Momma Me
on trans motherhood
What’s the difference between a mother and a father?
I have no idea.
It all feels false when you start to put definitions to the labels. So thinly veiled the bullshit behind people trying to clarify semantics.
Just let it be.
For me and my motherhood, the truth is simply that I knew this about myself. But still, always felt vindicated in seeing my actions as a nurturer, mentor, teacher, and peer resembling—more closely—the many women I’ve known.
Not to say that gender expression should ever be defined solely by personality. Or that people should be round up into groups. As there are people of all shapes, sizes, and birth sexes who come in every variety. We are multitudes, and we each have multitudes within us.
Still, the labels of woman and mother call to my heart.
Being a mother makes sense to me and who I am and how I understand the world.
It’s what I’ve always wanted.
An Angel Is Born
Logan came at four in the morning. At the end of a rollercoaster ride of sleep deprivation, panic, terrible hospital food, and questionable company.
Her birth had been induced to avoid a potential medical situation from developing and we’d trudged through two nights—one of which her heart rate had skyrocketed and caused the forementioned panic—to get her here.
But here she was. And she was healthy.
The first time I really held her was in the recovery room. She laid on my chest there for some of the most precious moments of my life, in retrospect. But riddled with sleep deprivation, and needing the nap I was about to take beneath her, my mind wasn’t fully able to comprehend the enormity of the moment.
I didn’t get the thing people talk about when I first saw her—the giant blast of instant unconditional love we’re told of.
Sue me.
Still, I love her more with every minute of every day. She is a constant affirming power in my life. I see God in her eyes. And I feel entirely blessed to have such a powerful opportunity to know and support a person.
Her early days had me playing logistics supporter while her biological mother was breast feeding. It meant I had to take a back seat with affection and play the practical helper person.
Trying times all around in those early months. For me, the trials came from taking a backseat with the things I wanted most. The cuddles and the really intimate moments shared.
I was grateful that I could cultivate a safe space for that intimacy between Logan and her mom. They deserved it, along with all the amazing physiological benefits they got from each other.
It was a blessing to witness. An honor to hold space for.
Still, I can’t say it wasn’t hard to take the clean-up jobs, the grocery trips, and the meal preparations. Rather than the naptimes and the precious feeding snuggles.
It meant, to Logan, I was seen as a secondary parent. No matter how much I tried. The bond from breastfeeding was simply too strong.
Still, I took each moment I could get. And I didn’t blame the little one for needing what she needed.
I knew my time would come.
And The Time Came
About the end of breastfeeding is when I got my shot. My chance to really start forging the intimate relationship with my child I’d been looking forward to.
The next year and more, since these opportunities for deeper connection have emerged, I have been feasting on them.
The opportunities, to be clear, not my child.
To spend time with my little one is to be grounded, happy, and affirmed in the truth of life’s ultimate virtues.
Even as she shifts into toddler-terror mode. I can’t help but steel myself through the storms and just see the angel here in weird form, doing her best to learn how to operate her new meat suit.
I love her. And I love the time we get to play and run and laugh.
She’s my greatest teacher. Day in and out. She has taught me so much.
More than anything, she’s taught me my own strength—illuminating my capacity to do amazing things—my stamina, determination, and compassionate fortitude all tested and pushed beyond limits I had previously thought existed.
And for the best cause. The cause of love. The kind of surrendered love a parent can only feel for their child when they release ownership. When they aren’t concerned with controlling who their child becomes. Instead, using the time they have to help their child discover it for themself.
Such a blessing. Every moment. Even when there’s challenge.
Trans Mom In Public
Honestly, it’s usually better than when I’m alone. Or, God forbid, in the company of a man. But still, the public vibes are worth noting for a trans mother in public.
I often have fun watching my daughter’s presence—that of joyful innocence— fucking sandblast away people’s funk.
Still, so many folks clearly triggered by the existence of a trans person with a child. It’s basically everyone, frankly. An adjustment period for every person whose space Logan and I walk into.
I feel us alchemizing away prejudice every time we go out and Logan is her happy beaming self—enjoying the world and shining her light. Clearly taken care of emotionally and supported to be the happy little explorer she is.
It takes the twisted bigotries hidden in people and shines it all back at them.
Unfortunately, it also illuminates the worst bigots. The ones who will openly glare at me with hatred for existing in public with my daughter. Clearly, believing that trans people are unfit to be parents, or perhaps even be around children.
What a fucking nightmare that energy is.
Luckily, I don’t get it that often. It’s usually just awkwardness as I play the prejudice reflector for everyone.
Still, what a dark sight. To witness others so consumed by their own self-hatred, they would be that openly callous, presuming they know what’s best for my child is to not be around me.
Anyway, those people don’t deserve my time.
My daughter does. And that’s why I won’t ever shy away from being there for her. Or from taking her anywhere she wants to go.
Because she deserves it. She deserves her wonderful trans momma. And these nightmare people don’t get a say. They can fuck right off.
I’m just excited to watch my daughter grow.
And So, The Future
With the politics of transness being so front and center. I worry how I’ve seemingly placed Logan within a political conversation she may not want any part in.
Though, a part of me can already see her grown, fighting the bigots with her fiery voice of truth. Knowing she was raised by a trans woman, and that this woman is her mother who she’ll always stand up for.
That’s not a weight I want her to hold. Just something I’ve seen.
The truth is. I’m a half-time single mom. And I love it.
It’s not the same as being a full-time single mom. I know that. I cannot begin to imagine, frankly.
But the flow of being with her. When it’s just the two of us. It’s a slice of heaven.
The fun we have, the tenderness we share, the learning she eagerly throws herself into. It’s always time I cherish.
It’s the closest I ever feel to being truly present these days.
Presence is where I want to be, always. That special place when you feel so locked into the moment, so grateful for the here and now, time just slows down. Those are the moments you know you’ll remember forever. You know they mean the world to you when they’re happening.
Those are what I try to cultivate with my daughter. And we do it so well just the two of us.
One day, I’m sure, I’ll have a relationship with another. But still, half my time is going to be about me and Logan. Our little island doesn’t have much room on it. We’re good. I’m not going to ever be looking for another co-parent. I’ve got one of those already. And one’s enough. Aunties and Uncles are welcome for sure, but stepparents… get the fuck out of here.
To me, the thing that exemplifies the parent I want to be, is being a whole person who doesn’t define themselves by their parenthood. Those egoic identity structures are what breed the kind of toxic ownership I sought to escape with my own parents.
I just want to love my daughter. See her grow. Help her be safe. And get to know her better every day. Because what an unbelievable opportunity I have. To know someone better than I ever could otherwise. To see a soul in all its strength and wholeness, fit itself into this little fragile human shape, and learn to walk among this world.
Grateful I am. Grateful I’ll be. Forever and always.
