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I'm sure being a celebrity has its downsides. Paparazzi in your face at inopportune moments. Struggling to protect your digital privacy only to find your Nudie Judies plastered all over the Internet. Having your relationships are under constant scrutiny, to say nothing of the critiques and criticisms lavished upon your body. Add a baby bump to that and I'm sure it's incredibly annoying to be pregnant and famous.
One only needs to recall the whale comments poor Kim Kardashian got in her, um, killer whale dress. But as for me I would totally accept being compared to a whale if I could get the royal/celebrity spa treatments I imagine they get every day. How else could they all look that fantastic during pregnancy? That's why I wish I were a pregnant celebrity, because I would have:
A Designer Wardrobe. Instead of my ever-tightening Nordstrom Rack wardrobe. So while I was feeling barfy and bloated I could at least be all, "Oh this old rag? It's just my Versace sack!" Having a celebrity hot bod that has been trained into submission prior to getting knocked up would also be nice.
A Personal Hairstylist. Oh to have a silky blowout or fancy updo! I get too hot holding the blow dryer and I have some weird nerve pain in my leg from my belly that makes standing for a long time uncomfortable. And my hair is definitely not extra-luxurious, it's all weird and dry. I could really use some of those hair extensions. I just rock my messy frizz like it's a style. I call it DPD: Disheveled Pregnant Diva.
A Professional Makeup Artist. What I wouldn't give to get that pregnancy glow! Most days I look like death eating a soda cracker. I bet a makeup artist could give me that mythical glow, and hide my awesome acne that has time traveled from the '90s, just to see my face again.
An On-Call Body Hair Remover. OK, I don't know if that exists but I could really use that service. I don't think I could handle a wax but I would love to have someone shave my legs for me and take over chin hair patrol; it's a tough job and I'm sick of doing it.
A Personal Chef. "Take it back!" I would cry as every food I used to find appealing suddenly is gross. This would spare my poor husband a lot of grief.
A Personal Trainer. It would be wonderful to have someone pull me off the couch and get me up and moving who is not my husband. He tries, but the snarling really scares him. A paid professional however, wouldn't mind getting his hand bitten. Worker's Comp and all that.
A Personal Masseur. I've had one prenatal massage and it was so heavenly that I want one every day, but cannot afford such things. As an A-lister, I could get my extra-luscious body rubbed down every day for 90 minutes by a muscled hunk.
A Private Pool. How awesome would it be to have one of those infinity pools? I could just be lounging next to it and take a cool dip. Pregnancy has been making me hot as hell lately. The community pool opens up soon but it's more of a screaming children kind of place than tranquil retreat.
An In-House Movie Theater. I love going to the movies but I have to pee so much it's just not worth it. If I had my own theater I could press pause whenever the urge strikes. And when you're pregnant, it strikes a lot. Like so much. Seriously.
I've clicked my heels together, I've wished on the stars but I'm still just reggo preggo, dammit. Oh well, at least there's Old Navy maternity for a cheap wardrobe pick-me-up, concealer for my zits, tweezers for chin hairs, takeout instead of a chef, my husband's lame 5-minute massages, my dog's poop face that gets me off the couch for a walk and the pause button on the remote. But in my next life, I'm coming back as Halle Berry.