Since I had my second kid back in February, I've embarked on a fairly rigorous diet-and-exercise program to deal with the aftermath of expanding to the approximate size and shape of an adult river hippopotamus (thanks to the miracle of Pepperidge Farm childbirth).

I've been working out several days a week for months, and I've eaten so many baby carrots it's a wonder my skin isn't Oompa Loompa orange.

I've lost the weight I wanted to, but it most definitely wasn't an overnight process. It took a particularly long time for my belly to stop exploding over the tops of my jeans like a half-unpeeled Pillsbury canister. Eighty-five bajillion crunches later, I still have a little pooch -- perfect for resting a pint of ice cream on, if I weren't eating all these carrots instead.

Click here to read more about Linda's fitness mission.

Okay, so I suppose it's fairly common for a person to have to pony up some hard work when it comes to battling after-baby fat, but I can't help noticing that Jessica Alba, who had her baby, like, five minutes ago, is already bikini-perfect.

Or how about Brooke Burke, who keeps popping out children like some kind of Pez dispenser and magically returning to her model form just weeks later? Or Halle Berry? Or that über-gorgeous Camila whatshername, whose waist was about the circumference of my right bicep three days after she gave birth to Matthew McConaughey's baby.

WHAT IS UP WITH THESE WOMEN?

Yeah, I know, they probably have an entourage of Pilates trainers and dietitians, and some probably have great genes working in their favor, and maybe a few of these fine-looking ladies even had a little, you know, surgical intervention. Or maybe they didn't spend their entire pregnancies working their way through the frozen dessert section of their local grocery stores. Who can say?

It's horrible, but I'm now one of those creepy people who lives for those Us Weekly photo spreads of celebrity post-baby bodies, and if someone's caught on film with some upper-arm chub or a little extra junk in the trunk, I breathe a happy sigh.

Schadenfreude? Sure. But it also makes my belly pooch and I feel just a little better about ourselves.