Blog Feed – Page 61 – making unbreakable

will I pass(port) as me?

I’m getting my first passport stamp today…

Just to give you a little idea of how it’s going to go down at the airport…

“Passport please.”

The TSA agent will then look from me to the passport, and from the passport to me. This will repeat several times. He may even call a buddy over to confirm just how wrong said passport photo is.

“Ma’am, you’re aware it’s a federal offense to travel with another persons passport?”

“It’s me, I promise, you see, I had my photo taken and when I took it to the post office they said that my head was too big and that I had to have it retaken RIGHT THEN only I was especially sick that day from this whole pregnant thing I have going on and I didn’t have any makeup on and my hair, wow, I know right? Not to mention I’ve lost about a dozen pounds since that photo was taken and I’m just absolutely sure that the photo was steamrolled in photoshop before it was attached to my passport.”

“Ma’am, are you accusing the U.S. government of tampering with passport photos?”

“NO! It’s just, I’ve never had that awful of a photo taken, I know it doesn’t really matter, I mean, you’re the only one that sees it. You should see my drivers license! Talk about a good hair day! Besides, with my passport expiring in 2020 I’m sure I’ll appreciate this photo someday in the next decade. So…can I go now?”

If all goes well I’ll end up in Toronto, Ontario with only a slight ding to my confidence.

***

Guess what? My video made it to the final three to win a Tempurpedic bed! WHEE! Thank you for watching it!

Guess what else? The Indy IABC likes us! (us being Daniel Incandela and me.)

GUESS WHAT ELSE? I LIKE YOU!

A brief history on sleep in my house.

Fadra is giving away a Tempurpedic Cloud bed.

When Cody and I go on dates we generally end up in mattress stores spooning on Tempurpedic beds.

I do not lie.

It makes the sales people very uncomfortable.

But if they don’t want us lying on them then they should A) not make them so comfortable and B) not leave them out so people like us can get to them.

the tamales say “you’re good!”

I am currently awaiting the delivery of Tamales to my Chicago hotel room.

This really has nothing to do with anything, I’m just not entirely sure I’ll ever be in this particular situation again and I feel it needs to me mentioned, because honestly, has there ever been a time in your life where you were waiting for tamales to come knocking at your hotel door? (Actually I’m hoping the tamales don’t actually knock, because then I’ll probably wake up on a plane realizing I was only dreaming about tamale delivery to a hotel room en route to Chicago.)

Why Chicago?

Butterball, yo. I’m back for a second year learning everything there is to know about preparing the perfect turkey.

Only this year I’m pregnant, so when all the raw turkey prep work goes down in the morning I’ll most likely be huddled in a corner with a roasting pan filling in for my usual bucket. Or not, I have high hopes that even Zofran can get me through the scented terror that will be 20 raw turkeys in one room.

My ears perk at every set of footsteps that go by, maybe those are my tamales! You see, since Zofran hopped on board I’ve been able to eat more food. Even enjoy it on occasion. However I’m finding that after losing 12 pounds thus far (boo) my body is attempting to make up for lost fluids with intense salt cravings.

Seriously.

If I could find salt flavored salt I would spread it on bacon, wrap it around pickles and dip the whole mess in fry sauce. I had to physically restrain myself from drinking a twee dipping bowl of leftover soy sauce after lunch. (Turns out my California Roll craving was simply a craving for an efficient soy sauce delivery method.)

I’ve also been able to keep down much more fluids. Which means that instead of the fluids coming back out the way they came in, they’re coming out the way they’re supposed to come out which means I am back to that pregnant lady stereotype of having to pee every 15 minutes, give or take. Let’s just say if I had to pay per flush? We’d be eating nothing but squash all winter, and last I checked there’s no such thing as salt squash.

I can honestly tell you it’s much more enjoyable being the stereotype (PEE! PICKLES!) than it is being the sob story (barf. IVs.)

My tamales are here and they beg my full attention. I hope you are well. I know a lot of you (me included) are gearing up for a long cold winter full of Seasonal Affective Disorder. Pull out those SAD lights, make sure they’re ready for when the gloomies hit. A couple of you have had miscarriages. I hope you’re being well taken care of. One of you (that I know of) is going through Lupron hell. Some of you are going through divorces. Some of you are just having a crappy time because for some reason all the crap in the world hit you square in the face.

I hope you know that even if I don’t know you (or even if I do), I have a special little place in my heart for you. It’s lit with glittery holiday lights and there’s comfy pillows all over the place. You’re always welcome there. Because I know you’ve opened your hearts up to me when I’m not doing so well for whatever reason, it would be selfish not to do the same when I’m doing so well for the moment.

everybody hates everything!!

Have you ever looked around and felt as if you are in a swirling vortex of negativity and complaints? The last few weeks have felt that way for me. (I mean, it’s pretty much my fault for writing about religion, accepting others, pregnancy, teddy bears and politics within a week’s timeframe. That’s practically begging for naysayers and namecalling!)

I asked twitter for suggestions of what I could write about that NO ONE would have a problem with.

Some people said things like “Cake! Cupcakes! Chocolate! Donuts! BEEF!” In the back of my head all I could see was Jillian Michaels making the gagging face she always makes on Biggest Loser, which then makes me think of all the people who would have a problem with me watching reality TV. Or TV in general. Or with the existence of Jillian Michaels in general.

Other people said “New shoes! Vacations! Massages! Shopping!” Sure, all of those things are great! BUT WHY ARE YOU SPENDING MONEY ON SUCH LAVISH THINGS IN A RECESSION WHEN PEOPLE DON’T EVEN HAVE A ROOF OVER THEIR HEAD? I have become a cynic over the joy that is saving up for and finding the perfect pair of leather boots. (Leather? ANIMAL RIGHTS YOU BABY SEAL CLUBBER!)

Then there where the people who said “Hugs! Kisses! Being in love!” To that I say “HERPES! LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD! LOVE IS FOR FOOLS!”

Really the only things that didn’t set off the tiny little cynic in my head (sidenote, the cynic in my head is a middle aged woman with a cigarette in an old yellow barcalounger.) were the suggestions of “Baby giggles! Orgasms!” I dare you to be cynical about baby giggles. The other one? I’m not going there…the cynic says nice girls shouldn’t talk about such things. But I say the cynic needs a good romp in the sack with her husband. (Wait, now someone’s offended that my inner cynic is a woman and that she’s married to a man and I just suggested they do it.)

I have a love affair with quotes. I have had different ones on my business cards for the last year. One said “It takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else.” –Erma Bombeck and the current one is “Character, like film, develops in darkness.” –Yousuf Karsh (This one means a lot to me after spending the last year recovering from Lupron.)

I have the quote “Everything will be okay in the end, if it’s not okay, it’s not the end.” –Anon on my bathroom mirror.

I have a bracelet that reads “Forgiveness is a virtue of the brave.” –Indira Gandhi

My name, Casey, means brave. One of the biggest things I have worked on over the last few years is forgiveness. Not only forgiveness of others, but forgiveness of myself. I am not perfect. Not to mention there are people who have no problem pointing out how imperfect I am. Some people even save up months of ammunition simply to point out just how awesomely imperfect I am.

People can be shockingly mean and grumpy.

There’s no need to add to that particular subgenera of society.

“Be the change you want to see in the world.” –Mahatma Gandhi

Next time you want to be mean to someone? Don’t. Smile. Walk away. Scream into a pillow. Listen to a baby giggle. Have an orgasm.

And be sure to let me know how that works out for you in the long run.

by the numbers.

11 weeks 3 days pregnant.

28 weeks and 4 days to go.

6 pounds lost in the last week. (Which is also why there are 0 belly pictures.)

2 times I have scared Addie out of the room from retching.

120 dollars for a 15 day supply of generic Zofran.

4 weeks without a working washer.

4 hours until a new one is delivered.

1.5 naps a day.

2 trips scheduled before October is over.

countless-times I’ve cried and times I’ve barfed.

3 cravings. (california roll, grilled chicken sandwich, carnitas)

3 times I’ve considered shaving my head because the smell of my own hair was so awful.

7 times the smell of my own skin nauseated me.

1 time I heaved in front of total strangers, by myself. (frozen food section. it was a bad day.)

0 times I have regretted doing this to myself.

0 times I will do this again. (seriously, the frozen food episode kind of sealed the proverbial deal.)

14 synonyms I have for vomit.

9 other freshly pregnant bloggers I’m aware of.

1 guest post over at Pundit Mom about being uninsured and pregnant in America.

lovetines.

There comes a point in every HG pregnancy (let me know if I’m wrong) where IVs become little vacations. Especially when done in those really fancy hospital arm chairs with nurse call buttons and warm bags of saline wrapped in blankets to snuggle. IVs mean you get to feel partially human again without having to play stomach roulette, attempting to find a food and/or beverage that is willing to stay down. Bonus points if you get a Zofran chaser and can manage to chow down on a hospital provided snack before leaving.

I have reached the “IVs are fun!” stage of the sickness.

I’m not quite to the “Nasogastric tubes are my homeboy” phase however.

When I’m not looking Addie bites Saltines into the shape of hearts for me.

I certainly never received this particular level of service with my first pregnancy.

(I also guest posted over at Mom it Forward today about shooting things with my mom.)

blind bokeh.

There’s a certain type of photography I envision in my head. Today I stood under a tree and made Cody stand by me as I explained my perfect picture (of course I didn’t have my camera, but trust me, epic.) I remember a post that Zack Arias wrote about seeing a picture he was about to take from five miles away, my photos don’t come to me in miles, more like inches.

Without corrective eyewear I am twice legally blind.

This also means that without my contacts in I see everything in bokeh, more specifically with an f stop of about 1.4.

For those of you who don’t speak camera…I see things like this…(literally)

It’s honestly not a bad way to see things, focus on what you want to (assuming it’s within six inches of your face) and enjoy the lovely blurry shapes and lights everything else makes. This time of year the sun comes right into my bedroom window in the morning filtered by the mess of trees in our backyard. To me it looks like thousands of soft orange fairly lights. It’s quite lovely.

Cody has said for years that as soon as we could afford it, I could get Lasik. This week was the first time I questioned the benefits of Lasik. Sure, I wouldn’t need contacts or glasses as much, but I wouldn’t ever be able to enjoy the bokeh coming in my bedroom window ever again, well, unless it was through my camera.

My camera would have to speak bokeh to me, because my eyes wouldn’t be able to do it for me anymore by default.

Yet another reason my camera is as important to me as breathing.

your looks really are the first thing to go…

I have misled many people into believing that I am coasting along in this pregnancy. (Which is fine, it’s just not the truth.) The truth is I am very ill approximately 20 hours a day and this week has been the worst. I’m not sure if it’s simply because I’m running out of brave or because I am farther along.

BUT. I have realized it does me no good to complain about it. Complaining doesn’t make me feel any better, it leaves the people around me feeling helpless and sorry for me which leads them to giving me silly suggestions about how to “fix” my sick (I’m way past ginger and crackers kids.) I assure them I’ve done this before…and then I end up looking like a jerk that can’t take advice from well meaning people.

So.

I stay shooshy.

If you really want to learn more about what I’m going through there’s an entire website dedicated to the disease. (Oh yes, I said disease.)

One of the annoyances with throwing up so much are petechiae (pe-tiki-aye). Sure it’s a vanity thing, but they garner some funny comments from observers (tact people, tact.) Petechiae are ruptured capillaries (in my case, on my face and sometimes in my eyes.) that result from vomiting, I can literally feel them explode and they so far FASCINATE every doctor that sees them.

After a friend told me yesterday she peed her pants every time she puked…I’ll gladly take the mottled face and dry pants, thank you.

*****

So, what’s the weirdest sickness side effect you’ve experienced?

a pregnancy acceptance speech of sorts.

First of all I would like to thank my body for taking on this task, I know it’s not an easy one, but man, you’re great.

Second I would like to thank a certain receptacle in my life for supporting me through my multiple heaves. You haven’t let me down once. You know who you are. *wink*

Third, I would like to give a little nod to all those pregnancy tests I mercilessly peed on, thank you for always humoring me and showing up with that second little pink line.

I would like to thank the kiwi fruit for always tasting good and for allowing this pregnant lady to poop on occasion.

I would like to thank the makers of cherry slushees although it would be much more convienient if the slushee maker were in my fridge door instead of a water dispenser. Just a thought…

I would like to thank Mexico for exporting your delicious Coca-Cola and allowing Costco to sell it. Man, I thought all hope was lost when I couldn’t find cola syrup in the drugstore anymore, but Mexican Coke? You’re just the greatest.

Where’s DVR? Is he here tonight? Man, DVR, thank you. Anyone who has ever worked with you knows why.

I would like to thank Phenergan for being cheap, generic and putting me to sleep so fast I forget to barf.

I would also like to thank my body pillow, my couches and various other soft surfaces in my house for accommodating so many naps.

Of course I have to thank my daughter for believing that that soft spot on my belly is in fact a a baby and not acknowledging it for what it truly is, a soft spot with a tiny lime sized baby somewhere underneath.

I would like to thank Ami, for selflessly arriving in your chariot of Cheerios simply to wipe my brow and scrub my toilets. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to repay you.

*music starts*

I would like to thank those of you in the maternity wardrobe department. To those of you who have given of your clothes so selflessly when I realized mine were lacking to say the least. Even when you realized my bum is exponentially bigger than yours and that my legs are undeniably shorter than yours.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the multiple pregnancy apps I have downloaded and read each morning. You’re sage wisdom on soda crackers and ginger for nausea is simply invaluable knowledge.

And last but not least, I would like to thank Cody, my love, for having the balls to knock me up.

*music swells*

OH! The fans! I have to thank all of the fans out there on the internet that believed in me when I couldn’t even believe Oprah. You guys are the frosting on my cake. The marshmallows in my hot chocolate. The butter on my bread. The zofran in my medical cabinet. Thank you thank you!

the one about the gays.

I was having a particularly rough day in high school when a boy named Jacob Orosco noticed how down and out I was. He performed an ice skating routine for me right in front of the office to cheer me up complete with singing and a grand finale.

The next week he was gone. He had taken his own life. Rumors flew about as to how and why it happened, but the biggest rumor was that he was never accepted for what he really was, gay.

This is the same high school where instead of allowing a Gay/Straight Alliance as a school club (Jacob was one of the founding members) they did away with extra curricular clubs altogether. I remember one administrators stance was that “If we let the gays have a club then we’d have to let the KKK have a club as well.” Awesome. Way to lump GLBTQ people in with the KKK. Students from our rival high school, West High, started a club called “SAFE-Students Against Fags Everywhere.”

FHA however (Future Homemakers of America) were still allowed to meet regularly on school property.

In the last three weeks there have been five suicides by gay teens.

Jacob took his life in 1997, this most recent news is nothing new and it’s not getting any better.

***Edited 10/07/10***

Mormons Divided on LDS Apostle’s Speech on Gays.

Yep.

***Edited 10/08/10***

I was criticized heavily for my personal feelings that President Packer’s choice of certain words were ill timed and insensitive, I simply disagreed and was uncomfortable with his choice of phrasing at times. I wasn’t alone, and my feelings were not completely wrong either.

Apostle’s Speech on Gays Changed on LDS website.