4 years and an Ovulation Kit

Earlier this month, S and I celebrated our 4 year anniversary.  His gift to me? 

A brilliant, beautiful poem.  And an ovulation kit.

The first, a profoundly moving expression of his love and committment.  A reminder of all we have been through and all we have built together. 

The second, a symbolic (and practical) gesture to let me know he is HERE and READY to begin a new journey in our relationship.  It was a reassuring and exciting sign.  Let the 5th year of our joyous partnership begin!

Baby-Obsessed

I had a chance to see Mom, Pop, and Aunty last weekend for a day of shopping and good food.  As we began our shopping adventures, Aunty mentioned that Mom has been OBSESSED with babies for the past few weeks - she's been swooning over baby clothes, baby toys, baby gadgets, and actual babies.  I bore witness to the phenomenon throughout the afternoon:

As we walked by a rack of frilly, holiday-themed girly dresses: "Awwwwww!" squealed Mom.
Tiny tiny baby sneakers in the shoe store:  "Ohhhhh, so cuuuute!"
Pint-sized argyle sweater-vest/collared shirt/dress pants combo in a store window: "Now isn't that the sweetest thing?!"

"Why can't you become small again so I can dress you up?" she asked, looking at me with wistful eyes.

That last one struck my heart as a sad shift in Mom's baby-summoning discourse.  Over the past few years, the few times she has appealed to God/her mother/Pop/me about wanting a baby, it has been in the form of wishing she had a grandchild, followed by a bitter/sarcastic/angry retort under her breath about how her two kids are never going to make that happen.  Never has she so clearly expressed her resignation to the fact that the only way she now believes a little one will come into her life will be in the form of backwards time-travel.  How else can she imagine her dreams come true than to rewind life to her daughter's pre-queer days?

Little does she know that I am quietly going through my own emotional and logistical process of preparing for pregnancy.  Every day I'm comparing strollers on the subway, baby carriers on the streets, and child-rearing styles in the supermarket (shudder).  I'm reading books, purusing mommy blogs, and pulling my shirt out as I look at myself in the mirror to imagine how my pregnant body will look.  We are, mother and queer daughter, more on the same page than she can imagine. 

I pray that in another time and place, we will squeal over all the little little things and be baby-obsessed together.

Awakening Imagination

I'm in my home state for the weekend visiting Mom, Pop and Aunty. Every room of the house is filled with memories of my childhood. And in every room I am summoning visualizations of myself pregnant, of S, of our child. I am imagining the future Nanima and Nanabapa playing with their grandchild, holding her, taking photos, playing games, teaching her Gujarati. I am seeing my pregnant body in every mirror...feeling my belly growing round and strong...nourishing the baby with Mom's home cooking...cuddling with S as the family watches movies on the couch.

I believe the days will come. I can see them.

Ready to Fly

Last night S and I went to see Quiet Come Dawn, a “choreopoem” about birds, queer love, ecosystems, and violence. It was a moving performance; so moving, in fact, that it nearly brought me to tears. In typical fashion, I forced them back, though the ever-perceptive S could clearly read my face. He asked me, probingly, on the walk back to the train, “What did you think about the play?”

“It was good. Fine. I liked it,” I responded curtly. I then turned my gaze to the taco truck down the street, claiming hunger.

I wasn’t able to articulate the truth to myself until this morning. One of the central themes of Quiet Come Dawn is healing from violence/trauma/fear/uncertainty. The main character, Rook, goes through a powerful personal transformation - from living in fear, anger, and victimhood, to living in empowerment, courage, and joy. She learns how to heal herself and thereby, quite literally, learns to fly.

The scene where Rook fights her demons and musters up the strength to spread her wings is haunting. It shook me at my vulnerable, frightened core, the space where the Whole Me resides and bumps up against the Partial Me on almost a daily basis. The Partial Me is a ground-dweller, perpetually stuck, small, quiet, meek. Contentedly immobile. The Whole Me yearns to Dance. Sing. Speak Spanish. Write. Speak Up. Be Bold. And just like Rook - To Fly.

The enormous divide between the Partial and Whole Me has been getting inevitably smaller as I approach my 30th Birthday, our pregnancy plans, and The Conversation with my parents about it all. I feel pressure mounting in my cells with every family planning book I read, wedding blog I visit, and existential crisis conversation I have with friends.

I know there is a better, stronger, happier version of me trapped somewhere inside my body. My tongue, heart, hips, feet all ache to be free. And last night, watching a human learn to soar like the birds was just another reminder of the sweet journey that awaits.

Insured

Yesterday signified a big moment in our pregnancy planning: I now have health insurance. I have officially been at my new, wonderful job for 30 days and I am finally eligible for comprehensive coverage. This, after being uninsured for three months (during which I crossed my fingers daily and prayed I would stay healthy and safe).

During my first week on the new job, I pored over the details of my pending insurance coverage: OBGYN visits, prenatal care, infertility services with hope and anticipation. l was pleased to find that all these services seem to be generously covered. I now hope it all pans out when I actually begin to USE the coverage.

For now, I simply mark this day as another joyous step on the journey toward building our little queer family.

In the beginning...

... there were doubts. And political questions, existential crises, fears, and uncertainty. But somewhere between quitting a job, working with domestic violence survivors, cardiomyopathy, losing my grandma, entering The Year Before I Turn Thirty, quitting another job, S turning forty, and really trying to figure out what it is I want in the world, I found clarity.

I want to have a baby with S.

Once I found my way toward naming this dream a few months ago, I have been, in typical Aries fashion, moving full-steam ahead with the details.  S, on the other hand, has been ready for me to birth our child since the day we met.  Thus there's been little negotiating between us about whether or not we want to or should have a baby; it's more about how to move forward.  In both technical/logistical and, more importantly, emotional/spiritual terms. 

So we created this blog.  As a space to process and share our emotions, to think through our excitement and questions, and to document the process for posterity.  And oh yeah: to give visibility to ourselves and other trans-queer couples who are paving the paths toward building beautiful families together.

We are ready....to be parents