So...Mr Rhyming Slang...and your tragically ill-informed mates

The case of Savita Halappanavar has highlighted why I will never, ever stop banging on about this. Since becoming a parent, I've become actually more pro-choice than I was before. I didn't actually believe that was possible.

So....Mr Rhyming Slang....

Yes, that's you, Mr.Hunt, oh and you, Dorries, you fame-chasing-right-wing-press-baiting-blogger-harassing-half-wit, now hopefully up to your nipples in rats, spiders, centipedes and soap stars who are approaching the brick wall of the end of their careers like a stampeding bull on whizz. Oh, and you too, Cameron, Romney, Ryan, Bachman and Palin.

I hope you're feeling suitably scared by my teeny blog with a teeny audience.

Right, hat in the ring.

The stuff that goes on the wombs and love tunnels of the world (and that corner of the world that you exercise a degree of influence over) has *nothing* to do with you.

If you're going to take a role like "Secretary of State for Health", a tiny bit of medical knowledge is generally useful. Also, as a very recent parent (I'm looking at YOU, Mr Hunt), one would hope that a tiny bit of attention *might* have been paid to little things like when certain scans occurred on ye-olde-up-the-duff time line that tell you whether or not your kid is likely to, oh, live....and stuff.

What these halfwits don't seem to realise is that, if they erode the rights as they currently exist, they run the risk of ending up killing a woman because the fading heartbeat of the baby she's losing is more important. That is what happened here, all because some people believe that Sky Dad says no. They also seem to have convincingly ignored that by doing this, it's not beyond the realms of possibility that this could bite them on the arse, personally.

I like that fact that our fine and admirable medical profession in the UK (especially obstetrics and gynaecology because they are the ones I've had more to do with recently) are focused on trying to ensure the best outcomes for everybody. Delaying life saving treatment (because that's what Savita would have really been getting because that miscarriage could not have been prevented) cost a woman her life.

Not good enough, not acceptable, please let birth and pregnancy be dealt with appropriately...and political types.....shhhhh, before you make more of a fool of yourselves.

Amanda Palmer - dancing around 'til it hurts at QMU....

Bit of a cross post....

UniquelySnowflake - Amanda Palmer Giggage

I had a fabulous time and a right hoot. Everything about the wee trip was cracking and meeting up with a good mate after whoa-years was too...

Owning and wearing boots that were older than some of the people I stood next to in the queue gave me a teeny moment of pause though. Ah, what the hell, nowt wrong with being the "older folk at a gig 'Eeh, I saw the Pixies at the G-Mex in 1991 you know'" type. ;)

This will never work but here's an idea....

You know those kids that have nasty stories to tell about being in care...or the visit from the "important bloke"......or just have a painful story to tell....

You know, the girl or boy (or man or woman) be they rich, poor, ill, healthy, disadvantaged, not very bright, so brainy that grey matter has involuntary escapes from their ears from time to time because it can't cope with all the pressure of all the clever sh*te going on in there, regardless of any religious and ethnic background....they might be in pain right now...and they might be in turmoil...

Listen to them, and if they want to report whatever has happened to them to the Police, let there at least be a proper standard of care and a *real* minimum standard of investigation that goes into the accusations they make. Let them not be headed off at the pass at the front line.

I can't helping thinking that if the Justice system can guarantee this, we might actually manage to get nasty exploitative crimes against vulnerable people (regardless of age, gender and a range of other differentiating factors) treated with a true degree of seriousness, and the risk of the horrible people slipping through the net is hopefully reduced. No frothing, no hysteria about "paedos", just cold, hard, investigation to a specified standard from square one, no negotiation, no "we don't believe you because you're homeless/drug addict/teenager/sex worker/woman/gay" - Yes, we'll meet a specific standard, that's all.

And who knows, the bad guys might just be made paranoid enough to realise that it's never, ever ok....

Duffed no more: It runs in the family

To be completely honest, I garnered a faint suspicion early on that my darling Mini D was perhaps going to take after my side of the family (in some respects) at the 12 week scan. From the anecdotes that I've heard from quite a lot of mothers, their "euphemism" was serenely treading water, sleeping or looking generally pretty Zen at this point. And my beloved is a bit of a laid back guy.

Hmm...after about 10 seconds into the first ultrasound, it was clear that this was not going to happen in my world. Jumping bean central. Rick O'Shay. Ditto at the 20 week and 23 week scan. We couldn't tell the gender because he wouldn't actually stay still long enough. This reminds of my greatly adored and brilliant little sister, whose dedication to talking to people, and possibly having more energy than many have in a lifetime is just awesome, if a little brain cobbling for the casual observer.
Oh and the fact we nicknamed him "Kicky".

This blog sounds terribly me-me-me at the minute but I must admit, I hope it means he's "caught" the music gene, because two big lads in the house who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket would probably be the death of me. This flat is *way* too small for tunes that are not meant to be atonal, becoming slowly more atonal over time. This is combined with bizarre timing that results in gradual shortening of a given musical phrase until it's only the "headline" bit of the riff that's suddenly being delivered in 2.5/4 time rather than the 4/4 it started out with. After driving one round the twist. It's like a riff has a half life, gradually losing notes like radium loses electrons...

Duffed no more - eek

Hecky thump I belong to a network!

Duffed no more - Trying to be good...

When pregnant, I realised something awful.  Women are using a very big stick to beat ourselves with (in addition to The Daily Mail doing it for us) in our constant desire to be seen to be "good" when it's all total bollocks. This isn't news, so why the hell do I feel compelled to say it again?

I, for one, didn't sign up for that crap. I also wish I could have believed (I did in my brain, but not really in my gut for quite a while) my friends who said "Trust your own judgement, it's probably pretty sound." about the whole parenting mularky so let's tell the Moaning Minnies and Judgy Joans to do one. I was a child of the 70's and I turned out ok etc etc etc.....obsessive parenting and feeling guilty gets you nowhere and at the end of the day, "good" also doesn't actually mean "perfect".

I declare today (and tomorrow and the day after) to be the time that we try, for a whole 10 minutes at least per day, to not feel fking guilty about something we're doing that *might* tenuously, possibly affect your baby and their development and/or future emotional well-being.

Be loving, be kind, talk, sing about as well as the sad deluded people on X factor,  dance like someone is electrocuting your feet, read to them a bit, remember that cbeebies/formula/playpens are not the work of Satan, say no to everybody once in a while and look after yourself and be kind - to yourself. Happy parents are good parents as a rule - and the chances are that you probably are great at it, and you're a beautiful person. Shut the voices out and tell every negative Nelly to foxtrot oscar for a while - go on, you know you'll enjoy it. x

P.S. everyone benefits...bugger...I'm being positive..."tsk *eye roll*...children"...

Duffed no more - Nothing prepares you for....

The oceans and rivers of snot, the mega tonnes of mucus. I cope just fine with all the other revolting bits but the snot is the one that really makes me gag...and you always end up with the b*stard stuff stuck to you somehow.

BAH!