Yummy Mummies TV show puts more pressure on mothers in the real world

SEVEN’S new reality show Yummy Mummies heaps even more pressure on those mums for whom glamour is a distant memory, writes Susie O’Brien.

HAVING a baby should present no barrier to being stylish, beautiful and willing to lord it over all the other women at school pick-up.

That is the manifesto of the Yummy Mummies, who were created to taunt the rest of us with their genetically blessed offspring, suspiciously pert breasts and $1500 baby bags.

These supermums have been under attack this week with the release of the teaser for the new Channel 7 reality show, Yummy Mummies. The so-called “observational documentary” — the new name for reality TV — profiles four glamorous pregnant mums. They are Jane Scandizzo, wife of celebrity hairstylist Joey Scandizzo, Lorinska Merrington, wife of former Carlton footballer Andrew Merrington, Rachel Watts and Adelaide’s Maria DiGeronimo.

The trailer shows a baby shower with bouquets of $100 bills, chandeliers, horse-drawn carriages and baby-scan helium balloons.

“Does everyone need to see inside your uterus?” one of the mums asks the host.

Yes, it seems they do.

Not surprisingly, the show has already been slammed for its unrealistic and “offensive” expectations and for presenting babies as just another designer accessory. You know, like a Hermes Birkin, but smellier.

While Burberry baby clothes are out of reach for most mums, I reckon there’s a Yummy Mummy at just about every price point and suburban location.

Don’t we all know a Yummy Mummy who’s turned motherhood into a competitive sport based primarily on her conspicuous consumption of expensive designer goods and her ability to stay sexy post-procreation? Yummy Mummies don’t do comfort dressing, they don’t leave the house without full makeup and they’d rather cut off a limb than wear “Mum” jeans.

Maria DiGeronimo, Lorinska Merrington, Jane Scandizzo and Rachel Watts.

A casual lunch with the girls will see them sporting high heels, skinny jeans and a sexy blouse.

And they’d always prefer to be given Laboutins rather than lilies as a present. Bouquets droop but shoes last for forever, you see.

A Yummy Mummy’s significant relationship is with her Thermomix, she spent more on her nursery furniture than you did on your car and her baby has a more expensive wardrobe than you do.

A Yummy Mummy doesn’t mind breastfeeding because she knows a decent rack is something women envy and men covet. But her desire to look good in a strapless top will win out every time.

Once a Yummy Mummy has given birth, her husband’s job is done. From then on, her primary relationship will be with her girlfriends, along with her hairstylist, tanner and waxer.

Other vital issues for the Yummy Mummy include debating whether she can put a foetus down on a private school waiting list and whether she should get Bluetooth connectivity for the Bugaboo pram.

A Yummy Mummy’s days are spent agonising over the really important choices: Zumba or Barre? Lululemon or PE Nation? Lamb rack or cutlets?

SHE’S at her best when celebrating her kids’ birthdays because she knows you don’t have a party, you have an “event”, you don’t have food, you have “catering” and kids don’t play games, they have “entertainment”.

As the Channel 7 trailer shows, motherhood sure has changed. Years ago, all it took to be considered a good mother was having a healthy and happy baby; the puke-encrusted mums in their comfy clothes and Dr Scholl sandals simply faded into the background. Now there’s an expectation that to be a successful mother you have to be sexy and high-maintenance and have the right accessories.

A scene from TV series Yummy Mummies. Source: CHANNEL SEVEN

The pressure starts at pregnancy, where pert baby bumps are expected — no excess weight in the form of cankles or bloating is allowed.

Then it continues through the birth process, where natural births with no drugs are the gold standard and caesars the slacker’s choice.

From then on, every choice becomes a marker of success: your choice of hospital, length of stay and obstetrician are scrutinised and judged.

Mothers’ groups provide another KPI, with friendships won and lost according to the ability of the YM to squeeze back into her pre-baby True Religion jeans by the six-week mark.

And she’d better not have any unfashionable accessories (like work-from-home husbands and Jason recliners) lying around when it’s her turn to host the mothers’ group.

As a mother of three young kids, I must say I like the idea of glamming it up a bit more, but I can never find the time or energy.

I’m more for keeping it real. I’m more about struggling through to wine o’clock, doing drop-off in fleecy PJs and having takeaway for dinner. I’ve got friends who care rather than friends who judge and kids who wear discount clothes rather than Dior.

I’m too stressed trying to remember where child one needs to be at 8am tomorrow for soccer (Mentone? Manningham? Mornington?) to worry about what my bum looks like in these jeans.

And I am too busy getting work done while organising a junior footy club function and driving kids to parties to spend my time cradling a newborn in tropical location while wearing a floaty designer dress.

I’ll take Scummy Mummy over Yummy Mummy any day.

Susie O’Brien is a Herald Sun columnist

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