- Mom Shares Photo Showing The ‘Healing’ Power Of Breastmilk
- Beware: Restroom Hand Dryers Are Nasty AF
- What Happened When I Found My Teenage Son On A Hookup Site
- Ashley Graham And Her Mom Pose Together In New Swimwear Campaign
- #Goals: These All-Female Mutant Crayfish Are Cloning Themselves
- 11 Things People With Anxiety Often Do
- The ‘Detox’ Trend Is Bullshit, So Save Your Money
- Women Are Having Exercise-Induced Orgasms, And We Are Intrigued
Posted: 07 Feb 2018 08:24 AM PST
You can see the difference in breastmilk color from before and during her daughter’s illness
If you’re a mother who’s breastfed, chances are you’ve had multiple plastic bags of stored milk in your stock pile — and you might have noticed they didn’t all look alike. As it turns out, the color changes in your breastmilk might be happening for some pretty incredible reasons, and one mom’s viral post sheds some light on one of them.
Paige Peterson posted two photos of her breast milk on her Facebook page. One showing her typical milk and the other was of her milk during the time her four-month-old daughter, Raina, had the flu.
“The frozen milk on the left is from 2 weeks ago,” she writes. “The frozen milk on the right is from this past weekend when her swab came back positive. Notice the change in color? My breast milk created antibodies to fight off any infections that Raina may have had. I never gave her Tamiflu.” Peterson isn’t the first to share their stories about breastmilk helping their children.
So, is this really true? Can breastmilk help cure a sick child? According to multiple experts, it can.
“Sometimes when we are sick our body is burning extra calories as we're fighting off that illness, so it could very well increase the calories of mom’s milk to make sure the baby has the energy to be doing the work of fighting off the virus," board certified lactation consultant Rachel Miller of Piedmont Medical Center says. "That definitely would change the appearance of the milk in a way where it would look more yellow."
A 2013 study published in in Clinical and Translational Immunology agrees. The study shows that up to 70 percent of the cells found in colostrum (the initial liquid material mothers produce before they begin lactating) are leukocytes, which are white blood cells that fight infection. “This of course makes sense when considering that newborn babies, not having yet been exposed to the outside world for very long, are very susceptible to just about anything and everything,” the study explains. “They need a large initial ‘dose’ of mom’s immunity to remain healthy.”
After those first few days, normal breast milk only contains around 2 percent of those leukocytes unless your child is sick.
“When either a breastfeeding baby or a breastfeeding mother becomes ill, the percentage of infection-fighting white blood cells found in the breast milk increases up to 94 percent, more closely resembling the white blood cell composition found in colostrum,” the study notes.
Peterson told Scary Mommy she’s had women from around the world contact her saying how much her post has encouraged them to continue breastfeeding. “I posted my story in hopes that more women would consider breastfeeding,” she says.
Obviously, breastfeeding isn’t for everyone. There are some mothers who are unable to breastfeed and still others who choose not to. However you chose to feed your child is up to you. Peterson’s message simply urges women to “be patient and seek help if you need it,” because of the benefits she’s seen personally.
Women’s bodies are truly amazing.
Posted: 07 Feb 2018 08:19 AM PST
Whenever I have to use a public restroom, I get a little anxious. I don't think of myself as a full-on germaphobe, but I am wary of all the yucky germs lurking in the stalls, along the wet counters and oh god please do not get me started on the unseen nastiness no doubt multiplying on the grimy floors! If I have one of my girls with me, I may or may not become slightly hysterical about making sure they DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING with their bare hands.
Okay, so maybe I would wear a HAZMAT suit specially made for public bathroom use if there were such a thing.
Meanwhile, I take the appropriate precautions, like using toilet seat covers and if there aren't any, carefully laying down toilet paper. I use my foot to flush non-automatic flushing toilets and, yes, that's me opening the stall door with a tissue. After I wash my hands for the suggested 20 seconds, or one round of "Happy Birthday," I use a paper towel to turn off the faucet and then another to dry my hands. I like paper towels. I get my very own, untouched length of brown recycled tree pulp thanks to the automatic dispensers. Knowing trees gave up their lives so I could dry my hands is a little unsettling, but I feel better knowing it’s all compostable.
Lately though, I've noticed fewer paper towels and more of those incredibly raucous jet air dryers. They're very sleek looking, usually silver with some orange detailing and maybe a futuristic blue light illuminating the place your hands should go. They click on automatically when you put your hands in and make Silly Putty out of your once youthful hand skin. That's because they blow air up to 400 mph to basically squeegee the water away. That's nice, but if you're over 38 and understandably aware of your aging everything, a squeegee for your skin is not your best choice.
Needless to say, I do not like jet air dryers. Not only do they wreak havoc on my fragile hand skin, but they also freak out my noise sensitive six-year-old who throws her wet hands over her ears whenever we're close to one. Maybe worst of all, they strike me as a bit messy. I've never seen more than one or two in a bathroom, which means I have to walk with dripping hands to reach one. Once there, I sometimes have to wait for the person in front of me to finish up. When it's my turn, I can't help but notice the little pool of stagnant water at the bottom of the device left over from who knows how many other strange, dripping hands. Oh, and let's not forget the fine spray of water spattered against the wall and the fair amount of water on the floor beneath the dang thing.
Just take a look at this gem of nastiness. Nichole Ward shared a photo that is truly barf-worthy about what is spewed from those air dryers.
“This here is what I grew in a Petri dish after just a few days,” she wrote. “This is the several strains of possible pathogenic fungi and bacteria that you're swirling around your hands, and you think you're walking out with clean hands. You're welcome.”
Not only are those hand dryers nasty AF, but they might also be making us sick. In a study published in the Journal of Applied Microbiology, researchers compared three different methods of hand drying – paper towels, warm air dryer, and jet air dryer – to see which one chucked the most viruses around the room when used. And the results are downright stomach-turning.
Participants washed their hands in MS2, a low-level virus, then dried them using one of the three methods. Researchers then tested the contents of collection plates they'd set out at varying distances and heights for the residual MS2. The jet air dryers flung germ gunk further and higher than either paper towels or hot air dryers. Fifteen minutes after the jet air dryer was used, the air showed 50 times more MS2 than it did compared to the hot air dryer and 100 times more than when paper towels were used.
Obviously we should all go back to using paper towels ASAP. Unfortunately, the chances of public restrooms ditching their jet air dryers and going retro are pretty low. First of all, it's cheaper to manufacture and use the electric dryers than it is to make, deliver and deal with used paper towels. Environmentally, giving up paper towels makes sense.
The other sad fact is, germs are freakin' everywhere. When we're talking about public bathrooms, worrying about germs flying out of the jet air dryer is the least of your worries. In a study conducted by the American Society of Microbiology, a lot of people say they wash their hands after using the bathroom but actually don't. Observing behavior in public restrooms in Atlanta, Chicago, New York City and San Francisco, researchers found that 90 percent of women washed their hands and only 75 percent of men did. Compare that to the 97 percent of women who said they washed their hands and the 96 percent of men who claimed they did. C’mon, people.
And then there’s the germ-laden water that spatters up when those super-strong public toilets flush and you just might decide to hold your pee until you get home.
So do jet air dryers have the potential to make you sick? Nothing's been proven, but given how brutal this cold and flu season's been so far I wouldn't want to chance it. My solution: my very own toilet kit, complete with portable toilet seat covers, extra tissues and, of course, hand sanitizer — at least until someone comes up with that HAZMAT suit.
Posted: 07 Feb 2018 07:55 AM PST
I was asleep, as most people are at 3 a.m., when my husband shook my shoulder to wake me up. “What the hell is this?” he demanded, practically shoving my phone under my nose. Having been unconscious just half a second before, my reply was perhaps not as pleasant as it could have been as I replied something to the effect of, “What the hell are you talking about and why am I awake right now?”
That was the beginning of the most awkward thirteen hours of my adult life.
What he was showing me was one of those dating-but-really-let’s-just-meet-for-sex hookup sites he’d found in my phone’s browser history, and to say he was not happy about this discovery would be an understatement.
My husband and I are in mutual agreement about how we spend our solo sexy time, and one of those agreements is that sites specifically like this are off limits. He respects that, and I do, too, so this glaring violation was a problem. For me, especially, because I was getting the ass end of some righteous anger, but I hadn’t done this thing over which I was currently getting glared at with the WTAF eyes.
“Why was your husband snooping through your phone?” Well, he wasn’t snooping, although I don’t mind if he does. He was specifically looking through the history for a link to a site he’d lost. He browses on my phone often because mine is bigger and better than his.
“Why was it on your phone if you weren’t visiting that site?” Now that’s is the $64,000 question, isn’t it?
After much sleuthing through my phone, his phone, my laptop, and our PC, we determined that it wasn’t actually my phone. It was the shared/synced browser history. Which meant it could have been any device in the house. And that’s where things got strange.
I pulled the site back up and enlarged the photo on the profile at the link. There was no face, just a photo of someone’s genitals. Someone male. Someone who was apparently in our guest bathroom, judging from the background. Someone who was most definitely not my husband.
Are you guys following me right now? I need to make sure you’re with me on this journey.
At just before 4 a.m. on a random Tuesday morning, I was standing in my living room looking at a photo of my teenage son’s penis on the Internet.
The profile didn’t have a real name on it, just a screen name I won’t embarrass anyone by repeating, a location (which thankfully turned out not to be our actual town, because my IP pings elsewhere, thank God), and an age listed as 18.
My son is NOT 18. He’s 17. A minor. With a dick pic out there on the Internet forever. Probably more than one. And several messages from interested parties who would love to see it up close and in person.
Jesus Christ on a cracker.
After reassuring ourselves that neither of us were seeking our satisfaction elsewhere, we were pretty much spent, and mutually agreed we were going to go to bed and we’d take this up with my son later the next evening. But be clear when I say “we” I mean “me,” because my husband wasn’t going to touch that conversation with a ten foot pole.
I couldn’t sleep. I laid in bed and thought of how I just saw my son’s penis, all the ways in which this upcoming conversation could go, how I saw my son’s penis, how I should present myself in this convo in order to be understanding but effective and informative, how I saw my son’s penis, what I should say, how I saw my son’s penis, what I should not say, how I could have lived for the rest of my entire fucking life without seeing my son’s erect fucking penis, what points I should bring up to impress how problematic this situation was, and how I never want to see my son’s penis ever again.
I didn’t say a word about it as I sent the kids off to school the next morning, but I then spent a fitful day at a loss. I couldn’t really concentrate on anything other than how much I did not want to have this conversation and how much I desperately needed to have this conversation and how badly I needed to make sure it was a good one that would stick. We’d talked about porn before, but I hadn’t thought to bring anything like this to the table. It just wasn’t on my radar until that day.
After eight agonizing hours, they finally got home from school, and I sent the youngest to his room with a snack. I sat my son down on the couch with a “We need to talk” and we went over what had happened. I allowed him the luxury of lying to my face about doing it just because he was bored while pretending to believe that, and then we got real and discussed underage naked photos, safe sex, hookups with strangers, internet dangers, and his rapidly diminishing WiFi privileges.
It was a good talk. It was awkward AF, but it was a good talk.
He’s a good kid that makes dumb choices sometimes. But in a few short months, he’ll be 18 and off to conquer the world on his own.
It’s my job to make sure he’s ready to do that without me. I accept and embrace that responsibility. I just don’t remember shit like this being covered in my instruction manual.
And I'm still haunted by that damn image.
Posted: 07 Feb 2018 06:23 AM PST
Graham’s mom modeled for the Swimsuits for All photoshoot
To celebrate beauty at all ages, Ashley Graham brought her mom front and center for her latest Swimsuits for All campaign. The duo shot a series of gorgeous photos in Morocco to show off the new swimsuits. We’re warning you; the pictures might make you consider your own mother/daughter photoshoot.
“What I want is for women my mother's age to feel empowered and to know that they too can look just as hot in a one-piece, a two-piece, or string bikini,” Ashley told Vogue. “I believe that beauty is beyond, age, race, or size, and it's not a trend—at every stage of your life, you can feel beautiful.” Hell yeah. That’s a message we can get behind. This is Graham’s fifth collection for the swimwear company, but the first time she’s posed professionally with her mom, Linda Graham.
“Here I am at 53 years old and in a hot pink string bikini [on set], but I was kind of in love with that swimsuit!” Linda shared. Plus, it was a great chance to be a part of her daughter’s world. “It was so comforting having her there, making me feel comfortable—it's funny how the tables have turned,” Linda added.
And from the looks of all the photos and videos the Graham ladies shared on Instagram, they had the time of their lives. Who wouldn’t? My mom made us matching bathing suits when I was a kid and I adored them. And we didn’t even wear them anywhere exotic unless you count the local pool.
“I haven’t worn a bikini since the 80s!” Linda said in a statement. “I don’t think I could have uncovered that inner strength without Ashley. That makes being a part of this campaign so much more special – she’s my rock and inspired me at age 53 to be proud of my body again after I lost my own fortitude.”
It’s clear from the photos that Ashley and her mom have a strong bond. The model talked about all the ways her mama has inspired her over the years: “My mom has been my role model since childhood and has played a vital role in developing my confidence. She promoted body positivity in our household before it was a movement. Her feel-good attitude toward her own body has shaped my ability to remain positive and self-assured.”
The photoshoot also gave Ashley the chance to repay her for the lifetime of support her mom provided. “”[My mother] was with me from the start and helped me through all the trials and tribulations it took to get to this point, so being able to have her actually in front of the camera with me and modeling my designs felt like such a surreal moment,” she said. “Plus, she’s hot and looks incredible in the suits!”
The new collection is available online and features 13 pieces in sizes 4 to 22.
Posted: 07 Feb 2018 05:23 AM PST
An all-female species that clones itself? That shit is CRAY
If there was ever any doubt Mother Nature is a woman, listen up. A mutant species of crayfish — ahem — an ALL-FEMALE mutant species of crayfish is taking over the freshwaters of Europe. Because these bad ass bitches are reproducing like crazy.
By cloning themselves.
That’s right, this all-female reboot of the regular crayfish doesn’t need a man. According to the The New York Times, the “marble crayfish” was a species that didn’t exist 25 years ago. But somewhere along the evolutionary way, two sex cells fused and produced a female crayfish embryo that contained three copies of each chromosome instead of two. Thus a new breed of crayfish was born, and it’s fabulous, female, and without deformities!
You’re probably wondering, “Do these crayfish eat Lady Doritos and write with special pens?” Ha, we kid, we kid. A legitimate question would be “How do these ladies reproduce and how can we continue the human race without men?”
Rather than reproduce sexually, the first marbled crayfish was able to induce her own eggs to divide into embryos. The offspring was all-female and inherited identical copies of the same three chromosomes — because the offspring were actual clones.
Basically, if the marble crayfish had a soundtrack, it would undoubtedly be “Sisters Are Doin’ It For Themselves”. Twitter seems to agree, with many people wondering how we can adapt this mutation into human reproduction, because #goals.
Nature actually did this very real thing, so please take heed, men of the world.
Pet store clause reads: “Cannot be owned by men.”
It’s the most glorious and progressive chapter in evolutionary history, tbh.
They’re reading this, Jake. And they’ll take it into consideration.
Dr. Frank Lyko, a biologist at the German Cancer Research Center who has been closely studying the marble crayfish for years, says their reproduction isn’t slowing down — but it most likely won’t become a permanent species. "Maybe they just survive for 100,000 years," he told The New York Times. "That would be a long time for me personally, but in evolution it would just be a blip on the radar."
Well in that case, the next step for womankind amongst other species is clear:
Posted: 06 Feb 2018 06:00 PM PST
1. We see danger in every situation.
No matter what we are doing, we fear the worst in every activity. We definitely see the glass half empty and in our heads we are questioning why we even go outside.
2. We fear even the simplest of tasks.
Going to work, going to a party alone, riding the train, riding a plane, driving, going on a date and the list goes on and on. Every single simple and easy task we do is daunting to us, because we see what could go wrong, even when it's relatively safe.
3. We either sleep in way too late or wake up insanely early.
For some, they are so exhausted from thinking to much, they literally need more than eight hours of sleep to feel rested. Also, overthinking at night keeps people up, so sleeping in is a must. For others, they need to wake up early in order to get everything done at a greater pace. Anxiety starts the second they get up.
4. We make lists for literally anything and everything.
We don't just make lists for grocery shopping. We make lists for work, for social dates, and for trips. We don't see the world as an adventure or game; we see it as a more serious and more rigid place than other people do.
5. We focus on the negatives when receiving constructive criticism.
No matter how much positive reviews, raves, or comments that we get from work, from coworkers and from friends, we don't even listen to that part. We only focus on the negative, and what we failed at, instead of what we did well on.
6. We see challenges as mountain climbs.
We don't see challenges as exciting or adventurous or thrilling. We see them as valleys to hike and climb on, only to fall off of them. We see challenges as opportunities to fail instead of succeed or thrive.
7. We always think the worst is bound to happen.
It may seem completely bonkers to other people to understand and it may even seem stupid, but it's not funny for us. My therapist once told me that when I see stick on the ground, I view them as snakes. That's how we see every situation.
8. We don't have faith in ourselves.
We are our own worst enemies. And when we fail or get broken-hearted, we blame it on ourselves and put ourselves down to the extreme. We are our own worst critics and tell ourselves truly terrible things. To say we have low self-esteem would be an understatement.
9. We don't have faith in other people.
Just like we don't have much faith in ourselves, we don't have faith in others. If people do us wrong, we automatically shut them out in fear of getting further hurt. And when it comes to love, if we have been burned in the past, we view every relationship as something that will end instead of something that will bring us joy.
10. If we failed at something, we will likely never try it again.
In elementary school, I got a C in math and then was convinced I was terrible at that subject. Because of this insecurity, I have always said I would do terribly in math no matter what, and that became the truth. If we fail at something or do just “okay,” we convince ourselves that it's not worth trying again.
11. We take interactions and conversations with people very seriously.
Every conversation we have feels like an interview, especially when we are meeting strangers. We hold onto every second of the interaction and dissect every person's tone and voice. If it feels like they are judging us or disagreeing with us, we usually feel small and like everyone is laughing at us.
Originally published on Thought Catalog.
Posted: 06 Feb 2018 06:00 PM PST
Everyone's fantasized about it. You take some pills, you drink some juice, you stick some pads to the bottoms of your feet, and it — almost magically — sucks the evil right out of you. By "evil," of course, I mean "toxins," that amorphous term for "things that make us sick and aren't supposed to be in our body in the first place," and can refer to anything from sugar to heavy metals to fermenting fecal matter (yes, this is allegedly a thing).
Clearly, this falls under the too-good-to-be-true umbrella. Or does it?
Yes. Yes, it does.
According to a recent article in The Guardian, "before you dust off that juicer or take the first tentative steps towards a colonic irrigation clinic, there's something you should know: detoxing – the idea that you can flush your system of impurities and leave your organs squeaky clean and raring to go – is a scam. It's a pseudo-medical concept designed to sell you things."
“Detoxing” hails itself as the perfect penance to absolve us of what we perceive as caloric sins, of the penalties for living in a modern era spewing smoke and smog and other nastiness.
Edzard Ernst, emeritus professor of complementary medicine at Exeter University in Britain, says that it's important to distinguish between the two types of detox. One, he explains, "is a medical treatment for people with drug addictions." This is the respectable kind, and it saves lives on a daily basis. Then there's the detox that got co-opted by capitalism to sell you the dream of a perfect body, purified of all those pesky toxins and poisons running rampant in our bodies.
And full disclosure: our bodies are filled with stuff that shouldn’t be there. According to the Huffington Post, when the CDC did a study to find what kind of chemical load people were toting around, the results were fairly horrifying. On average, they found 212 chemicals in people's blood or pee, 75 of which had never been measured in people before. Put together, they present "a pretty toxic load on the human body," and "can accumulate in the body's blood, urine, and tissue." If you're suffering from other health problems or a poor diet, this stuff can cause problems.
So how do you detox and get rid of the gunk? Well, you keep your kidneys and liver healthy. The kidneys are the body’s natural filtration system, and the liver breaks down chemicals and toxins and then removes them by filtering your blood. So keep those vital organs in tip-top shape with certain nutrients like B vitamins, foods rich in flavonoids, A, C, and E vitamins, fish oil, and amino acids from protein.
None of the “detox” products you see on the shelves define what they mean by "detoxification." Most don't name the toxins they are claiming to remove, either. That doesn't mean they're totally and completely ineffective; it just means that there are probably more efficient — and reputable — ways to get these toxins out.
Colon irrigation, or colonics, are another popular detox trend. They're based on the idea that toxic poo sits in your intestines, getting reabsorbed into your system and making you sick. In a colonic, someone sticks a hose up your back door and washes it all away. Think an enema on steroids.
Many doctors, The Guardian warns, say that no one's ever seen this impacted poo plaque and that colonics can end in perforated bowels. And again, the body takes care of itself. The colon sheds cells every three days, "preventing the buildup of harmful material"; that good bacteria there eat the baddies; and that "mucus membranes in the colon can keep harmful material from re-entering the bloodstream." So take the hose out of your butt and go home, Mary Jane.
The Guardian notes other insidious tactics the market's developed to convince you that you're detoxing. Colon cleanse tablets turn your poop into a plastic-y snake. Those foot pads they used to hock on late-night TV have a substance that reacts with sweat, turning them black, allegedly from heavy metals except not. All those juice/cucumber/celery/carrot soup cleanses? Well, your ass might feel cleansed after all that quality time you've spent on the toilet. But it's done nothing except make you poop. A lot. No heavy metals were lost in the making of that poo, unless you were possibly taking spirulina, and even then the scientific evidence is sketchy.
So when it comes to cleansing and detoxing, your best bet is to detox the trend from your life. Instead, rely on the tried and true methods of staying healthy: eat a balanced diet rich in leafy green veggies, veggies in general, fruit, fish, nuts, and some red meat. This will support your liver. Maybe take some supplements (different from fake detoxifiers) after some serious research. Support your liver, which is where the body's trash ends up.
And most of all, don't fall for the corporate shills that promise easy answers and quick fixes. This stuff takes time. This stuff takes effort. And by "effort," I don't mean relaxing your anus as the tube goes in.
Posted: 06 Feb 2018 06:00 PM PST
If you need yet another reason to workout on the regular, I’ve got it for you. But hold on to your hat, because this one takes the cake: You can totally have a gym-gasm. Yes, you read that right, and it’s exactly what it sounds like — a delicious, orgasmic release while working out. And women around the world are fessing up.
Are you still with me? Sound too good to be true? It’s not, and if you are wondering if this a trick, or some marketing play by the fitness folks to get us to exercise more, that’s not the case.
C’mon, admit it, you’re intrigued. I know I am.
Okay, then. Let’s fucking go — I’m thinking we owe it to our bodies (especially our vaginas) to investigate this gymgasm phenomenon further.
The gym-gasm, or coregasm, is legit, folks, and it can happen to you (if you’re lucky). Here’s what happens: While doing an intense workout, your body can reach an orgasm because of the release of endorphins. Going to pleasure town has been especially effective during a strenuous ab workout, but it’s been known to happen to people while engaging in other exercises like running or lifting weights, too. Hey, all the more reason to try out new
Even better? With a coregasm, the pleasure contractions are felt in the abdomen and inner thighs, and can last for hours. Yes, HOURS.
While we don’t want men to feel left out, this mostly happens to women because we are complex, beautiful, blessed creatures.
Doesn’t this news totally make you want to run to the gym to get your rocks off while burning some calories just because we fucking can? I mean, I kind of want to join a gym just to have a few gymgasms and brag about it.
Would it be weird to go up to a man and say, “Look what I can do, let’s see you try”?
Okay, maybe it’s best to keep this secret to ourselves when it’s actually happening, but after that I can’t make any promises. This news is too good to keep to ourselves.
In any event, sign me up — I’d love to have an orgasm while getting in a workout. No one would need to know, either (unless you do the bragging thing) since those grunts and funny faces that pour out of you while doing squats and using the leg machines can totally save us from letting everyone know we are taking ourselves to pleasure town sans a partner or vibrator — we are that fucking amazing.
So, if you needed another reason to hit the gym, there you go. Women are having legit orgasms while building muscles (apparently in the legs and their vaginas), and we want to shout it from the rooftops in hopes of getting other women to experience the amazing-ness known as jetting our own juice simply by toning our abs or legs.
Now that’s the kind of multitasking we all fucking need in our life.
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