It's Still Here

It's still here.  Fear. Hanging in the air like old fish.  I can't seem to shake it.  I thought we were over this.  I thought we had made progress.  But here it is again, clinging on and I can't get rid of it.

Last night he said it again, "I don't want to grow up.  I want to be little forever."
Ugh.  "Why?  What did I do wrong?  Why can't I fix this?" I think.  All I can answer is, "what do you mean, honey?".
"I don't want to grow up," he says again.
I ran through all the options, all the questions.  "Do you not want your body to get bigger?",  "Do you not want your body to change?", "Do you not like cleaning up?",  "Do you like how little kids look better than grown ups?", "Do you want to go to pee in a diaper?", "Do you think you can't have fun when you are a grown up?"... and on and on and on.  The only things that had a response other than "No" from him, were 3 things.  What these three things mean, I am left to dissect.

1.
The first question I asked, that resulted in an answer was, "Do you think little kids are cute?"
"Yes... and I'm not," he whispered slowly.
Oh dear.  We are back at this deep fear of not liking his own body.  This is one I may never be able to help him with.  I try.  He has never been deprived of reassurance.  Compliments on his appearance, his outfit choices, when his eyes sparkle, when his hair has that shampoo commercial bounce.  Not a day goes by without a genuine compliment about something in his appearance. Clearly this confidence can not come from me.  He has to feel it, and he doesn't.  I don't know why.  When I look at him, he just glows to me.  Such pure and utter beauty.  How can he not see that?

2.
"I don't want to know anything," He said.
"You mean you don't like knowing about things?  Like when you asked if flamingos fly (a recent discussion), you don't want to know the answer to that?"  I replied.
"I just want to be a little kid and not know anything," he said again.
He couldn't put his finger on it, and neither could I.  The only thing I can guess with this one is that he wants to be back at an age where he didn't know he was different.  When being a toddler boy in a princess dress was ok and totally normal for any little kid.  I hope my questions helped him to dig further, so that he can come up with some answers for himself, but I don't know.

3.
"What is it that toddlers can do that you can't?" I asked him.
"They get to nurse," he said.
Good God in heaven.  WHY? If ever there was a child who should have had enough, it was him.  He should be like "Yeah, I had 6 years of that.  I am good."  Yes, you heard me.  6 freeking years.  If anyone thinks a mother nurses her child beyond the age of 2 for selfish reasons, they are dead wrong.  Oh yeah, I know, acrobatic nursing toddlers are so adorable when they are hanging upside down and trying to nurse while you are typing/working/reading/doing everything.  Nursing 3 children at one time when God only gave you two boobs is a challenge, every minute, every day.  When we were surprised with our third child and I was still nursing my 6 month old, I had no intention of stopping, so I tandem nursed through that pregnancy.  Once he was born, I continued nursing both babies because I was committed to extended nursing my children and I wasn't going to let the pregnancy stop my middle child from having all the benefits.  This was fine with D for awhile, then he realized his little brothers were getting something he wasn't.  He had been weaned at 2.5 years, a great and healthy start for a human child (btw, did you know anthropologists think we should nurse our young for 5+ years?).  He was now 4, so why did he feel like he wanted more?  I didn't know.  I had heard that older siblings often just wanted to know they were still loved and accepted and would "test the waters", so to speak.  So I let him try, but it wasn't just a one time deal.  He wanted milk every time his brothers had it.  I consulted experts, I talked to friends, I observed my kids and I listened to my heart.  My lactation consultant didn't know the answer either, but she did give me one piece of advice that stuck in my head.
"Are you ok with nursing him?" She asked.
"Yes," I answered. "But I am afraid I am going to screw him up."
"If he is asking for this, and you are ok with it, maybe you don't need to know the reason right now," She said.
That is what stuck for me.  The turning point in our nursing relationship.  Ok, I don't need to know why.  I just need to love him and support him.  So I did.  Looking back I can see that this period in his life was when he was figuring out that he was gender-variant.  Less than a year later, he started his outer transformation.  I am thankful that I gave him the space and support to find himself during a very difficult time for him.  I didn't know what he was going through, I just knew he needed me and he didn't even know why.  We nursed off and on until age 6, one year after he made his wish to become a girl.  We stopped on his 6th birthday.  He still asks, 3 birthdays later, to nurse on his birthday.  I have now weaned his younger brothers, and he knows I only make "soy sauce" now, so it is sort of a joke.  Maybe this rose to the surface because his birthday was two weeks ago, and it is still floating on top.

But there is more fear hanging in the air.  Mine.  I fear that people read my blog looking to blame me and find reasons why and how I screwed up my kid.  I fear that people will read that I nursed my kid beyond 1 year and say, "Bingo".  I fear that people will find any excuse to point the finger in my direction because "there has to be some reason".  My child can't just be who he is, because he is.

Sometimes no matter how hard I try, I can't shake fear.  Maybe he can't either.  That isn't going to stop us from trying.

The First Shirt

 I sat in my bedroom, sorting the laundry.  The stained and worn tee stood out from the bunch.  Shorter than the others, no longer just a little too small.  I picked it up and slowly ran my fingers over its edges, smoothing it out on the bed.  Why is it so hard to give this one up?  I picked it up and hugged it... and smelled it... something I do more now that my mom has passed.  Why can't I let go of this one?  The aqua size medium girls tee with gathered sleeves.  It was D's first girl's shirt.  Was it because I sat there at the store, staring at it for so long, wondering if gathered sleeves really were such a big deal?  Was it because it was his favorite color at the time, and it was worn often in those early days of his new identity?  Whatever it was, it held on tight to me, like it was tied to my chest.  So many memories in that shirt.  Was I just being ridiculous?  I slowly folded it, carefully setting it aside.  A little while later, D walked in.

"Honey?  Is this one too small?"  I asked, trying to hide my hesitation.
He looked at me with sad eyes and a turned down mouth.  He whispered "Yeah, but please don't give it away.  I want to keep it."
"I don't think I could ever give this one away." I replied.  We looked at each other for a minute and he came over and hugged me.
"I don't want to grow up" he said.  "I want to get smaller, not bigger."
"I know.  But think of all the little kids who you can help.  All the little kids who are just like you, and need someone older to remind them it's ok to just be who they are" I responded.  Growing up has been a huge, gut wrenching struggle for him.  For nearly 2 years, he would lie in bed at night, crying and worrying about getting older, unable to sleep for hours.
"But people won't think I am pretty when I lose my hair and have a beard", he used to say.
 It took us a long time to work through that.  Only in this last year has he finally felt it was not the end of the world to grow up.  I think it had a lot to do with "The Book" (The Transgender Child), making him feel ok to be gender-variant.

I used to tell him "Whatever you are worried about, whatever you feel you need to change about yourself so you can be comfortable, we can do it.  Doctors can do anything.  If you want boobs, done.  Fake hair, done.  Another arm, well... maybe not that, but you get the idea." I have always tried hard to have open and honest conversations with him, adding in a little humor to lighten the load.  We are a silly house, so I never wanted our important talks to feel important.  I just wanted them to happen, often.  I think that is the key.  He has to trust me enough to let me hear his process, to take me on his journey, and to not make it feel like a struggle or that there would be any judgement.  I don't want to be the baggage, I want to be the map.  But he has to be the explorer.

So there we were, snuggling and staring at an old beat up shirt.  Not ready to let go.  Holding on to the old life vest, that made it feel safe to dangle our toes in the water.