My Baby Wont Stop Crying : Rubber Duck Baby Shower Cakes.
When Your Baby Won't Stop Crying: A Parent's Guide to Colic
One million babies born in the U.S. each year suffer from colic, and yet until now, colic has been only a footnote in baby care books. Defined as constant, unpredictable and inconsolable crying, parents dealing with colic are desperate for solutions.82% (5)
Now there's help. Mental health professional Tonja Krautter, having been through the ordeal of raising a baby with colic, offers parents a complete blueprint for coping, including:
-- how to determine what may be causing your baby's colic
-- successful strategies for soothing the baby, and what to do when you can't
-- dealing with the emotional impact of colic on the rest of the family
-- hope for getting to the other side of the colic experience
Fake Woman Original Man
My earliest soliloquy of brainfucked talk...at Buzznet..no other place ever on cyberspace ever fucked my mind as Buzznet did..I have come out of rehab ..retracing the old path to get myself cured completely .. God made man.. he kept him original. God made mans cock he kept it original. He gave one eye on his cock to weep and produce and weep and reproduce..but he kept it original. Man is first cockeyed original. He gave man an ass in case the one eyed cock let him down.. he kept it original.. in the praise of the lord man is called the original asshole.God had no ass so he got away. God made a woman.. but god was on my beach day dreaming .. saw a sand dune .. looked almost like a woman.. so god made the first fake . Yes he made a woman... woman has been faking it ever since...fake orgasms.. a womans fake war cry.. and the first woman never much like Adam the original man.. he was sweaty , he dug his nose,he scratched his ball and flakes of pubic hair that fell on the floor.. Adam belched and farted after a fuck loved to turn his back and snore. And God made a fake menstrual cycle woman was cursed forever..tears of blood if they stopped more tears for the rest of her life...women must have stuffed an entire field of cotton to stretch from India to California.. poor women use recycled paper..an as it is the news is needs no blood clotting,, so much of blood all around. And God made Original man as a cuckold.. in stepped the original serpent he flashes his cock that was like a traffic signal yellow light , green light and red light.. women have never cared a fuck for traffic signals ever since.. they fuck anything.. dont go red even when the guy humping her turns yellow and grief. So the serpent fucked Eve and he smelt of profanity the acqueous vapours of curddled Calvin Klein.. no fuckinhumansweat.. woman she fucked the serpent too, she faked itso badly and the fucker lost his internet time.. was shown the door..from fucked paradise he was sent into cyberspace and is fucking anything and everything on two legs.. animals begged god and asked for four legs.. the serpent fucks dimwittedbirds on two legs to. And this is the Genesis of Mans flaccid fall .. And the original mans cock is in his head and it needs no length and strength,.gets errect and can fuck.. no stop overs.. but you connect with your fingered mouse is one way of getting back at guys who flash their long dicks at gaping old men at steaming gymns. And God gave the fake woman some saving grace..her gave her an uper storey too .. Titanic tits,, Pleated and Tucked in Posteriors,Nebulously nefarious.. nipples, golden showered thatch.. with a doormat..that says Dogs and Indians not allowed.. the vaginal helipad that can upload all your sorrows and woes too., help you delete your misery with the click And its a fact I am dangerous demented my life from the day I thought I could write sparsely garrulously ,as literary vegetation needs a green thumb..too.. needs some source of inspiration.. my inspiratiom is God Mother Delete..I write to delete on a womans heart.. a woman deletes it on a mans ass , your western values stink .. only you get hurt if something from someones fucked imagination brings you to life .. you guys are all like geen velvet .. cry your balls out dont send me mail .. baby I am 4 months on the net .. we are all kleenex tissues wipe your holy than thou asses .. your golden dreams of a snot ..but I dont seek revenge with my pen soaked in putrid pus.. relationshis on the net are alll about congratulatory self mastubations seeing the goatherd of a grin on the toilet mirror..begone.. love needs to be flushed once and for all disgusting love on the net .. toilet humor of a fucked love , love is cheap psychiatry where th couch has more bed bugs crawling up your house in a seedy internet environment.. I dont love you I dream and my dreams are not meant to be prophecies wrecking married homes.. .. I have an imagination.. I put it to the test.. I do that on one leg and do it better than dogs in your areas will do.. I piddle on your sanctimoniousness..tell that to the marines.. my thoughts are like body bags you guy have sold my soul to as a body part..all of you.. Buzznet fuckin lionhearted ,, all... fuck I was happy fucking myself with my silver stick and Tony Pierciing upto the hilt at Bloggerspot tilll I dreamt of a homecoming.. . And at least at Bloggerspot you are not leopard spotted and shot with poisoned arrows.. I dont want to spawn .. my immaturirty on a flea infested sperm tainted mattress of this journal. I will shift back to the ICCU. at Bloggerspot.. thank you maam.. I wont cry my heart out to galvanise my sucked up soul.. So a woman in the head is a fuckin racist and stick to the faked uncoming woman on the bed...atleast the stains on the bed spread are for real...that they made by someonelse last summer should not worry original man.. after all we Men are all cousins.8.45 m mumbai.. rented home a rented man. The only character rMy Thanks To A Photo Journalist At Dadar Tilak Bridge
189,688 items / 1,502,866 views The picture is of a Niyaz of the hijras performed by Aruna Naik of Mumbai at Taragadh to appease Allah and the Ahle Bayt and the the Holy Saint of Ajmer Sharif and Taragadh. It has nothing to do with the sentiments that I wish to unroll and reveal and the love of my beloved city Mumbai. I arrived at Dadar station yesterday at about 2.30 pm, dressed in saffron and barefeet, my camera satchel and a suitcase , it was raining heavily outside Dadar Station East, friends I had made on the train carried my suitcase as the handle that rolls the wheels had broken and my legs and feet were both badly injured due to my barefeet trek to Taragadh and from there over rocks to the Graves of the Hijra Saint and his biological Son next t Bibi Hafiz Jamals grave at Khada Pada close to Taragadh but over rocky terrain. Outside the stallion no cab was willing to ply to Bandra as each one told me the area was flooded but they were looking for long distance Bhada and I dont blame them, I waited for over an hour the rain would not stop so I decided to walk. no raincoat no umbrella just me my bare wounds, near Pritam hotel lane I invoked Khwajah Garib Nawaz as I was worried my camera would be damaged, and in normal situations I dont invoke Khwajah Saab I am happy reciting Ya Ali Madad.. But I was coming from Ajmer and Khwajah Saabn was a spontaneous reaction, I had given up all hopes as I was near the turning lane off Tilak bridge that leads out to Dadar from from the station, a person wearing a helmet I could not see his face but he knew me and called me out as Aye Photographer I told him about my plight he was on his bike hunting for rain pictures and was going to Sion , he said he would drop me at Matunga , and I forgot to ask his name I was so relived to get out from a wet sticky situation , near Plaza he halted the bike to take a picture of a cloudy tower, behind Plaza cinema , he also mentioned this shot he was taking was one of a lifetime and he had never seen rain clouds like this in 20 years , I did not bother to take out my camera to take the shot as I am not into rain photography I shoot the fucked gutters and the poor sleeping in the rains. As we approached Matunga West signal and no taxi was willing to take me to Bandra this kind good Maharashtrian photo journalist had a change of heart , he felt sorry for me as a human being as a fellow photographer he said he would drop me till Bandra but take a U turn from the Reclamation bridge near the Fire Station , I blessed him and told him I would never forget this gesture I thought I woulds shoot him but I could not as the place was flooded where he dropped , he did not remove his helmet and fled away I was crying on the streets .now all drenched and reached the place under the bridge where the tribal people weave baskets opposite the Nargis Dutt slums. I called up home which is not very far but I was in real bad shape my leg wounds has begun too bleed and gutter water had entered my open flesh, my wife was not at home my daughter in law told me my sons too were not at home , she said take a rickshah and I blew my top .. what fuck ricksha there were no rickshas on the road. But as I put the mobile phone in my satchel I saw two rickshas one was limping with the driver pushing it to safety the other ricsha guy an old man saw me I told him my plight , he said you are Firoze Bhai I placed 20 bucks in his hand and pleaded him to drop me, he told the other guy to wait he would come back.. When I sat in the rick he told me his son was Firoze Rafaee my best friend from Mahim who I shoot every year at Mahim Police Sandal and Sakibs Sandal, I began to cry and I am crying as I write this now..he told me the man whose rickshah was out of order had helped him in the rains when his ricksha had failed so he would drop me and go back to the ricksha stranded near the Reclamation Bridge . And so I thank Khwajah Saab Ajmeri I reached home safely , the person who let me in was none but my grand daughter Marziya Shakir a street photographer too only 3 and a half years too, she cleaned my wounds and I will end now as my crying just wont stop.. Thank you photographer friend so if you guys know him when you see the picture he shot of the skyscraper behind Plaza cinema with rain clouds in the newspapers do tell him I have not forgotten him.. Yeh Toh Khwajah Ka Karam Hai..
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