So, I should probably approach this with some kind of coherent order. Even if it will likely inevitably break down in a few paragraphs' time.
I find it a little amusing that I scraped together something to post yesterday because there hadn't really been anything to post about, and then all of a sudden several things pop up all at once. The kind of amusing that makes you want to facepalm a bit, anyway.
First up, midwife update.
Everything went well, and I'm actually quite confident that being reported again shouldn't be an issue. Which is nice, because having to go looking for a midwife for a third time would really not be fun at all.
She'd managed to get my ultrasound reports back from Palmie, and the reports from the ultrasound and blood test here were back. My results were, as she put it, boringly normal, which is a good thing. Everything is proceeding about as close to textbook so far as one can reasonably expect; despite occasional iron problems, my iron is good; despite grave warnings from some of my family, my sweet tooth has not resulted in gestational diabetes. All signs of the slight bleeding I had earlier in my pregnancy are utterly gone in the ultrasound. The enthusiastic movement of my son is a very good sign, even if it made it practically impossible for the midwife to get a heartbeat because he wouldn't stay in one place long enough.
She also, and for this I bless her, pointed me towards a brand of liners with a surface area exceeding two square centimetres. Honestly, why do they make the things so damned tiny? Thin, I get, thin is the point - and I'll grant that these liners are thicker than is usual. However, they're still much thinner than a pad, and as an added bonus, they actually extend the entire width of my not exactly ginormous underwear. Thank you, regular liners, for making me feel like I need to wear a damned g-string for you to do any good at catching a little discharge instead of dumping it all on the underwear. The brand is Tena, for anyone who wants to know. The liners still share the problem of pads without wings in that the sides tend to come up somewhat, but even with that the protection is a lot better.
Hovering somewhere between concerning and good, despite saying they would be getting in touch with my midwife as part of investigating the report (and despite the fact that they're meant to touch base with the midwife in all such things), child services has yet to contact her at all. On one hand, if things were dire, they would have been on the phone to her as soon as we were out of the meeting. On the other hand, they specifically said they'd call her and haven't, whereas I know they have made first contact with my family. It remains to be seen what will happen there.
Second, an addition to my earlier Ballastexistenz post.
In the
first post of hers I linked, Ballastexistenz mentions a researcher who dismissed anecdotal evidence that autists could, in fact, read emotion, purely because she'd learned they couldn't. She also mentioned autists failing tests because they identified what the actors actually felt, rather than what they were pretending to feel.
No, it's not an article on autism - just a random one about Anne Hathaway that I stumbled across in my internet wanderings. Of note about it, is the picture choice.
If you read the article, it's clear that the writer thinks Anne is happy in that picture - ecstatic, even. I, on the other hand, was horribly confused as to why anyone would choose that picture for an article like that. To me, that is not a happy face. Those eyes speak to me of despair, or fear. Actually, they scream it at me. Even covering the eyes though, that big dazzling smile is too tight, too tense to be genuine.
A brief search for pictures of Anne supplied many that were not as glaringly terrible for getting the point across, but I had trouble finding one that would actually do the job. The best seem to amount to "tense". So, it seems pretty clear that not only was a terrible picture used, the entire article is a bit off-base when it comes to reading emotion.
And they think we're the ones who can't read emotions...
Third, Hyperbole and a Half talks about depression. Really, really well.
Hyperbole and a Half has, unfortunately, gone an awfully long time without being updated. So much so, in fact, that Allie felt the need to
mentally prepare us for the fact that the blog would be updated again. In fairness, the next post was a doozy. It probably
would have been pretty overwhelming to see that all of a sudden, after so much silence.
The reason this amazing blog lay silent for so long, is
depression.
Allie describes depression really, really well. At least, I think she does. That's not necessarily very representative, though; if you've got depression, you already get it. The question is, do the people who don't have depression get it now? Especially the bit about how we're not actually necessarily being negatively... it's just that happy-go-lucky, hopeful advice really isn't all that helpful.
I will admit, I don't generally get so bad as to be completely incapable of giving any kind of shit about anything. However, even with that difference, the description is a remarkably good one. The foggy haze and apathy, the crushing loneliness and boredom that only increases with any attempts to actually do anything about it, because your ability to do anything about it except to keep trudging on just isn't there anymore.
The post is a very good one, and well timed in that it happens to coincide with Mental Health Awareness Week. I definitely recommend it for a read.
Lastly, the Bloggess. And cats.
This morning, I woke up to this in my twitter feed.
This is a pain I know well. My husband is surprised I'd never had fleas even once before meeting him, given my tendency (nay, compulsion!) to stop and try to pet every cat that I see. The first time I ever got fleas was off his mother's cat, amusingly, and I have yet to get them off any of the stray or just strange cats I have approached - this despite how utterly tasty fleas seem to find me. It doesn't take long for any biting bugs in the vicinity to home in on me.
Also, these blog posts are getting fairly consistently more difficult to write. This is because, as my pregnancy progresses, our cat is becoming steadily more and more obsessed with me. If I'm sitting up, she'll come try curl up on my chest, or
right next to my side, nearly pinning my arm to me. If I'm lying down, she will plant herself firmly between the laptop and my body.
Failing these, she will still make sure to spend the appropriate amount of time vigorously rubbing herself all over the laptop, my glasses, and my person.
Apparently, pregnant people smell really good or something.
