bootwearingfairy

[bootwearingfairy]

[bootwearingfairy]

gonna post my entire stickman reaction pic collection

[bootwearingfairy]

[bootwearingfairy]

[bootwearingfairy]

Newsflash!!! If your doctor says your baby has "gonads" that need removal or that there is a genital "deformity" these words are code for intersex baby. REFUSE UROLOGY SURGERY FOR YOUR INFANT UNLESS THEY CAN PROVE IT WILL EFFECT YOUR BABY IN THE NEXT YEAR. sometimes urethras are blocked or there's legitimate impact to functionality. Otherwise almost always surgery can wait till your child is old enough to understand what is happening. As someone who went through pediatric urology- you don't want them operating unless it's 100% necessary. The procedures are gruesome and traumatic (and often not anesthetized) most people use it as a first resort when surgery should ALWAYS be a last resort especially for minors.

[bootwearingfairy]

[bootwearingfairy]

[bootwearingfairy]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[bootwearingfairy]

The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya Ending 1

Hare Hare Yukai by Aya Hirano, Minori Chihara and Yūko Gotō

[bootwearingfairy]

[bootwearingfairy]

finally, someone for tumblr

[bootwearingfairy]

[bootwearingfairy]

at the doctor being shown a chart with different types of man-made horrors on them while the doctor asks whether each of them is beyond or within my comprehension

[bootwearingfairy]

Tortle barbarian girl is back, still havent named her yet ♡

[bootwearingfairy]

[bootwearingfairy]

guys. please

[bootwearingfairy]

I’m visiting my friend right now in her 18th century home she’s restoring where the lights don’t work in one part of the house, creeping to the bathroom like some sort of haunt, feeling for the walls with rising dread, utterly lost in the perfect darkness, like Jonathan Harker in Dracula’s castle, if Jonathan Harker were the sort of person to trip and stand there cringing in the night as his can of trader joe’s sparkling rhubarb-strawberry juice bangs all the way down the oaken staircase, one step at a time, the cacophony of a freight train, and then proceed to practically crawl through the remaining dark to the bathroom for a washcloth, to wipe up the trader joe’s sparkling rhubarb-strawberry juice before it can soak into the wood floor, with the fevered terror of lady macbeth hallucinating blood on her hands