My son Archie is comfortable with the fact that he’s rockin a vagina.
I told Archie about a conversation I recently had with a stranger. She made a comment that teens will blame their parents for their problems and hate them etc…etc….
My response was, “I have 4 boys, and am pretty close to all of them.”
That spurred her on to rant about how it’s only because I have boys I’m close to them and they have to individuate. If my children were all girls they’d dislike me, so on and so forth.
Archie’s response, “Mom, you should have fucked with her head and told her one of your sons has a vagina.”
There’s a million and one reasons to love Archie. He’s a trans man fully comfortable in his own skin. Embracing the journey as testosterone deepens his voice, thins his hair, and catapults him simultaneously through menopause and puberty. Gone are the days of wearing a binder to flatten his breasts. The grace with which he evolves humbles me.
He’s the bravest fucking person I know.
How did I get the privilege of being his mom? I swear he popped out of my vag wise beyond his years. I feel like I barely had to parent him. He came with inherent goodness oozing out of his soul.
No, I am not biased because I’m his mother.
I remember meeting his 5th grade teacher for the first time. In tears I told her “this child is special. I know every mother believes this, but this one, this one is truly special.”
A few months later I received an email telling me how incredibly off the charts this kid was.
In 3rd grade he said “Mom, I want to the play the oboe”
Me on the inside “Holy fuck, what’s an oboe.” ………..on the outside “sure, you can play the oboe.”
I’ve now been to Carnegie Hall twice to see the kid play. Seriously.
He’s in school for music therapy. Yes, to help people. You see this kid has ginormous amounts of anxiety and depression. Does that stop him, no. He makes all his own therapy appointments and takes the medication bull by the horns.
In fact I didn’t know what anxiety was. He is the one who came to me one day after he sought treatment for his and said “Mom, I figured all these years you just chose to live with your anxiety untreated.”
Talk about feeling like a fuck up as a parent.
The top photo was taken yesterday before his flight back out. I knew the hike and then the drive to the airport would land me in bed today, but it was well worth it.
What could be better than laying in bed, drinking a milk stout, blogging about one of your kids while Jase entertains the rest of the brood at the climbing gym?
Sure my muscles and joints feel like they’re fresh off the grill, I’m slurring my speech from exhaustion and thoughts feel furry like my teeth after too much sugar, but you do what you can.
I’m thankful for the distraction of blogging and that Archie’s comfortable with his vagina.