The Second Birth of The Same Human.

I gave birth to the same child twice. Not many people will ever understand what I mean by writing this, but I have no other way to adequately describe what having a child transition fully feels like. Most moms can agree that all labor shares the same key elements. Anticipation, planning, fear, pain, relief, and joy are six elements of child birth that universally all mothers can relate too. Now you may agree with me on that note, but you may also think that it is impossible to give birth to the same child twice, but after you finish reading I think you will find that you are wrong.

Anticipation

We booked the appointment. We were set in just a week’s time to meet with a therapist that specialized in gender identity. Just like my very first office visit upon finding out I was pregnant I scoured the internet. I was looking for questions, answers, and clues on how this should go. What should I ask? What is going to happen? Will there be testing? What if I forget to ask the right things? What if I say the wrong things? What if something is wrong with me or the baby? Am I ready for this? What if I am not a good mom? I kept myself awake at night with these issues floating around my brain.

Planning

So finally it is appointment day. We go to the office, and I immediately forget everything that I have been so nervous about forgetting. Taylor asks questions, and we do our best to give answers that make sense. He counsels us on what we need to do to honor our child and help her move forward. We set a follow up appointment for her, and go home and start putting a plan into action. We ask her direct questions. Do you prefer to be called a boy or girl? Brother or sister? Son or daughter? Her or him? He or she? She gives us her answers, and we don’t try to talk her out of them. We listen. We honor her choices. She is elated. But now more is changing. We sit and plan out every detail. How we can budget clothing, room decor, therapy visits, and the list go on. We start little by little making goals to help her feel comfortable while she transitions, and completing them. Still more is changing and I am starting to feel like I am loosing grip. Like I am on a roller coaster and the seat belt is too loose. Every bump I am lifted a tiny bit higher into the air. I am sure I will be thrown out at any moment and go propelling into the abyss.

Fear

I try to gain a grip on my rapidly changing world. I join support groups. I read everything I can get my hands on. With information comes awareness, and with that my fear increases. Just like the first pregnancy book I ever read I am sure that any negative thing I read will surely be her fate. I realize quickly that America is not ready for transgender individuals to live freely side by side with them. I find out that transgender people are attacked and killed too often. That they are humiliated regularly for something as simple as trying to pee. I find out that discrimination towards  transgender people is alive and well in this nation, and I just know that at any moment the ball will drop and she will be the object of scrutiny. I am scared that she will tell the wrong person. I am terrified of each new person we meet. I am scared of reactions each time we pick up the phone to tell another friend or family member about how she will be living her life going forward. At times I am crippled by this fear. I put on the bravest of face in front of her, but she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know the evil in this world. She doesn’t know that her living authentically can and will at some point bring negative comments, stares, and exclusion into her life. How can we get through this? I would be lying if I said I still don’t feel this fear, but soon fear becomes part of the grey matter in the back of my mind. An even more terrible part of this labor has now stepped forward, and like labor, it soon is the only thing I can think about.

Pain

I remember her first birth. I was in active labor for 68 hours. Every minute that ticked by I thought it could not get worse. That this moment is the threshold of human pain, and there is no way it could possibly be worse than it is now. If you have ever had a child you know this is not true, and seconds later your body will show you exactly how much worse it can and will get. This is what I felt. I found myself crying all the time. A song on the radio could break me in half. There is no easy way to say this so here goes, I felt that my son was dead. I mourned his lost life. I would wait until the kids were sleeping, sit on the couch in a blanket and hold myself. My body ached for my son. He was gone. Anytime I saw negative posts about bathrooms, or laws being passed against the lgbt community it felt like a knife was being plunged into my body. Not only had my son died, but the world was coming for my daughter. It was going to eat her alive. These knife wounds created scars all over me. I was ashamed for feeling the way I did. Shouldn’t I be happy. A new life is starting. I just wanted it to be over. For it to all go away. What kind of mom thinks these things? I am terrible. I could not see past my own grief. I could not see the light at the end of the tunnel. And just like my first labor with her, I felt like it would never come to an end. But just like with my first labor it did. She was out. She had been brought into the world, and the second I saw that, I knew although we would have painful days, that the worse was over.

Relief

If you have ever pushed a baby out, you understand the moment the shoulders pass through the birth canal. The true relief of knowing it is done. This millisecond where you know that you did it, and you hear you baby cry out for you. Relief overwhelms your body, and before you can feel anything else you just take a huge breath of relief. For my second birth it was the day of her first requested haircut. She was happy and comfortable (I have written about this experience before, so I won’t go into great detail). She was happy. I realized in that moment that no one had died. That the only death I had to face was my own ridiculous expectations. That day I really took that deep breath of relief for the first time. I made the right choices for her. I can do this. I can be her mom. We started to see changes in her. I am using the word changes, but really that’s wrong. We started to see her blossom. So I could finally start to feel the next stage of labor.

Joy

Every parent can tell you with micro precision every detail of the first moment they held their newborn baby. They account their tales of the smell of their new love. They tell you if they counted fingers and toes. The way their heart and body filled with warmth, and the absolute euphoria that washes over them snuggling their baby skin to skin for that first moment in time. I also had this moment twice. I know it may be impossible to understand, but the second time this happened meant so much more to me than the first time. My husband’s computer crashed. It was an ancient beast, and rather than pay the costly repairs yet again, I went to Best Buy to replace it. She came along for the ride. We picked up our new computer and got loaded up in our van. I turned on the van, and looked back to make sure she was buckled in correctly. I was left speechless. I really saw her. She was sitting legs crossed drinking her water, she had my over sized sunglasses on, and was wearing an outfit she had selected before leaving. What left me speechless is nothing that happened out loud. In my head when I looked at her I thought, wow my daughter is so beautiful. I was proud. It caught me so off guard. That is the first time that she was my daughter in my thoughts. That she was not my son. It was the first time that I knew without having to remind or correct myself her true gender. Tears filled my eyes, but I did not cry. I got out and went around to her. I unbuckled her and held her in my arms. Her hair smelt like fresh fruit at the farmers market. As she hugged me back her skin was soft and warm. She was so small, but her hug engulfed me like she was ten times my size. Her breath was steady and deep. I said out loud, “I am so proud to be your mom.” She responded to me by hugging me tighter. I can tell you even know exactly where we were parked in the parking lot, exactly the color of her nails, the style of her hair, the clothes she was wearing. Just like holding a newborn baby I remember every detail of that moment. It will stay with me always.

I hope you can now understand that I have in fact given birth twice to the same child. Sometimes I am still sad. I sometimes still fear for her. But the labor is over. I know that it will be okay. I know that I made the right decision in bringing her into the world. I know that I am blessed with a happy and healthy little girl. This is the chapter about her birth. It is just one chapter in our story. I don’t expect everyone to get it it, but for me, it is the most challenging and healing chapter in the whole book.

 

**Disclaimer: Please read diminishing her and meeting her to fully understand some things I only touched briefly on here. This post is written on the assumption that you have followed the other posts on this blog.