Parenting is a bizarre journey. I find myself spending countless hours cleaning up sticky messes and uttering phrases like, “Don’t poke your sibling with that fork!” Yet, amid the chaos of raising three little ones, these tiny humans have made me reflect deeply on my own identity.
It wasn’t until I welcomed my second child that I began to see myself clearly. Despite having spent the initial years of my relationship discussing my discomfort with my body, and despite our family openly identifying as a two-mom household, I had never allowed my children to call me “mother.” I was an adult, after all, proudly embracing the role of Nova—an identity I thought was unique (because who doesn’t want to be linked to a planet-destroying character from Final Fantasy VII?). Living as two moms in Alabama was challenging enough for my kids, and I couldn’t face the question: “Why do I feel like a boy?”
So, I buried those feelings. Whenever I felt that nagging thought surface, I would buy a new skirt, grow my hair long, or experiment with makeup and jewelry.
Having my first child didn’t change anything for me. My partner carried, birthed, and named her—she’s incredible. But I was still clinging to the facade of femininity. It was during the pregnancy and nursing of my second child that I experienced the most intense dysphoria, as those acts felt so tied to being female. I enjoyed these experiences, which led me to believe there was still something inherently female within me.
Taking a breath, I turned to research and decided I must be gender-fluid. I had some tendencies toward masculinity but still identified as a woman, right?
Then came my second child, who is a delightful whirlwind of personality. He joyously declares himself a girl at times, whether he’s pretending to be Annie from Little Einsteins or Elsa. When he expresses that he’s a girl, I embrace that, saying, “You are one of the most wonderful little girls I’ve ever known,” until he identifies as a boy again.
My love for him is fierce, and I am committed to protecting his right to express his true self, whether that means being a boy or a girl. There’s nothing wrong with him; he’s a perfectly lovable little rascal who spills cereal all over the kitchen, flaps his arms with excitement, and joyfully announces his identity from the car window. Whether his identity solidifies or shifts over time, he is perfect just as he is.
If my child is perfect, then how could I believe there’s something wrong with me? I decided to drop the feminine parts of my name, cut my hair short, and stop pretending to dress as a woman. I reached out to friends for support and began experimenting with the pronouns he/him, which I’ve come to love. Little by little, I’m embracing my true self, inspired by my child who playfully dons my partner’s lipstick.
I carried him, I birthed him, and I still nurse him; I am male—and that’s perfectly okay. Thanks to my child, I no longer need to pretend to be someone’s mother. It’s a liberating yet daunting realization.
For those exploring their journey into parenthood, consider your options and take a look at resources like this one for more information on pregnancy and home insemination. If you’re looking for tools to assist you, check out this guide for a comprehensive artificial insemination kit. Also, if you’re navigating issues like lactose overload during nursing, this resource provides valuable insights.
In summary, becoming a parent has not only enriched my life but has also led me to a deeper understanding of my own identity as a transgender individual. Through the love and self-expression of my children, I’ve discovered the courage to be the person I’ve always been inside.