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#fatherhood
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fallahifag · 2 months
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Ariha, Palestine. Photo taken in 1993 by Mike Goldwater
ID: [Photo taken in a celebration. It shows a man holding up a little girl in the air with one arm. They’re both smiling wildly. Behind them, there are Palestinian flags waving and a crowd of people.] END ID.
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forestpixies · 12 days
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no actually you’re either gentle parenting your child or you’re being emotionally and/or physically abusive to them, whether or not you’re aware of that.
because the term gentle parenting already includes discipline and teaching your kid right from wrong. gentle parenting doesn’t mean you can’t tell your kid no. it means you can tell them no when they do something they shouldn’t, but instead of punishing or yelling at them, you’re explaining and giving them reasons why they can’t do that, you are helping them learn and encouraging them to be better. gentle parenting means you’re using reasons built on mutual respect instead of anger. because yes, no matter how young your child is, they deserve respect too.
I’m sorry but most of the times when someone says they’re a strict parent, what it means is that they give their child childhood trauma that’ll last a lifetime, whether or not they’re aware of it. especially parents who brag to other people about how strict they are and how they punished their children.
and I’m sorry but saying you have a short temper is never an excuse to be emotionally and/or physically abusive towards your kid either.
“I yelled at you because I have a short temper” then why am I the one suffering? if you can’t control your anger, then get help. work on it. do better. be better.
also… your child standing up for themself against you, when you’re being abusive to them, isn’t them being disrespectful towards you. it means they are defending themself because you wouldn’t do that for them and so they had to step in and be their own protector.
if you’re a parent and can defend and stand up for yourself when you feel like you need to, but at the same time punish your kid when they stand up for themself against you, then you are the problem.
I was that child and I’m gonna make it as simple as I can for any parent out there — because no kid deserves to go through what I went through — imagine yourself owning a dog. really. you can either
a.) beat that dog whenever they do something wrong and simply take your anger out on them until they’re fully submissive and are terrified of you
or
b.) train them with love and gentleness and earn their love and loyalty in return
now imagine both A and B dogs on leashes and imagine them no longer being on leashes one day. which dog do you think will run away as far as they can and never look back, and which one do you think will stay because they love and want to be with their owner?
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lalabubaby · 5 months
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Curly mullet ✔️ Short shorts ✔️ Lalabu Dad Shirt ✔️
The trifecta we never knew we needed 🤩 
The first babywearing shirt designed with the dad bod in mind. Get yours HERE and join the Lalabu movement ❤️
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tt: correeismyname
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dollsgaze · 2 years
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What is a home if not the first place you learn to run from?
Richard kadrey // Clementine von Radics // Taylor Swift // Alice (1988) // Amanda Lovelace // sue zhao // ? // Édouard Levé //Emily Berry // ?
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zee-rambles · 8 months
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—————
Twin Sense…
First I Prev I Next
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sweetmorninglamb · 1 year
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i don’t forgive you (but please don’t hold me to it)
1. the front bottoms; father 2. shameless; the american dream 3. phoebe bridgers; kyoto 4. unknown 5. ocean vuong; someday i’ll love ocean vuong 6. domenico ghirlandaio; francesco sassetti and his son teodoro 7. mitski; a burning hill 8. unknown 9. halsey; i would leave me if i could 10. euphoria; the theater and its double
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simpleslugs · 5 months
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Listen, I am still not over the fact that Jango Fett was paid in about 20 million credits and a kid. The Kaminoans discussed contract details and Jango specifically requested a son. He was also a weirdly stable father for the Star Wars universe. They just lived in their little apartment, safe from the rain, and went about their days. He really just wanted to raise his kid and get on with his life. Boba had a weirdly wholesome childhood for the world he grew up on.
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Talk. || baby daddy!Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
[MASTERLIST]
Rating: M Words: 2.2K~ Pairing: dad!gaz x mother!reader CW: canon-typical violence, events of MW2019 (references), CHILD DEATH (mentioned), pregnancy, underage!! pregnancy, some cultural/religious judgements regarding underage/out-of-wedlock pregnancy, birth (references). Tags: you/your pronouns, (reader implied female because 'mum', 'mama' and other nicknames are used + mentions of pregnant!user), hurt/comfort, fluff?, military inaccuracies I'm sure. Summary: Gaz and the reader are co-parents of a 10-year-old girl (the result of a teen pregnancy). Gaz calls home to talk to his family and he's having a bit of a breakdown after a mission. a/n: This happens in the MW2019 game timeline, somewhere after the Butcher's interrogation. NOT PROOFREAD, NO BETA WE DIE LIKE MEN.
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“SIMISOLA RUBY GARRICK, I WILL NOT CALL YOU AGAIN, GET DOWN HERE!” You shout at the top of your lungs, your voice reverberating all the way to the upper floor of your small townhouse.
“IN A MINUTE!” The girl’s voice calls out from upstairs for the… umpteenth time in the last 10 minutes.
“I swear, Kyle, this girl will be the death of me one of these days.” You tell him. “I’m not well-equipped to deal with a teenager.” You grumble as you look at Kyle’s face on the phone screen.
“She’s not a teen yet, lovie.” He retorts with a little smile. “She’s only 10.” He reminds you.
“She’s teenager enough for my taste. Bloody ignoring me whenever I call her!” You reply with a bit of a huff.
“She’s gettin’ older.” He says simply. “You tellin’ me you obeyed your mum every day at her age?” He asks.
“No, but…” You trail off and sigh, dejectedly. “I hate when you make sense, you know that?” You retort, glaring right at him with your best attempt at the ‘mum stare’, but it’s not as effective through the phone.
“Sorry, mama. One of us has to.” She adds with a mischievous smirk on his full lips. He knows how much you like it when he calls you that.
“Shut it, Garrick, I don’t want to hear it.” You retort and you can hear, and see, him giggling on the other side.
From the way the area around him has gotten progressively darker as you spoke for the last 30 minutes, you can tell he’s somewhere out East, somewhere where the sun is starting to set, since in Birmingham it’s only 3 P.M. and still fully bright outside.
“How’s the OP goin’?” You ask despite knowing that he’s not allowed to say anything about it so he simply shoots you a look before raising his fingers to bring a cigarette to his lips, taking a good long drag.
“It’s goin’ fine enough.” He adds and shrugs, before looking off to the distance just off-camera. He’s… lying. You can tell from the way his eyes furrow and his scarred cheek scrunches in frustration.
Turning your head back up, you aim your eyes at the stairs. “BLOODY FUCKIN’ HELL, SIMI, DAD’S ON THE PHONE FOR YOU!” You announce to what, at this point, has to be the ghosts that kidnapped your daughter because she refuses to come downstairs.
Your ears pick up on the sound of her bedroom door flying open and her feet taking her through the carpeted hall and down the steps.
You watch her coming through the vintage, little pass-through window in your kitchen. “Did’ya say dad?!” The dark-skinned girl says as she comes sliding around the corner and into the room.
“Oh, THAT lights a fire under your arse, innit? But not all those other times I told you to come down? What if I was dying, huh?” You scold her and she immediately smiles the same impish smile your baby daddy is sporting on the phone screen. He loves seeing you be maternal.
“Sorry, Mamsie.” She says while showing absolutely no regret at all in her young features. Shaking your head, you pass the phone over to Simi, whose face lights up at the sight of Kyle. “Dad!”
“Oi, kiddo!” You hear Kyle say through the phone as Simisola takes the phone with her down to the sitting room and parks herself on the sofa, talking about all sorts of things with her dad.
You watch her for a moment through the pass-through window. She’s bouncing excitedly, talking about school, her mates, her grades… It’s not often she gets to talk to Gaz, less even that she gets to see him.
Sometimes you wonder if the unpredictability of his job is going to mess her up one day. I mean, her chances of that are already high enough considering the two of you are merely 28 and have been raising her since you were still kids yourselves… But the fact he’s more gone than around in her day-to-day life is bound to mess her up too…
Maybe you should get her into some therapy, just in case.
But then again, she seems surprisingly unaffected by all of this. She’s healthy, smart, sweet… a bit of a smartass (she takes after her dad in that)... And above all else, she seems... happy.
All things considered, of all the blokes that could’ve gotten you knocked up at seventeen, Kyle Garrick was the best option… And your daughter was the best outcome possible.
Sure, you weren’t official or anything back then (nor are you now, really... though you share a bed and a home and you kiss and-), the pregnancy had been an unforeseen consequence of a tryst in the back of a car after drinking at the local pub… But looking back, you got lucky.
Either way, you were both too young, too eager, too needy, too… stupid. Neither of you thought of condoms, hoping the ‘trusty’ pull-out method would suffice.
It didn’t.
You still remember the way you had a panic attack in a toilet stall at school, you and a girlfriend skipping class to pop over to Tesco and buy a box of pregnancy tests… She took one with you, just to ease your worries… And then yours came out positive.
The fear and absolute dread you felt was paralyzing, the way you stayed holed up in the loo while your friend tried to console you and used her fuschia Motorola Razr to text your other friends to come to the toilets after class.
From there, your girlfriends texted his mates, and by the time you noticed, Kyle was elbowing his way into the bathroom, past the group of waiting students, all of them mutual friends of you both. He spotted you sitting on the dirty tile floor in the corner, eyes glued on the pregnancy test in your hand. You were ugly crying, snot all over, and hyperventilating.
Even back then, Kyle was already years ahead of any other teen you knew. He was mature and calm, collected… He sat beside you, rubbed your back, and told you it’d all be okay. You know deep down that he only held it together to calm you down but once he was alone he probably cried like a baby too.
His parents are Nigerian immigrants. In their minds, there was an order of doing things and their only son getting a girl pregnant before marriage (or before hitting maturity, really) was NOT it.
And your parents, well… They weren’t very happy about it either. Not that any parent ever is when their daughter comes home and drops the bomb that she’s expecting.
That was a bad moment for your lives… You both lived with your parents and you had to go back and forth between school and baby appointments… Kyle was by your side the whole time (or as much as he could, considering he had enlisted as soon as he hit 18) and both your parents tried their best to be supportive… But you never quite earned Mr. and Mrs. Garrick’s affection. Not even now, 10 years later.
At first, they didn’t even want to believe the baby was Kyle’s. Your father ended up having some very heated choice words with Mr. Garrick, defending your honor, and almost bringing the house down screaming that you weren’t a slag.
You were on edge and depressed back then. Once the news spread, most of your friends stopped hanging out with you out of pressure put on by their own parents… They still smiled at you and showed encouragement to you whenever you saw each other… But they didn’t come over anymore, barely spoke to you in the halls… 
People stared in the streets… Whenever you went into a baby shop or the diaper aisle at the supermarket… You were stared at. The whispers of “Look at her, such a slag”, “So young and already up the duff…” never came, at least not that you heard them, but you found yourself clutching your mum’s arm particularly hard whenever she managed to drag you out of the flat and to the shops.
You don’t like looking back on the pictures of that year in sixth form. As much as you love your child, seeing the way your face became hollow and sad, your eyes weighed down by dark circles as your belly grew consistently until nothing you wore fit you right… It still stung.
You wonder how you managed to retain enough mental faculties to not earn yourself a post-partum depression diagnosis. Whatever your brain did, it did it well...
With her skin all wrinkly and red and screaming at the top of her lungs, her little fists shaking, eyes all glossy, and a little clump of dark hair on her head slicked back by the amniotic fluid… You fell in love with Simi the moment the nurses set her against your bare chest.
And Kyle did too. You could see it in the way his eyes softened, his lip trembled and his nose and chin scrunched up to contain a wail. As soon as he held her in his arms for the first time, so small against his chest, her little body wrapped in a blanket against his fatigues... you started openly weeping at the sight, blaming the hormones, but the fact of the matter was that she was so small, so tender, so… perfect.
You tune out most of your daughter’s conversation with her father as you go about preparing dinner for the two of you, moving about the kitchen, lost in your own thoughts.
Your ears perk up when you hear Kyle ask Simi if she can pass the phone back to you and let the two of you have a conversation. The girl complains a bit about how much she misses him but ends up acquiescing to him. Daddy’s girl, she is.
She rushes over, her mini twists bouncing with each step as she drops the phone onto your hand and then waves an exaggerated “See you soon, dad!”. You watch her bounce away and trot back up the stairs before you look down at the phone.
Putting on your earpods, you set the phone down on the counter, propped up by the flour container so you can still be in frame as you go about breading some thin chicken cutlets. 
“What is it, Kyle?” You ask him softly and raise your brows at him. His face is a lot more grim and he lights a second cigarette.
“We lost a kid.” He replies softly. “A little boy in Urzikstan.” He adds and sighs loudly. Your whole face twists lightly into sadness. “Some… fuckin’ plonker of a terrorist…” He trails off.
“Did you kill him?” You ask him and he nods his head solemnly. You’ve learned long ago not to give your input too much on these topics… He’s chosen to keep you and your daughter away from it all… 
He once mentioned that asking to be let in would be like 'dipping your pinkie toe in a pond, never knowing if something would be reaching up to pull you in'. You swore he got that quote from a John Wick movie, and then you both laughed… But you knew he meant the sentiment of it.
“I had to stoop down to his level first.” He tells you as he takes another drag os his new cigarette. “Threatened his wife… his son… to get him to talk.” He trails off and sucks in a sharp breath.
Even with the progressive darkness that has set in now, wherever he is, you can still spot the way his nose scrunches as he tries to hold in his crying… His voice is still steady, but his eyes… Always so expressive… You’ve learned to read them in 10 years of co-parenting.
“Every time that bloody barrel even went slightly near that kid’s face I-” Kyle trembles out a breath and rolls his shoulders. Then, he goes quite.
“Anyways…” He says, trying to deflect his feelings away from the things he’s had to do. “I… I miss Simi… And I miss you.” He adds.
“We miss you too, Kyle.” You reply, trying your best to be positive for him. He needs it. “She can’t stop talking about you, counting down the days ‘till you walk through that door and come wrap her in one of those alledgedly ‘annoying’ bear hugs of yours.” You quip and a genuine smirk forms on his lips.
He nods and you notice him through away his cigarette and move somewhere else. As he walks you notice the space is brighter, the camera is facing upwards, and you can see the ceiling and ceiling lights… But above all else, you see his handsome face, the light wisp of a mustache and a goatee, the scar on his left cheek, his tired eyes, and disheveled hair.
He crosses a threshold into another darkened space, but this one is much quieter. You hear some shuffling sounds and even though now you really can’t see shit, you know he’s there, staring at you… And you know he’s lying down.
“Lovie… Can I ask you a favour?” He says as he sighs deeply and slowly.
“Yeah, what is it?” You end up saying as you set aside the breaded cutlets and wash your hands.
“Tell me everything I’m missing. Tell me everything that Simisola did and said… Tell me about your day… about work… share all the gossip you’ve got…” He requests. 
“Just… Just talk my bloody ear off.” He pleads. “I just need to hear your voice.” He adds, his tone a lot more gentler. “Please…”.
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curingcancercomics · 1 month
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Hey there! I know it's been a while. Something's up, right? I'll be taking a break from posting these smaller format webcomics in order to focus on a larger project that will probably be taking up all my time this year. If I finish it by year's end it'll be a G-D miracle, to be honest, but I gotta try. If there's interest, I'll post about the progress on this page/blog/account. In the meantime, I'll be going through my archive and posting whatever comics I've worked on that I haven't had a chance to share yet. Also, I'll try to get my IG account in order. Follow it here. I'll try to have more regular updates there.
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crescentmoontsuki · 7 months
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Cause y'all loved the first one😭😭❤️❤️🥰🥰
Credit :
First one : https://twitter.com/hanacco_rgk/status/1483325111113752577
Second one : https://twitter.com/VONE5963/status/1542861005306228737
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haggishlyhagging · 10 months
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“There are reports that, even when the facts about conception and birth were made known to primitive peoples, they refused to accept them as true. Some were inclined to view the information as a defect in the intelligence of the white man. Malinowski relates how the Trobrianders went to great pains to explain to him that sexual intercourse had nothing to do with the birth of a child.
Their attitude to their own children also bears witness to their ignorance of any causal relation between congress and the ensuing pregnancy. A man whose wife has conceived during his absence will cheerfully accept the fact and the child, and he will see no reason at all for suspecting her of adultery. One of my informants told me that after over a year's absence he returned to find a newly born child at home. He volunteered this statement as an illustration and final proof of the truth that sexual intercourse has nothing to do with conception. . . .
My friend Layseta, a great sailor and magician of Sinaketa, spent a long time in his later youth in the Amphlett Islands. On his return he found two children, borne by his wife during his absence. He is very fond of them and of his wife; and when I discussed the matter with others, suggesting that one at least of these children could not be his, my interlocutors did not understand what I meant. (Sexual Life of Savages, pp. 193-94)
Frazer points out that the biological facts of life we take for granted could not have been known to primitive peoples. While the part played by the mother in the birth process is obvious, he wrote, how could people in the prescientific era "perceive that the child which comes forth from the womb is the fruit of the seed which was sowed there nine months before?" (Totemism and Exogamy, vol. IV, pp. 61-62).
Margaret Mead makes the even more important point that to the primitive mind children were not the fruit of a momentary act of sexual congress but of years of patient nurture and care:
The Arapesh have no idea that after the initial act which establishes physiological paternity, the father can go away and return nine months later to find his wife safely delivered of a child. Such a form of parenthood they would consider impossible, and furthermore, repellent. For the child is not the product of a moment's passion, but is made by both father and mother, carefully, over time. (Sex and Temperament in Three Primitive Societies, p. 31)
Mead here puts a finger on the most essential characteristic that made the husband the father of a woman's child, namely, that he now had the right to assist his wife in the care and protection of her child. From this standpoint, a new "male mother" makes his appearance in history—the "husband-mother"—as against the former male mother, the mother's brother. Thus fatherhood as a social institution did not begin on the basis of sexual intercourse between a man and woman but as a set of maternal functions performed by the man for his wife's child.”
-Evelyn Reed, Woman’s Evolution: From Matriarchal Clan to Patriarchal Family
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lalabubaby · 5 months
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Wear your baby like never before! Let the adventures with Mom + Dad begin! 🌟
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Order TODAY at https://shop.lalabu.com/pages/dad-shirt
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