A squeaky little *help*

I am having a moment of weakness. You know—where you look at everyone's blogs and think, "They have all had more babies than me and look impossibly thin." (Close the laptop. Look at the glowing apple. Open the laptop, continue.) Ugh! Why am I doing that? Do you do that? I think it's because I have about 3 things that currently fit, and I am only about 3 months along. What's going to happen to me in the next 6 months? I can tell you what! If it's anything like last time, I am going to be wearing the same blessed velour jogging suit with my ugly New Balance running shoes every • single • day during the last month, donning whatever t-shirt will stretch around me. And people will be fleeing the scene a la The Devil Wears Prada, when Miranda enters the building in that fateful first Runway scene (seen it?). I swear my co-workers were saying, "Just tell her how *cute* she looks! She might eat you..." I gained a lot with Finn. Please please please don't make me do it again (whining plea). Yes, I know I was able to shed most of those pounds, and some of you probably want to slug me for even posting this. Sure, I look basically not-too-pregnant, and relatively "fit," as one friend put it (the fit part, not the relatively part). But is it not true that no matter how good we look at any given moment, knowing your body is ballooning out of control for the next human gestational period might just lead to panic-stricken bouts of self-awareness? I think I am justified in my concern. And any other mother-to-be, size 2 or 12, is awarded the same priviledge. So say I. (Are my pregnancy posts getting tiresome? Then just remove me from your sidebar list, because it's likely there will be more.)