Imagine you're lying on the cold green tile floor of your friend's bathroom crying harder than you've ever cried.

You're pretty sure it's marked into wailing. Maybe even what's the word?

Keening? A prolonged high pitched cry expressing sorrow.

Yep, this is definitely Keening.

Your friend pops her head into the bathroom. Do you need anything?

Actually, you know exactly what you need.

Just subpoison!

Your friend rolls her eyes. How about some tea?

Fine.

Through the haze of misery, you turn your head and look out the bathroom door into your friend's spare room.

It's your bedroom for now, at least. Since you left your own home a week ago.

Braaa!

You can hear your two-year-old son playing in the hallway.

I will eat you. I am the biggest monster.

Your friend returns with a steaming mug. So how long are you gonna lie there?

Until the tiles swallow me.

Oh, I'll make us dinner then.

I'm not hungry.

Pregnant women have to eat.

Your friend has a point.

You look down at your enormous midsection, straining against your blouse.

You are 38 years old. Eight months pregnant.

...