In the bag, from the fertility clinic
When i was a child i swore i would never have children.
As an adolescent i thought of pregnancy as a parasitical infestation of a woman’s body.
By a combination of birth control, and sex with people who don’t make sperm, i have avoided pregnancy.
Now i want to be pregnant. Actually, i have wanted to be pregnant, and to be a birth dad (Seahorse papa?) for some years, but it is only now that i have got things in order. I am excited about parenting with my lover, who i think will be both an excellent parent and an excellent co-parent. I’m excited about raising a child in a relationship that feels so rich in love. I’m excited about our sperm donor and about him and his partner being family to our child in an aunt and uncle kind of way. I know them well, love them much and feel good about our arrangement. After years of yearning, the time now feels right, and i want to be pregnant in a forceful way.
Now 33, i’ve never been pregnant, and while my body does a number of things that suggest i could get pregnant, i don’t actually know. I worry about can i get pregnant, and if i get pregnant, can i stay pregnant. I’ve watched many dear friends struggle with pregnancy, try for months or years, and eventually to become parents either via adoption or significant medical intervention. I’ve supported a lover through a brutal miscarriage, and seen couples wonder if the intended birth-parent will literally survive. I’m scared this will go badly for me. What if my body can’t get pregnant? Strangely I have no fears about being a pregnant man, and have no fears about giving birth, despite my mother’s brutal experiences. All my anxiety is about the beginning of this process, about getting pregnant and staying pregnant.
In practical terms, if i can’t, i can’t, and i, or rather we, will find other routes to parenthood. I will keep in my heart that parenthood, not pregnancy is the goal. I write that as a reminder. I can love any child, and i believe you make a family by love and commitment, not by biology, and yet, i want this. I want to grow a small person inside me, to breast feed, to be a parent in the undeniable on the birth certificate kind of way.
In the interest of avoiding years in the cycle of hope, optimism and despair, of folic acid supplements that do nothing and morning basal temperatures charted out and studied, i’ve been investigating my own fertility. I had my doctor refer me to a fertility clinic to find out what goes on.
I was nervous about how the fertility clinic would respond to my tranny self, wanting to parent with my tranny lover. I mean, how often do you think they have a couple of faggot Jew boys show-up to see if one of them can carry a child? I was concerned.
And what i want to report today, after my hysteroslpingogram/sonohysterogram is that they are great. They consistently treat me and my partner with respect. Like we are patients, and deserving of services, and like they are excited about the idea of us eventually having a child. I am immensely grateful for how easy they are making this.
I had concerns on day one as i filled out the forms that were clearly written for a “husband” and “wife” couple. There was no room to write in that i have a partner, who i intend to make my husband, and that while we are both masculine, we were both born female. There was no room to write in that i don’t take hormones, but generally pass as a guy and that i want to be the one to carry the baby. I waited, and prepared my explanation for the doctor. Which went, well, easily. I didn’t feel like a curiosity explaining all this, and no-one gave any indication that they thought this was out of the ordinary. He asked if i had though about how i wanted to raise a child in a non-traditional family. Not a non-normal family, but a non-traditional one. At the clinic, I feel like a patient, and like they are on my side. In the intake conversation, the doctor brought up the possibility of a threesome being a way we might become parents as if that was one of many acceptable routes, not judgement, no worries, just exploring options.
I’ve never had to hear my full legal girl name in the clinic, even though it is on my health card and thus my file, and i have never had to launch an explanation of why i prefer “j”.
On Sunday, when the ultrasound technician could not figure out which one of us was the patient, the question was “Which one of you?” not, “Which one of you is the girl?”.
Today, when i showed-up alone, i was asked where my co-pilot was. I want a co-parenting co-pilot i thought, and the question was both ungendered and easy - like they ask the same thing of other clients.
I was nervous today about my recreational bruises; marvellous yellow ones on my chest over recreational scars, deep maroon and purple ones on my thighs and smaller ones on my back. I was worried that this might be the tipping point, that they might decide that even if a couple of trannyfags might make good (deserving) parents, not a couple of trannies who engage in play like that. I had images of being told no, of being turned into police, or of having to explain how much i had wanted the bruises, enjoyed getting them and like seeing them on my body.
Before we started, as i slipped on the paper gown behind the little curtain, i mentioned that i had some recreational bruises, and that was it. The doctor asked about the ones on my back, but in a way that was free of judgement. When my cervix was playing hard to get, i commented that it was shy and not use to the attention. He commented that he did not believe that, like sex and parenting are a fine combination, like sex is healthy and if there was judgement, it was a supportive you-go-you kind of thing.
I don’t yet know if i can get pregnant, but i am learning about my body and how it works. I’m learning how to read ultrasound pictures, learning what my ovaries look like. I’m learning that my left ovary likes to play for the camera, and my right one is shy. I’m learning that my female hormone levels are low and that there are leadership issues in my ovaries (no one follicle wants to become the follicle of the month, they are too egalitarian). Apparently the inside of my uterus is beautiful, and by in large the lining looks healthy and smooth - no renovations needed to make it inhabitable. I am moving from fear to the cautious territory of hope, that this will work, that i can carry a child.
Today, they sent me home with a home insemination kit. A little green bag of syringes and sterile sample jars. I’m not ready to use them yet, but am buoyed by the thought that they think i can and should.
As an adolescent i thought of pregnancy as a parasitical infestation of a woman’s body.
By a combination of birth control, and sex with people who don’t make sperm, i have avoided pregnancy.
Now i want to be pregnant. Actually, i have wanted to be pregnant, and to be a birth dad (Seahorse papa?) for some years, but it is only now that i have got things in order. I am excited about parenting with my lover, who i think will be both an excellent parent and an excellent co-parent. I’m excited about raising a child in a relationship that feels so rich in love. I’m excited about our sperm donor and about him and his partner being family to our child in an aunt and uncle kind of way. I know them well, love them much and feel good about our arrangement. After years of yearning, the time now feels right, and i want to be pregnant in a forceful way.
Now 33, i’ve never been pregnant, and while my body does a number of things that suggest i could get pregnant, i don’t actually know. I worry about can i get pregnant, and if i get pregnant, can i stay pregnant. I’ve watched many dear friends struggle with pregnancy, try for months or years, and eventually to become parents either via adoption or significant medical intervention. I’ve supported a lover through a brutal miscarriage, and seen couples wonder if the intended birth-parent will literally survive. I’m scared this will go badly for me. What if my body can’t get pregnant? Strangely I have no fears about being a pregnant man, and have no fears about giving birth, despite my mother’s brutal experiences. All my anxiety is about the beginning of this process, about getting pregnant and staying pregnant.
In practical terms, if i can’t, i can’t, and i, or rather we, will find other routes to parenthood. I will keep in my heart that parenthood, not pregnancy is the goal. I write that as a reminder. I can love any child, and i believe you make a family by love and commitment, not by biology, and yet, i want this. I want to grow a small person inside me, to breast feed, to be a parent in the undeniable on the birth certificate kind of way.
In the interest of avoiding years in the cycle of hope, optimism and despair, of folic acid supplements that do nothing and morning basal temperatures charted out and studied, i’ve been investigating my own fertility. I had my doctor refer me to a fertility clinic to find out what goes on.
I was nervous about how the fertility clinic would respond to my tranny self, wanting to parent with my tranny lover. I mean, how often do you think they have a couple of faggot Jew boys show-up to see if one of them can carry a child? I was concerned.
And what i want to report today, after my hysteroslpingogram/sonohysterogram is that they are great. They consistently treat me and my partner with respect. Like we are patients, and deserving of services, and like they are excited about the idea of us eventually having a child. I am immensely grateful for how easy they are making this.
I had concerns on day one as i filled out the forms that were clearly written for a “husband” and “wife” couple. There was no room to write in that i have a partner, who i intend to make my husband, and that while we are both masculine, we were both born female. There was no room to write in that i don’t take hormones, but generally pass as a guy and that i want to be the one to carry the baby. I waited, and prepared my explanation for the doctor. Which went, well, easily. I didn’t feel like a curiosity explaining all this, and no-one gave any indication that they thought this was out of the ordinary. He asked if i had though about how i wanted to raise a child in a non-traditional family. Not a non-normal family, but a non-traditional one. At the clinic, I feel like a patient, and like they are on my side. In the intake conversation, the doctor brought up the possibility of a threesome being a way we might become parents as if that was one of many acceptable routes, not judgement, no worries, just exploring options.
I’ve never had to hear my full legal girl name in the clinic, even though it is on my health card and thus my file, and i have never had to launch an explanation of why i prefer “j”.
On Sunday, when the ultrasound technician could not figure out which one of us was the patient, the question was “Which one of you?” not, “Which one of you is the girl?”.
Today, when i showed-up alone, i was asked where my co-pilot was. I want a co-parenting co-pilot i thought, and the question was both ungendered and easy - like they ask the same thing of other clients.
I was nervous today about my recreational bruises; marvellous yellow ones on my chest over recreational scars, deep maroon and purple ones on my thighs and smaller ones on my back. I was worried that this might be the tipping point, that they might decide that even if a couple of trannyfags might make good (deserving) parents, not a couple of trannies who engage in play like that. I had images of being told no, of being turned into police, or of having to explain how much i had wanted the bruises, enjoyed getting them and like seeing them on my body.
Before we started, as i slipped on the paper gown behind the little curtain, i mentioned that i had some recreational bruises, and that was it. The doctor asked about the ones on my back, but in a way that was free of judgement. When my cervix was playing hard to get, i commented that it was shy and not use to the attention. He commented that he did not believe that, like sex and parenting are a fine combination, like sex is healthy and if there was judgement, it was a supportive you-go-you kind of thing.
I don’t yet know if i can get pregnant, but i am learning about my body and how it works. I’m learning how to read ultrasound pictures, learning what my ovaries look like. I’m learning that my left ovary likes to play for the camera, and my right one is shy. I’m learning that my female hormone levels are low and that there are leadership issues in my ovaries (no one follicle wants to become the follicle of the month, they are too egalitarian). Apparently the inside of my uterus is beautiful, and by in large the lining looks healthy and smooth - no renovations needed to make it inhabitable. I am moving from fear to the cautious territory of hope, that this will work, that i can carry a child.
Today, they sent me home with a home insemination kit. A little green bag of syringes and sterile sample jars. I’m not ready to use them yet, but am buoyed by the thought that they think i can and should.