Emily our multiple parenting columnist recently reviewed a copy of Myleene Klass’ pregnancy diary on her own blog, More Than Just a Mother, and we had to share it here at BG as it’s hilarious!
I wanted to like this. I really did. Not least because I so wanted those nice people at Virgin to send me more books to review. Something tells me Iâ€™ll be re-joining the library queue if I want to fulfill my literary thirst.
As one whose first children were conceived in the presence of several scientists (yes, we had IVF; I donâ€™t engage in biologist group sex as a rule) I surely canâ€™t be the only one alienated by Myleeneâ€™s â€˜oops I think we did it onceâ€™ approach to conception. And anyone who believes pregnancy is a gift will baulk at her endless belly-aching; granted, we all pretty much moan our nine months away, but not generally in the public arena, and Myleene takes moaning to Olympic standards. A solitary bad experience with her GP sends her racing into private healthcare, while the rest of us are stuck with freezing ultrasound gel and a series of midwives who know us only as â€œmumâ€.
My Bump & Me is hailed as a â€œpoignantly frank, funny and personal insight into Myleeneâ€™s pregancyâ€ and promises to impart â€œpractical adviceâ€ to expectant mothers. I struggled to work out who would read this book; the weekly â€˜your baby is now the size of a genetically modified aubergineâ€™ updates may give a nod to traditional pregnancy books, but theyâ€™re far from the â€œessential medical informationâ€ promised on the cover. Myleene documents her pregnancy weekly, adding the occasional snippet allegedly written by her partner, Gray. Yeah. And Iâ€™m the Virgin Mary. These faux-paternal entries are so painfully laddish, Iâ€™m surprised baby â€˜Riceâ€™ (surely the embarrassingly cutesy names we have for our foetuses are never meant to be shared with anyone but immediate family?) didnâ€™t pop out swigging a yard of ale and slamming twenty B&H on the table.
Ruling out expectant mothers as the market for My Bump & Me, I can only assume that the Big Brother generation has clubbed together to make Myleeneâ€™s debut publication a â€˜Sunday Times bestsellerâ€™, celebrity being the key to Klassâ€™s success. From Popstarâ€™s fame to that white jungle bikini (â€œyou Tarzan, me certain of media stardomâ€), Myleene uses her pregnancy diary to name-drop every A-list, B-list and not-even-made-the-list celeb she had the pleasure of bumping into during her pregnancy. Impending motherhood is also the cue for truck-loads of freebies, from Smugaboos to Prada-gros, over which Myleene gushes appreciation, dropping the occasional bin bag off to the local orphanage to maintain her common touch.
Of course Myleene continues working throughout her pregnancy; the constant references to Marks & Spencer made me hunt through the credits for mention of a sponsorship deal. She flies in the face of pregnancy advice by taking to the skies after 28 weeks, although Iâ€™d challenge her to squeeze down an Easy Jet aisle any time in the third trimester. The central photos suggest a private plane with more leg room than a giantâ€™s jogging pants. In fact the photo-spread pretty much put the nail in the amniotic sac for me; Myleene simply cannot expect her readers to swallow the nauseating girl-next-door narrative of her whale-like pregnancy proportions, whilst at the same time slipping between the pages air-brushed photos of a beach-ball neat bump.
I read Myleeneâ€™s book from cover to cover and found less substance than Calista Flockheart’s diet. The narrative was rushed and superficial; the advice inconsistent. It smacked of yet another flash-in-the-pan opportunity to make money. Myleene may well have endured moodswings, cravings and scan-nerves like the rest of us (although youâ€™ll note she fortuitously escapes any of the more unglamourous symptoms, such as haemorroids, or a post-episiotomy vaganus), but her celeb status makes a mockery of this attempt at a warts â€˜n all pregnancy account. Iâ€™d like to think Myleene has drawn a line under her literary efforts, but in line with her reproductive talents, Iâ€™d lay bets on â€˜My Baby & Meâ€™ being just around the corner.
Available from Amazon for Â£9.99 – The RRP is Â£14.99
You can read Emily’s latest aptly named column, ‘My Stomach and Me’ and keep up with her antics over at her blog.