You can tell what you're in for from the cover, which is of the midriff of a beautiful, smooth-skinned, white pregnant woman with a bare stomach and a sarong around her hips. By the end of reading it, I felt like if I read the words 'luscious pregnant body' one more time I was going to kill something.
As I said to my wife, it's kind of like reading an account of being pregnant along with some unsolicited advice from some random hippie friend-of-a-friend who talks about spending time with your Goddess of choice. I mean, it's good insofar as it's good to hear of anyone's experience, and she has quotes from other women she talked to, but there are some very annoying bits where she gives rather sententious and unwanted advice about finances (if you can't afford to get pregnant how can you afford to have a child?!?!??!?! FUCK YOU LADY, POOR PEOPLE CAN HAVE BABIES) and age (younger people shouldn't have babies! wait until you're in your late twenties and you're mature enough to be a parent! you might think you want to get pregnant but you don't know what you want!).
The book thinks it's inclusive but is wildly middle class and also occasionally outdated/clueless. See eg.: the title - the book is in fact primarily for women seeking to get pregnant who are not in sexual relationships with men. It also refers to trans men as 'trannies' a couple of times, which I think was the preferred self-definition term for a small group of trans people for about five minutes a few years ago? but is not okay now, and not okay for a non-trans person to use, imo. In general, although there's some lip service to the trans experience, this is not a book that really considers or thinks about birthing/parenting while trans, or really thinks much about gender at all. Or race for that matter. It's basically an individual account, which would be fine, but it's packaged as a universal guide (an ultimate guide even), which is very galling.
In terms of facts, mostly thus far it's telling me things I already knew, having already talked to a number of people who've used sperm banks and donors, and it's also very US-centric and is of no use whatsoever for legal or healthcare stuff if you're not from the states. It does have a fairly charming description of her tour of the inside of a sperm bank, in which she marvels at the miracle of life and sends good wishes to all the frozen sperm. However, it is interesting for the questions it anticipates its audience will ask - such as, "How can I determine the biological sex of my child?" It never even occurred to me that people might try to game the system to determine the sex of their child, but apparently that's a thing, and depending on when you inseminate it's possibly more likely if you have a boy or a girl, because girl sperm swim slower? Or something? And it's more likely you'll have a boy if you use frozen sperm because of the hardiness of boy sperm? It sounds like a load of crap to me. The book does suggest gently that you shouldn't think too hard about it and just try to get pregnant, which is something I suppose.
The other thing which keeps coming up, which is hilarious, is how you MUSTN'T HOT TUB. NO HOT TUBBING. For a while I thought this was some kind of sexual euphemism, but no, you just shouldn't go in a hot tub when you're pregnant, or trying to get pregnant, or if you're donating sperm. Apparently. I don't know how many people she knows with hot tubs, but I guess that's a lifestyle thing that enough people do that she has to mention it constantly. I don't think I know anyone who ever hot tubs, or even uses that as a verb.
The other thing this book is telling me, which reminds me of when we were getting married, is DON'T GET STRESSED. DON'T STRESS OUT. YOU CAN'T GET PREGNANT IF YOU'RE STRESSED SO DON'T GET STRESSED OKAY? RELAX RIGHT NOW, WHY AREN'T YOU RELAXING. But it does also ruefully acknowledge how stressful it is to try and get pregnant, so it's not completely awful.