The Attack of the Prune Fetus

Rhea here. I've spent most of this weekend lying around in the bed, on the bed and occasionally on the couch. Talk about Gulliver being done in by the Lilliputians. I have a fetus roughly the size of a prune in my uterus and I am no longer in charge.

My stomach revolts at its beckoning. Literally thousands of dollars of shoes remain lonely and unworn because of dizzy spells and waves of nausea commanded, like Patton, by the Prune Fetus and I can't risk breaking my neck on the 2 train if I pass out wearing 3' stiletto boots.
Scot's right, every few minutes I do look down and touch my belly -- except Prune and I aren't bonding. I ask it the same thing over and over again...What the hell are you doing in there?!