OK, sublingual B12 – even when (especialy when?) flavored with raspberry, ginger, etc. – is disgusting.  Gaggingly disgusting.  Bleccchhhhh!

Tums, on the other hand – I can now understand the love.  That stuff might be chalky, but it’s not too nasty, and it actually, um, works.  I am a convert.  Tums is my friend, and has earned a spot in my already-way-too-heavy purse.  I’ll never be without antacids again!

The nausea has gone away for the most part, I think in order to give me more opportunity to focus on heartburn and complete loss of appetite.  I mean, I’m hungry, stomach clenchingly so.  But the thought of actually putting food in my mouth?  Meh.   Not so nice a thought.  On the exciting side of things, however, the spotting has really, almost gone away.  The boobs are enormous, and so undeniably pregnant that I can’t even work myself up to a state of terror (since it has been almost 24 hours since a sonogram).

I did, however, manage to wake myself up at 4:30 this morning with complete Realm of Pain anxiety.  The level of dread I feel for going in to this place is akin to what I used to feel for orthodontist appointments.  (My orthodontist was elderly, and had allergies.  When you are 13, and presented with a giant, 70-year-old nose that’s dripping way too close to your wedged-open mouth, while the owner of the nose is busy with pliers to wrench your teeth into a more socially-acceptable, though agonizing alignment, the situation will figure prominently in your nightmares for the rest of your life.)  No, actually, I don’t think I’ve felt this much dread since 6th grade, which was the first time in my life that my teacher didn’t like me.  She used to taunt me when I tried to answer questions in class, and put such an active dislike of school into me that it took me years to get over it.  Nothing like being ridiculed by a sarcastic teacher for your 11th year to scar you for life.  And to this day I’m not entirely sure why she disliked me so very much.

At least I know why the Romanian Princess hates me.

I certainly know why she’s not my favorite person.

But oh, I really don’t want to be there today.  Or tomorrow.  Or the day after that.  And I bitterly resent having lost sleep over this person.

Yawn.

I might resent that the most of all.