Succumbing to the annoyances of a cough deeply settled in my chest, I found myself channel surfing two nights ago around 7 p.m. only to stop on the Bravo network when I caught a brief glimpse of multiple baby bumps.
Little did I realize it was the opening sequence for a show called "Pregnant in Heels," a surreality show about a British woman named Rosie Pope who calls herself a maternity concierge and answers to the every whim of pregnant women who pay her a handsome fee.
The first woman the show focused on was a former model who seemed to enjoy her husband's wealth a bit too much. After suffering three miscarriages, she was pregnant with a son and had assembled a team of six people to help her through pregnancy. When Rosie expressed confusion as to why she was needed on top of everyone else, Model Mom informed her that she was there to help plan a maternity fashion show for her baby shower.
Later in the show, they auditioned pregnant models for the show, a scene that left me wrinkling my forehead at the television. "How tall are you? Can you pose for us? How far along are you?" In the end, they selected five rather rotund models for the show. I clearly can't speak for pregnant women everywhere, but you couldn't pay me to strut-waddle down a runway in heels pretending that I look just fabulous when my back feels like it's being struck by lightning. Good thing I'm only 5'1" and my modeling opportunities are non-existent.
The other focus of the show was a hardcore rock n' roll mother-to-be who lived in a small apartment with her husband who looked like he crawled out of a heavy metal music video. Rocker Mom explained that they didn't even have space for the baby and had no idea where to put him. Their home was covered in skulls, guitars and sharp objects. Needless to say, the husband was none-too-pleased when Rosie told them to make the apartment baby friendly. I believe his exact words were, "Rosie came into my house and totally disrespected my he-man sword collection." Forget the heels; this woman was pregnant in hell.
I have never pretended to be an expert on pregnancy or parenting, but I think I'm doing ok when I don't need half a dozen people at my disposal and my living space isn't full of items my baby could use for stabbing. True, I do need my parents and I haven't covered up the outlets in my room yet, but I won't be calling Rosie any time soon.
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