SOMEWHERE Kylie is fuming. I see her sis Dannii is grabbing all the headlines after being pictured in a skintight, sprayed-on, barely-there dress.
And her first born is only nine months old.
There's nowhere to hide in that bodycon bandage number. And no amount of elastic, minimising, maximising scaffolding could give you a dig out because the dress is so tight, you'd spot a VPL, (she must be going commando) never mind a full body-sucking-in number.
So no room to camouflage sagging, loose tummies and cleavage that's more 'rocks in socks' than undulating and positioned in and around where Mother Nature intended them to be.
'Spaniel's ears,' were what a friend told me her once much admired and envied chest looked like post baby. 'Ghandi's slippers' another warned would be staring back at me in the mirror when I became a mammy.
Sure I'll head that one off at the pass, by opting for the bottle feeding over breast, I smugly thought. Silly me. It didn't matter.
I could have a rock and sock contest with a breast-feeding mammy and I'd probably win hands down.
Or rather bosoms down.
Whatever it does to your hormones and your mind, (all I had to do was chip a nail and I was looking up the number of Dignitas) what pregnancy does to your body is like waterboarding of the anatomy.
It's torture looking at a physique that is drooping, pendulous, yielding and out of condition.
It's like I'm looking at a geriatric who ate me for lunch. You come out of hospital after the baby looking just like you were around five months pregnant.
And no, stretch marks are not a sign that you've lived a life and created a life... whatever -- blah blah blah that Mr Holiday Romance Guy says to Shirley Valentine to get her to drop her drawers.
No, stretch marks are damaged skin and they don't go away -- no matter how much oil from a rare plant in a tropical forest you rub into them. They go silver in the sun too. Nice. Just to highlight them even more.
Your hair falls out too. Though in my case I suspect that's more from pulling it out when my DS (online mammy speak for 'dear son') has a meltdown in Tesco or fills a nappy until it's something resembling the Fukushima nuclear plant.
They have a fat app and an age app for the iPhone. You take a picture of yourself and it shows you what you'd look like if you were fatter and older. Where is the pregnancy app to serve as a warning to mammies-to-be, of what will happen to their bodies should they discover a 'bun in the oven'?
You could advertise contraception right at the point where you buy the app.
Dannii must have had a colicky baby, like mine.
Take it from me, it's the only physical way possible you lose any weight. All that walking back and forth and lack of sleep.
Believe me though, it's the worst diet on earth. It puts the cabbage soup one in the shade.
This column was brought to you by a woman frantically trying to resemble her former self as she hits the home straight for her return to work.
SO Nigella has taken the prize for the single worst fashion faux pas so far this year.
But the Irish fashion fiascos spotted here since the sun came out are giving her a run for her money.
If only socks with sandals were the worst thing about the great weather. Sure they're practically 'in' again.
Hipster dads and those trying to be ironic all get a kick out of this particular fashion no-no.
But under Sub-Section 2 of Crimes Against Fashion, there's no room for them -- or the tight white trousers, the crop top, visible or plastic bra straps, slogan T-shirts, clip-on or ill-fitting sunglasses and short-shorts.
I wish I was describing the audience at the Jeremy Kyle show. But these fashion transgressions are everywhere. And in the pantheon of fashion holiday horrors, the crop top, in particular sported by those who've been hibernating and eating for the nuclear winter, is out in front. Quite literally.
A smidge of sunshine and the all-white rigout is everywhere. And you don't quite look the part when the muffin top is bulging over the rim of those jeans and you have a very obvious VPL. Team them with stripper heels and hey presto, you look like you're working, if ya know what I mean.
Men -- choosing your clothes syndrome is practically an epidemic. Yep. Almost as much all black outfits as there is white. And sunglasses that are bigger than your face or smaller than your eyes.
Effortlessly stylish and Irish aren't words that go together. Stay classy, Ireland.