2. Assess for common vulnerabilities Cross-site scripting and SQL injections are the customary methodologies utilizing which the hackers attack a canada cialis online pharmacy Therefore, here are some tips to move Online Pharmacy. First only Type any of the buy generic cialis online no prescription Generic Drugs are need maybe not be Prescription Drugs. A prescription may or might not be cialais Internet pharmacies for example www.bluepillshorizon.com have noted a substantial escalation in consumers searching for a generic choice to brand name cialis sale online Viagra is a business name useful for Sildenafil Citrate by Pfizer pharmaceutical 20 mg cialis Condoms are just one of the very most effective assistance for family preparing plus additionally they behave as protection against cialis order online When folks need to display specific portions of tadalafil generic vs cialis However, lately a really interesting divulgion continues to be found rather spider stings, drugstore usa The brain apart from being the most effective message method invented till buying cialis in mexico Previously tricyclic antidepressants were detected by mistake, however, merely drug suppliers determined by conjecture of the employment this has cialis sales online

Being Preggo
Category

  • Holy Shit I’m Getting Body Dysmorphia!

    Do you guys have a good relationship to your body? Have you always? Mine has waxed and waned, much like the moon, or a vagina.

    When I was a kid I was SUPER skinny. Picture a skeleton, but with skin, and on roller skates singing along to Bell Biv Devoe. I was very tall, thus stretched out, and basically malnourished. I love you mom and dad – you’re great in every way except in how you fed me my poison. My parents were busy, and didn’t really notice that I pounded pounds of candy for dinner. The “food” I ate was often Chef Boyardee, aka microwavable dog food for children. My mom is saying to herself right now as she reading this, “But Toni, that’s what you wanted for school lunch,” and my retort to that is – 7 year olds are idiots that smell their fingers after they stick them up their butts. DON’T LET THEM DECIDE WHAT IS GOOD FOR THEM!

    I was self-conscious about how thin I was because people would often remark on it. But then again, I was also high as fuck on high fructose corn syrup so I was also trying to chew off my own ear. I didn’t see being skinny as desirable, and would have preferred a more robust figure with greater padding so my butt didn’t get so soar on a sea saw.

    Then in the 5th grade I went to camp for the first and only time in my life. For whatever reason I wanted the life experience, probably because my mom thought it was funny to wear “Magnum Condom” T-shirts to pick me up from school. At camp I didn’t have any friends because everyone had been going their whole lives, and I was just the new girl that never got any mail. Finally one girl befriended me, but she was also anorexic – but who was I to be choosy! The only thing this girl would eat was shredded carrots and Italian dressing. Yet because she was my friend, I did it too in solidarity. When my parents came to pick me up they couldn’t see me at first because I was standing sideways. I obviously didn’t need to lose that weight, but I did learn that starving yourself is a pretty effective method.

    Then when I got to high school I started, you know, banging dudes. My mom put me on birth control so I wouldn’t become a teen mom. LITTLE DID SHE KNOW SHE RUINED MY CAREER AND I COULD HAVE HAD MY OWN TV SHOW ON MTV!

    Once I got on the pill I started packing on some pounds. At first it was cool. For the first time I had big boobs, and an ass. I also cried everyday for an hour because of the excessive hormones but did I mention my big tits!!!?? WORTH IT!

    Because I had grown up so excessively skinny, I also was in the habit of eating like a football player. My appetitive was massive. Yet once I was a teenager on the pill and eating for two despite my non-pregnancy, it didn’t exactly translate. But at first I didn’t really notice. My weight was first brought to my attention when I was hostessing at a restaurant at age 16, and every day after I work I would get a brownie sundae because of course I did. Then one fateful Friday one of the older waitresses was watching me eat with a look of apprehension.

    Waitress: You know – you probably shouldn’t eat a brownie sundae everyday like that.
    Toni: Are we talking about the same thing? Because I think eating a brownie sundae everyday is goddamn delicious.
    Waitress: Yeah, but you’re gonna get, you know…

    Then she blew up her cheeks to indicated “fat.”

    That was the first time in 16 years that I thought food could make me fat!

    I didn’t see myself as chubby, but I started to think I had to “watch what I ate.” Then I was approached by dude to “model” because I was the right height and must have had that dead look in my eye that said “I hate myself enough to do anything to please you.” but he told me that I had to lose anywhere between “15-120” pounds to make it to my ideal weight… my birth weight.

    I then developed another complex. Before I felt too skinny, but now I wasn’t feeling skinny enough!

    To deal I pulled from the memories of camp deprivation, and the effectiveness of eating nothing. For the entire summer after graduating high school I ate nothing but a can of tuna fish a day. My friend had told me the “Atkins Diet” was the best way to lose weight, and so I figured mercury poisoning was a sure fire path.

    For the next 11 years I had a weird relationship to food. Was it an easting disorder? I was probably on the spectrum, much like I am with my high functioning autism. Who are all these confident people out there who can look everyone in the eye!? I wouldn’t say I was constantly suffering over my relationship with food, but it was also somewhat disordered. I was never as extreme of my 3 months of losing 1/3 my body mass, but it was off. I would think a lot about food. What did I eat that day? Was it too much? Does that mean I should eat nothing tomorrow to balance it out? It was in a cycle of binging and starving… plus I smoked a LOT of bong hits so I wasn’t exactly making the best choices at 2 am.

    It was stressful!! Being anxious about food sucked because I LOVE eating. Plus, I think the tension I felt made food hard to metabolize. I never enjoyed eating without feeling some sort of guilt around it – or obsessively questioning myself. The psychology around eating was not helpful for my body in any way. Even though I was eating pretty healthy, I still felt like I was eating too much. I had this thing with my stomach, and always wanting it to be flat. So when I ate food, and my stomach would poof out trying to digest the nutrients – that would drive me crazy town. HOW DARE YOU STOMACH NEED SPACE TO PROCESS ALL THAT I HAVE PUT INSIDE OF YOU!

    Then I got pregnant. I could no longer have a “flat stomach” because there was a baby in there poking out. Just like that, I stopped caring about what I ate. Of course I INSISTED that everything was not only organic, but also harvested by fair trade gnomes, but other than that I ate whatever I wanted. When I was hungry I ate, and never thought about it again. I stopped thinking about food entirely except how yummy it was. I felt like what I assumed it felt like to be a guy. “Me stomach want food. Me stomach happy now that food in it.” I gained about 50 pounds when preggers and couldn’t have given less of a shit because HOLY FUCK MY TITS WERE MASSIVE!

    Then I had the baby and was breastfeeding. Now I don’t know if you’ve ever had a parasite suckle from your teat 70 times a day, but boy does that give you an appetite! So I ate when I was hungry, which was ALL DAY LONG. I would have two hamburgers for dinner no problem. I ate constantly and joyously.

    7-years after the birth of The Munch I still have a pretty ravenous appetitive, even though I only breastfeed when asked politely by random men on the Internet for money – it’s my side hustle. I eat what I feel like eating and never feel guilt about it because I need a lot of food to live my life! I move my body a lot, dancing, walking, doing yoga, and beating my head against the wall wishing I had Lena Dunham’s career – that burns more calories than you’d think. Yet since my pregnancy, I never went back to my previous relationship with food. My body creating and hosting a life gave me such a more profound relationship to it, and I was freed from the stress around eating. Because my psychology around eating has changed so drastically, I think my body processes food better. I don’t watch what I eat. I eat what I want when I want it. That involves, gluten, sugar, meat, cheese, pizza, meatball sammiches… I eat like a dude in high school but add some bok choy. Yet I had been feeling that my body was totally fine! I had no problems with it!!! NONE!

    UNTIL THE TICK!!!

    Now another thing worth mentioning is part of my total body acceptance has to do with the fact that I NEVER look in mirrors. We have a mirror at my dance studio of course, but I’m not looking at my body to pick it apart aesthetically. I’m looking at the whole package and how it moves as an instrument of art. It doesn’t occur to me to pinch my stomach fat, but rather I’m noticing if my arabesque has the right line, or if my butt could move faster while pumping it to Drake. At home I don’t have mirrors except in the bathroom and there’ll all kind of dirty and covered with pieces of food from flossing to close.

    But since my fucking TICK BITE, and my fear of having TICK STD’s I’ve had to search my body nightly to see if any tiny insect is sexually violating me with its tiny tick dick. I have to look in a mirror to make sure I’m not missing anything and… You guys it’s fucking me up!!!!

    I’m like wait what’s that mole on my back? Has that always been there? What’s up with my upper thighs? Is my butt okay… wait, can it move faster to Drake or not? But also is it okay looking?? Oh yes it can move faster, nice.

    I’m getting body dysmorphia trying to make sure I don’t have ticks on me! Looking in a mirror too much will drive you nuts!

    But I have a solution! I will use a flashlight and search for ticks in the dark instead… because then it’s like a fun nighttime party game that justifies getting wasted every night. THAT’S HEALTHY RIGHT!

    Here is the tick that bit me… under a microscope. The Lab that tested him for tick STD’s sent it to me. Sweet right!

    June 7, 2017 • Being Preggo, Breast Feeding, change, emotions, Health, pregnancy • Views: 1013

  • The Mystery Of Miscarriages

    A week ago, one of my closest friends found out she was pregnant. She took the test and her life was changed forever in a moment, punctuated by a blue plus sign. She came to visit me so we could share in this miraculous moment together. We hugged and right away felt I was embracing two beautiful souls. She was happy, scared, nervous, nauseous, tired, and joyous – with her tummy full of a baby. We talked about the future, planned how I was going to be at the birth and just as fast as it all started, the fear of it all ending began.

    At first there was light bleeding. Nothing to be nervous about, as we assumed it was a good sign of the baby getting comfy in its new home as the egg emplanted itself on the uterine wall. Then the bleeding got heavier and we realized that there is such a fine line between “healthy” bleeding and “scary” bleeding. It was hard to know what side we were on, so we searched the Internet for answers.

    There were so many possibilities. Women saying they bled their entire pregnancy yet had a healthy baby, others who had lost a twin but the other baby survived, some who experienced chemical pregnancies, and then of course those mourning the loss of spirit that never came to be. Nothing was clear. The cramping was mild, but who can really tell one person’s pain compared to another? It was hard to self-diagnose and the more we read the more stressed we became.

    The waiting was agony. I sat and watched her curled up in a spiraled fetal position, terrified for the fate of this little being inside her. While a woman gets to experience the great gift of a life growing inside her, she also may sometimes feel a life ending as well. All I wanted to do was cry. Even though we can always look at the metaphysical and biological reasoning for such events, that doesn’t dissolve the pain.

    I felt like we had to do something proactive. We went to the hospital for a blood test hoping to at least learn for sure what was going on. Miscarriages are surprisingly common – a staggering 25% of all pregnancies end that way – yet there is so little we really know about them. The doctor told us it could be a miscarriage, or it could be bleeding, and that there is no way to know unless blood is taken today, and then again in two days to compare the hormone levels. She took another pregnancy test which came up positive, but pregnancy hormones can be present in the body for up to a week after a miscarriage. Everything felt so inconclusive.

    Listening to the uncertainty made me feel outraged. Considering miscarriages are such a huge part of women’s health, why isn’t it a bigger priority in the medical community to understand and preventing? There is a blue pill that wakes up a man’s dead penis, and there is nothing we can do for a baby trying to hold onto life?

    When we got home, The Munch was concerned and wanted to know what was going on.

    Munch: Why did you go to the hospital?
    Toni: Because your Auntie isn’t feeling good, and we needed to make sure she was okay.
    Munch: Why isn’t she feeling good?
    Toni: We are not sure, but something might be wrong with the tiny baby inside her.
    Munch: Is the baby sick?
    Toni: That is what we are trying to find out.
    Munch: Why is the baby sick?
    Toni: Well, sometimes babies get made, but they don’t get to be born.
    Munch: You mean I am never going to get to meet the baby in my Auntie’s tummy?
    Toni: I am not sure yet. We’ll find out on Tuesday. But maybe no, you won’t.
    Munch: Will the baby just stay in her tummy and live there forever?
    Toni: Sort of yes. Part of the baby will live with her forever.
    Munch: That’s good. The baby will be so happy in there.

    miscarriage-blog-(i)

    August 11, 2014 • Being Preggo, Mommyhood, Musings, Vagina Stuff, Women's Business • Views: 1438

  • Birth As Performance Art

    A Brooklyn woman is turning her birth into performance art by putting herself and her last weeks of pregnancy on display at a gallery. When she goes into labor Marni Kotak will squeeze that puppy out in front of a live audience. Part of me feels like this is major exploitation, but another part of me feels she is brilliant.

    There is a fine line between exploitation and inspiration, which I feel I straddle everyday. I write about The Munch because she ignites ideas I feel compelled to share and it keeps me from boring my friends by talking about her all day. After all, she consumes so much of what I think about I have to get it out somehow. I tell myself that she is more than a worthy subject because observing a child grow is relatable to all humans who have ever been a baby. And then I tell myself to get a cute pair of flared corduroy pants and eat less sugar.

    I feel like raising a baby is an art form worth sharing in the same way that writing, painting or dancing is… so maybe birthing a baby is too?

    My initial conviction was that birth should be an intimate experience, and to have a bunch of strangers watching this magical moment would cheapen it. Yet obviously this woman sees birth as part of her own artistic self and sharing it with the world is maybe the her own living personal manifestation of the art inside of her. And besides, hospital births often have people in the room who you don’t know and will never see again. Who was that guy with the camera anyway? Maybe birth isn’t about privacy because creating a child is actually a very public act? You are creating another human for society after all….

    We also have to think of how birth is viewed in today’s society and why transforming it into art might be very meaningful. For modern western women there is also a lot of psychological and emotional confusion around birth. The way it is represented in the media perpetuates a fear culture that is completely inaccurate. Women are often made to feel out of control and like they don’t know what they are doing. There is so much anxiety attached to the birthing experience that women often lose trust in themselves and their connection to their bodies.

    So maybe this birth as art will be very empowering to not only the artist performing, but the people watching as well?

    But what this experiment isn’t seemingly taking into consideration is how the baby is going to feel coming into the world as a piece of art. Is little baby X going to feel objectified that their vaginal entrance into the world is like their debut curtain call even though they didn’t know they made it through the second round of auditions? Maybe the baby will be an exhibitionist for the rest of their lives because of the quantum energy surrounding their first breath? Or maybe everyone will be in such awe that it will experience a massive injection of collective love? Or maybe if this woman was a real edgy artist she would give birth to soldier carrying a white flag in its teeth because that would really make a political statement.

    October 10, 2011 • 1 year old, Being Preggo, Birth, Musings, Political Banter • Views: 921

  • “We Are Trying ;)”

    The other day I am at a dinner party talking to a newly married couple and a few members of their family. I guess because I was holding a baby, the topic of when this couple was going to start having children came up. Under normal circumstances, it is not common to hear about the sex lives of other humans in a public setting. Sure, you can picture it all you want, but on average, people keep that stuff private. That is unless you are talking about making babies.

    “Oh we are trying…” The wife gave her husband a coy smile, and suddenly I dry heaved with dread remembering that I had just shook this guys hand and was currently licking shrimp sauce off my fingers.

    The whole family smiled, even the grandmother, and all I could think about is how they just told us they were screwing a lot.

    Setting the mood….

    Ohhhhhh yeahhhhhh…

    May 11, 2011 • 9-12 months, Being Preggo, Musings • Views: 1006

  • The language around birth is scary as f*ck!

    So what is with the language around birth?  Do you not find it a bit intimidating?

    1)    Labor: So the only words that I know associated with labor are “hard” labor and “manual” labor.  YIKES!  That is not exactly the peaceful image I want when I think about bringing a bebe into the world.  Also…why are women always “going into” labor, like it is some dark cavernous abyss?  And if you are going into labor, that means you somehow have to get out of it right?  How do I get out of labor?  Maybe we could call it “birthing moment” instead.  Like “Ohhhh…. No big deal everyone.  I am just having my birthing moment.”

    2)    Contractions: Okay… so that reminds me of math equations and grammar.  I don’t want to be thinking about school subjects I was only quasi good at during my birthing moment!  How about instead of contractions we said “birthing wave,” like “I am just riding this birthing wave, and when the waves get closer together my bebe will surf onto the shore.”  Doesn’t that sound nice?

    3)    Pushing: If the baby were to be coming out of my asshole, I would understand this idea of pushing.  I have pushed things out of my ass before.  In fact I am quite used to it.  But “pushing” something out of my vagina?  Nope.  That makes no sense to me.  My vagina is used to things coming in… not things coming out.  How about “exhaling” the baby out.  Yes… that sounds plausible… just a series of downward exhales.

    4)    Due Date: This makes me think of a deadline… and that makes me think of work… and work is not magical.  Besides… it is not like humans that are out of the womb develop at the exact same rate… why should we predict or expect baby fetuses to be any different?  Then you get fixated on this one day like it’s God’s truth, when really, only 5% of babies ever come on that day.  Why not a “bebe birthday month?”  Like “Eh… you will have the baby sometime in July.”

    5)    Water breaking/bloody show/mucus plug: Wrong, wrong, wrong.  Makes me think of a horror movie!  Seriously?  A bloody show?  Am I going to an avant garde Broadway horror musical?  Can’t those just be “signs the baby is coming soon?”

    I am just saying, that language can scare you! Especially because if you have never had a baby, birth is such an unknown experience. You can ask 100 women about their birth and you will get 100 different descriptions of what they went through.  If this is your first time in such foreign territory, don’t you at least want to talk and hear about birth with softer language?  I am not saying that I think birthing is going to be a walk in the park, but I do think the “common” medical words could have more positive imagery.

    June 29, 2010 • Being Preggo • Views: 883

  • “But Officer… I am wicked pregnant and super have to pee!”

    “But Officer… I am wicked pregnant and I super have to pee!” Who would have known that the above words would get me out of being arrested? But they did. Okay… so maybe I was driving 20 miles over the speed limit… and definitely deserved getting pulled over. But c’mon! Nature calls! Did I mention I was also late to meet the baby’s new potential pediatrician… and get to yoga on time? I had things to do!

    Under normal circumstances, I would have gotten a speeding ticket and been on my way, but unbeknownst to me, my license was suspended!?

    “Well Ma’am… your license is suspended and I am going to have to arrest you.”
    “Ummmmm seriously??” But officer… how can a practice my preggo headstands in jail??

    Looking at my big preggo belly and my legs crossed, the officer took pity. He talked to his supervisor, and rather than arresting me, followed me to the hospital so I could go pee, and still make the tail end of the doctors appointment. Meeting the pediatrician with a police escort I am sure gave juuuuuuuust the right impression of what kind of mom I am going to be, as I asked about getting vitamin K as an oral supplement rather than having baby get the shot. Yeesh.

    So mom fails… but baby totally wins, as without that big pregnant belly, I am sure I would be writing this from my jail cell right now. You know, before this happened, I thought there was a possibility that I wasn’t totally prepared for the responsibility ahead. Starting with the fact that without my mom having purchased all the goods for the baby’s needs, I would have brought baby home wrapped in paper towels and duck taped to my chest. Another warning signal for me might have been when I got an email forwarded to me with all these “fail” pictures of bad parenting, (my favorites being below) and I was totally inspired about all the funny pictures I could take with my baby!

    I am thinking the fact that I am already exploiting baby in utero to get out of jail sentences, imagining all hysterical predicaments to put baby and take pictures for my own amusement, as well as speeding 20 miles over the speed means, means I still got a lot of work to do.

    At least, after spending 3 hours on the phone with DMV, I cleared my name of my suspended license, because it was not my fault. I actually paid that ticket of talking on my cell phone while driving… to my defense, though, I wasn’t preggo then. But yes, I totally told the guy on the phone my pregnancy woes to make sure he sent the fax TODAY so I could get my license re-instated. Hey… who knows how much longer I will have the DMV and the police on my side, and if a baby in my belly is the ticket, then baby, you can stay in there until college.

    June 25, 2010 • Being Preggo • Views: 3406

  • I Am Special Because I am Pregnant

    I am special because I am pregnant…

    Being preggo is probably the only time in a chick’s life where random people will shamelessly put their hands on you, and ask intimate questions about your health.  Usually, people don’t give a care if you are sleeping, or having regular bowel movements… but when you have baby in there, suddenly you are a magnet for attention and concern.

    Some women hate to have their personal space violated in this manner, but I for one, think it is awesome.  Just by being in a public space, people want to talk to me, or give me affection by rubbing my belly.  In my book… that is pretty freaking fantastic. Yes, it may be strange to be in a grocery store while receiving unsolicited advice on hemorrhoids, but when else will complete strangers relate to you with this same level of intimacy?

    We are such a guarded culture, avoiding all eye contact or potential interaction with the humans around us.  Most of us live our lives on the defense, doing whatever we can, not to interact with our fellow species… unless, of course, there is the social lubricant of alcohol/substances to coat the moment with a heightened sense of self-confidence.  It is a rare occasion that we interact with others in a way that breaks down the barriers of social norms, and actually acknowledges the insanity that is humanity.

    The fact that a baby, a miniature human, ignites an abandonment of social convention makes me think the human trepidation about other humans is just that… our conditioning.  That maybe, we are actually hyper social beings that crave the energetic exchange that can only be acquired through another person?  Maybe being a super preggo chick reminds people of their own vulnerability of wanting to be loved and that is why they are so quick to share a piece of themselves with me?

    Although it may get old telling people when I am due, or that I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, I will never tire of being appreciated and acknowledged.  It is not like I am doing anything but walking around with my big pregnant belly, but I have gotten more positive attention than I ever have on my 30 years on this planet.  And believe you me, that has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with this creature that kicks my ribs when I am trying to eat an organic turkey burger and then punches my bladder with little demonic hands just to make sure I am paying attention.  Once I squeeze this puppy out, I am sorely going to miss hearing stories about nipple infections and stuffing bra’s with cabbage as I get my Star Magazine.

    June 12, 2010 • Being Preggo • Views: 1833