Nature, your plan does not make sense
Since Monday, nausea has coated my entire day like a greasy film. Thus far it’s just resulted in some regular gagging, but no actual vomiting. (I did steal some air sickness bags on my recent trip and have one with me at all times in case I need to puke in class. Oh, and this morning I also woke up with a cold. There’s a constant trickle of snot down the back of my throat (YUMMY! Custard, anyone?) which has increased the retching to every five minutes or so. Hrraaccck!) The only thing that keeps the nausea even remotely at bay is eating something every few minutes, but eating is not what you want to do when you’re constantly gagging. I’ll force some raisins between my clamped-together jaws and every fiber of my being will scream out, WHAT ARE YOU DOING, INSANE LADY? DO NOT PUT THAT IN HERE! On the one hand, this is clearly a crazy arrangement. On the other hand, it’s par for the course given how utterly bizarre the whole conception and gestation business is.
Am I complaining? Of course not–I’d do anything for Bun Bun, including purchasing a product called Queasy Drops. I have no pride. How could I, locked in my office, gagging over my trash can?