Oh god I hate Rebecca Eckler now.
I don’t know. I guess I am a snob and stuff, but I sort of hate books about self-absorbed 20-something, super-skinny, party girls.

I didn’t hate this book, but I hated Eckler throughout. From line 1 actually. I didn’t hate the book though, somehow.

Anyway.

Eckler gets knocked up at her engagement party, and has a completely self-absorbed pregnancy. Her account does very little to tell you what it’s like to be pregnant (unless you are Rebecca Eckler, I guess) and is full of self-righteous, entitled whining about one’s clothes not fitting, not being able to go to spinning class, eating big macs every day, planning c-sections, deciding not to breastfeed, and having a nanny from the day you’re home from the hospital.

It’s a breezy and entertaining read, but let’s face it, while it’s technically a memoir for her, for most of us it’s probably slightly horrifying fiction.

It was for me, anyway.