"Strangers gawked at me as they saw me gagging in Aisle 3 holding up some cheese. It’s hard having these symptoms in public when you don’t look pregnant. If I were nine months along they would look at me like ‘oh look, poor little pregnant lady doesn’t feel so good.’ Instead they are looking at me as if to say, ‘Don’t bulimics puke after they eat?’
Some sample chapter headings are: Holy Sh** I Think I Hard-Boiled My Baby! (Taking Hot Baths), Granny Panties (Letting Go of the G-String), Passing Stonehenge (Constipation), Where the He** Can I Find a Muumuu? (Nothing to Wear) and Is That an Apple on Your Rectum, or Are You Just Happy to See Me? (Hemorrhoids).
Somehow, by totally grossing me out, McCarthy made pregnancy not so scary. Maybe it’s because you know she’s not sugar-coating anything for you.
Chapters dealing with bodily functions were funny, frank and graphic. But as much as Jenny delves into the world of doo-doo, she doesn’t dig as deep as I would have liked. (Some chapters are only 2 pages long.)
It takes a woman with a strong sense of self to divulge the kind of information Jenny so freely wields in this book (Okay. I’m going to say it. She poops on the delivery table.) And I expect, expecting moms everywhere will welcome the info and the light-hearted humor.
Previous Post: spring festivals
Just the fact that a former Playmate model gained 60 lbs, had really bad gas and wore granny panties is reason enough to read Belly Laughs.
“To women who escape getting stretch marks, I offer you lukewarm congratulations. No, scratch that. I actually hate you.”
I actually struggled not to chuckle out loud while reading Jenny’s take on water retention and morning sickness:
"Strangers gawked at me as they saw me gagging in Aisle 3 holding up some cheese. It’s hard having these symptoms in public when you don’t look pregnant. If I were nine months along they would look at me like ‘oh look, poor little pregnant lady doesn’t feel so good.’ Instead they are looking at me as if to say, ‘Don’t bulimics puke after they eat?’
Some sample chapter headings are: Holy Sh** I Think I Hard-Boiled My Baby! (Taking Hot Baths), Granny Panties (Letting Go of the G-String), Passing Stonehenge (Constipation), Where the He** Can I Find a Muumuu? (Nothing to Wear) and Is That an Apple on Your Rectum, or Are You Just Happy to See Me? (Hemorrhoids).
Somehow, by totally grossing me out, McCarthy made pregnancy not so scary. Maybe it’s because you know she’s not sugar-coating anything for you.
Chapters dealing with bodily functions were funny, frank and graphic. But as much as Jenny delves into the world of doo-doo, she doesn’t dig as deep as I would have liked. (Some chapters are only 2 pages long.)
It takes a woman with a strong sense of self to divulge the kind of information Jenny so freely wields in this book (Okay. I’m going to say it. She poops on the delivery table.) And I expect, expecting moms everywhere will welcome the info and the light-hearted humor.
Previous Post: spring festivals
Labels: Jenny McCarthy, pregnancy
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I’m a coffee addict with a book fetish. I dream of having a third hand so I can sip my double-tall nonfat-no-whip toffee nut latte and turn pages at the same time. Really neat book covers call to me. When I'm not working as an editor for Captivate Network, I'm scurrying around town, looking for fuel to feed my inner bookworm.
