After the first five minutes of watching Bravo’s latest reality show, “Pregnant in Heels”, I turned it off.
The show’s “star,” Rosie Pope, has an accent that grated on my already-fragile nerves so much that when I finally placed who she reminded me of — Kelly Osbourne, who also annoys me — I changed the channel.
But then I had a hunch that I stood to feel better about myself by watching it, and so I turned it back on. Boy, am I glad I did. Who knew 60 minutes of reality television could make me feel better about myself than if I had spent a week with Tony Robbins, Stuart Smalley and boatload of wine?
Two couples were featured on last night’s series premiere. The first appeared to live in downtown Manhattan and be a parody of all things wrong with Manhattan (thereby affirming my decision to leave New York City seven years ago — thanks, wannabe hipsters!). They also seemed to be opposed to all things baby, including the one 4 weeks away from popping out of the wife.
The worst mother-to-be on the planet inexplicably allowed herself to be ambushed by Pope and a therapist to discuss her highly questionable decision to have a baby at all (perhaps it seemed like a good idea during conception?). Mommy Dearest also inexplicably allowed herself to be filmed with sweat circles larger than the Pacific Ocean under her arms as she averred that she had been cured of her ice cold hatred of all things baby and broke down and bought some actual baby toys (why, she’s just like a modern day Mother Teresa) while her husband held the baby in question as if it were a leper. Hooray!
But the winning couple of the night was the one featured that’s expecting their third child — a boy. They called themselves a “power couple.” (Note to those parents: like a supermodel or the President of the United States, most people generally wait until others dub them titles of great importance. When you call yourselves a power couple, you let everyone know immediately that the only real power you have it to push the down button in an elevator.)
The power couple was paralyzed with indecision about what to name their son, lest they give him the wrong name and he ends up as a servant instead of the one being served. So they convened a round table of pundits, a focus group and some friends and came up with a boy’s name that sounds as if he belongs in the swamps of the Deep South wrangling alligators. Not the effect I think they were going for, but it made them happy.
And it sure made me happy to watch the show. From getting and being prepared for our baby and coming up with a name (which we already have and will divulge either at birth or when someone wants to pay us to do a reality show about her conception, whichever comes first) — I have never felt so functional, normal and healthy as a mom, expectant mom, wife, and as a person and human being in general.
I can only hope next week will bring more couples that will bring me more giggles (and just to be clear I spent the hour laughing at them, not with them) and self-esteem. Don’t listen to the critics — please tune in and ensure I can feel good about myself for at least an hour every week.
Did you watch? Will you watch it again?