I’m going to be straight up honest here. This is kind of a tough one to write. It’s been sitting in my docket of things to talk about for some time, but that day finally came around. I generally tend to take a humorous look at life, and I like doing that. When I can laugh and make someone else, it brings me pure joy. Someone I used to know once accused me of making a joke of everything, but that is only partially true. Most things, but not really everything. Sometimes, since starting HRT anyway, I get that feeling only women truly know.
Trans women born under a really challenging set of circumstances, but we are women and our brains are wired the same way, even though we have to play a lot of catch up. That wiring has some switches in it I’m not sure we are all prepared to discover, but sometimes do. Men like to make sarcastic jokes about the biological clock ticking in a woman, as if it is just some little thing, an irrational thing, an inconsequential thing, that can be ignored with some self restraint and fortitude. Ugh. Again, they simply can’t know.
Make no mistake, I and every other trans woman knows, we will never have the right internal parts to even dream of such a thing as biological motherhood. A great many cis women have this as well, but more often discover it later in life as a crushing blow to dreams they may have had. Still though, they, and at least I, still get flashes of that feeling. A momentary powerful emotional conceptualization of the idea of life growing inside us and of us. A microsecond of euphoria is all it is. Distilled joy and wonderment of the very idea. And then it’s gone. We can’t help but constantly remember what we simply cannot do or be, but there is a void where there has never been before. Something in our head is saying what we are, what we can do, but the body has no means to cooperate. It’s that moment of hazy heady potential still there after just waking up from a dream of flying.
No, I’ll never be a biological mom. It might not be fair, but what is? I’m not even sure I believe in such a thing as fairness being real other than a convenient cause to issue complaint and air grievances. It’s also unquestionably much worse for a cis woman to discover, having had no reason not to build up expectations that the mind and body might crave. I have been a biological father, and delight in that, but it’s not quite the same. Any future of repeating the experience is a low probability at best, as I suspect my body stopped cranking out swimmers some time back.
I brought this up because it doesn’t seem to be something we talk about much. It has no more real meaning to our lives than picking out shapes in the clouds. It doesn’t mean we don’t feel it though, and maybe it’s just too hard to put out there, but I did it anyway. I’m not even sure how I really feel about it, but it is there and I’m willing to admit it, even if it makes no difference. I’ll play the hand I was dealt and for every little bit that it’s worth.