Queer Mom Chronicles: How Do You Spend Quality Time With Your Kids?

With my son getting older and busier, getting to spend time together has become one of our major challenges. Even though he likes to have time and space to himself, he still wants to hang out with me, and I feel like I need to take advantage of that as much as I can before he begins to think I’m annoying and uncool and doesn’t want to hang out with me anymore.

We spent a lot of time together when he was a preschooler. I worked from home, and he didn’t go to school all day. After I’d finish work, or if we had a free day during the week, we’d go for a walk and grab Starbucks or get on the bus and go to Target or The Grove. Sometimes, we’d just hang out at home and have a dance party. He was little, and it was easy to entertain him back then. He was just as content to go get a treat as he was to take his tablet and cuddle with me on my bed while I worked. Getting to be around him and be there for him is one of the main reasons I work remotely. Over extended breaks from school, he’ll curl up with me on the couch and use his tablet, reminding me of the old days when he was small.

Now that it’s not just the two of us, quality time obviously looks a little different. My partner and I got together right before lockdown, and while it was stressful, we had nothing but quality time. I think it really gave us a way to solidify our family unit. Since we couldn’t leave the house, quality time looked like playing a lot of boardgames. His favorites were Chutes & Ladders, Candyland, and Monopoly Jr., which I always joked gave him a crash course in capitalism. He and my partner played hours of Backgammon, which he got the hang of quickly thanks to his love of numbers and strategy.

Sometimes I miss those days when we didn’t really have anything to do other than be around each other. It wasn’t always easy, but I think he’ll be able to look back at the time and say we made the best of it.

My son is genuinely one of my favorite people to hang out with. He’s at an age where he’s really fun and funny. The stuff that comes out of his mouth will sometimes have me falling over laughing. He outgrew his old suit, so we got him a new one, and when he tried it on with a buttondown shirt, the first thing out of his mouth was “I look like I’m going to work!” The laugh that flew out of my mouth, I tell you. We are still laughing about it two weeks later.

Quality time as a family has gotten harder now that my partner works weekends and my son has Saturday commitments twice a month. We don’t always know when that time together is going to happen, so we actively try to find ways to hang out. One thing we’ve done recently is watch a TV show together. We decided to watch Percy Jackson and the Olympians. The episodes drop weekly, so we have prioritized setting aside an hour around the time the new episode drops to watch together. We sit together on the couch, and no one is on their devices for that hour. This is the last week of the show, and I’m so bummed because I’ve genuinely enjoyed getting to have this time together. I may see if there’s another similar style show we can watch next. If anyone has suggestions, I’m all ears!

He has also gotten into video games since we got him a Nintendo Switch a couple Christmases ago. Sometimes he’ll let me challenge him to Just Dance, but he hates when I do better than him. We love to do the dance to “Everybody (Backstreet’s Back)”, and he’s determined to beat my high scores. He got Mario Kart this past Christmas, and one of his favorite ways to hang out with me and his stepmom right now is to totally own us at Mario Kart. He’s been playing a ton just so he can kick our asses whenever we play. I mean, to be fair, I suck at video games, and he knows this. My partner is more willing to play with him because she sucks less than I do. I’ll play of course, but I also discovered that playing gives me terrible hand cramps so I don’t really play for very long. But last week, he sat on the couch while I worked and sighed.

“What’s wrong bub?” I asked.
“I just wish there was someone to play with me,” he said.
“If you wait for me to finish, I’ll play with you.”
“Are you sure? What about your hand?” His face clouded with concern.
I smiled. “I can manage one game.”

I grabbed the controller and stared at the screen while I picked out my character (Princess Peach) and racer, and we got to it. As I swerved and swore, he laughed and told me I sucked at the game, but that he was proud of me for trying anyway.

This is everything… I thought to myself.

One-on-one quality time with just me and him isn’t something we do as often, and that made me really sad for a while. I found myself longing for those days when I would suggest a bus ride to Target for no real reason. In the last year, I’ve begun to make an effort to have that time again. At the end of Christmas break, I took him for a mother/son night out. We went to see Migration at the movie theater, had dinner at The Cheesecake Factory, got new books at Barnes & Noble, and ended the night with ice cream. When my partner works on Sundays, we’ll sit together on the couch and watch Friends or Say Yes to the Dress.

My son still wants to spend time with me, and I’m really trying to take advantage of it. He likes to cuddle with me in bed or sit on the couch while I take a nap. We can sit and watch my favorite 90s TV shows together — his favorites are Living Single and Frasier currently. He tries to explain Minecraft or Roblox to me, and I eagerly listen even if I don’t remember it. I’m just glad he wants to let me into his world a little bit.

You never know the things your kids are going to remember about their childhoods. That’s why I don’t turn our quality time into a production. Sure, it’s fun to do something like go to Great Wolf Lodge, but when he’s an adult, winning 2,000 tickets at the arcade may carry the same weight to him as dancing around in his underwear in our living room. I can’t force any core memories, but I can make sure that we’re spending time together.

How do you spend quality time with your kiddos?

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. 

Queer Mom Chronicles: Let’s Talk Mom Fashion

It’s the beginning of the year, and one of my favorite things to do is to take advantage of holiday sales and give my wardrobe a refresh. I work from home, so the bulk of my wardrobe comprises leggings and sweats, but every so often, they need updating. One of my intentions for this year is to go out of the house more often and have clothes that are appropriate for doing so, and I realized that part of my wardrobe was severely lacking.

Curating a wardrobe as a mom has always been one of my biggest challenges. Once I came out, it felt even harder. I’m a femme, and I love to lean into that, but with a young kid, it was simply not practical. Wearing dresses in the summer is my go-to, but it didn’t make sense if I was going to be running behind a toddler on the jungle gym or playing with sidewalk chalk or water balloons. Even as he got older, it became harder to figure out what that balance looks like. I need things like pockets to hold small toys, tissues, or hand sanitizer. I may be a femme, but I don’t always love carrying a purse. I got cargo shorts a couple summers ago, and I was mad at myself for not getting a pair when my kid was a toddler.

I’m not kidding when I say that my mom style has changed at least four times since I was pregnant.

Being pregnant is the fucking worst when it comes to creating a sense of style and having to buy clothes. Your body is constantly changing, which creates logistical challenges. But as other queer moms have pointed out, maternity clothing is excessively and aggressively femme. I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I never bought a single piece of maternity branded clothing. It felt like a waste of money, and I was broke. Maternity clothing is so expensive, and there’s no way to know if you’re going to wear it more than once, or for very long. I honestly think it makes more financial sense to invest in pieces that are a size or two bigger than your normal size for when your body starts to grow. Plus, you’ll have clothes you can wear as your body continues to change postpartum.

Since I have a September baby, I spent most of my time pregnant in warm weather. I was able to get through by wearing things with elastic waistbands and stretchy clothes like leggings. Dresses were also a lifesaver, especially at the end when my belly was round and low. However, I did also buy a couple pairs of shorts a few sizes up that would sit until my belly comfortably. If you have pants without an elastic waistband and you want to wear them longer, there are different kinds of extenders to accommodate a growing belly. One option works by attaching it to the button on your pants, and then the other is more of an elastic insert. You can also get a belly band that goes over your pants and just looks like you’re layering shirts.

Overalls and shortalls are also great for pregnancy and postpartum. They can accommodate a growing belly well, you can wear them with any kind of shirt, and they’re a queer fashion staple! Of course, they may be a pain if you have to constantly pee, but that’s a minor detail honestly.

As the mom of an infant and then a toddler, things that were stretchy were imperative to be able to run behind a toddling tornado. I wore a lot of t-shirts and leggings in breathable fabrics that could withstand frequent washing. Babies are gross little creatures — they puke and poop on you, they spill stuff. You don’t want to be wearing something that you’re afraid of getting dirty. They know, and they will take that opportunity to destroy it.

My kid was a preschooler when I started working from home, so I stuck with the stretchy soft clothes. Leggings became my default; I only wore jeans on the rare occasions that I went out without him. I came out around this time, and I had a hard time trying to find the balance between my mom wardrobe and signaling myself as a single queer woman. I wore a lot of flannels and overalls. One of my biggest challenges was finding clothes that made me feel sexy and confident for when I went out on dates. I had gotten used to being frumpy and not caring much about what I wore. Since I breastfed my son for almost four years and had been single since he was a baby, I spent so many years not feeling connected to my body. It made figuring out clothes more challenging than it had been before.

It was a process, but over time, I found pieces that made me feel good about my body. A lot of the time, it was still leggings and a cute top, but I’d pair them with a flowy kimono top or a cute faux leather jacket. I wasn’t straying too far from the comfort I had come to enjoy, but they made me feel sexy and not like a pillow person.

When the pandemic started, I lost any and all fashion sense. I fully adopted what I call “soft clothes,” sweatpants, hoodies, jumpsuits made out of that same material. With nowhere to go, what was the point of looking like anything other than a slug? Even though I go outside more now, I still largely live that soft clothes life, especially if I’m just taking my kid to school or running errands. Who needs to look nice to go buy toilet paper at Target?

My partner and I don’t get the opportunity to go out often, but I’m realizing that I don’t want to continue looking like a slug all the time, even if I don’t have anywhere fancy to go. Now that my kid is older, I don’t have to wear clothes that are the most practical for me as a mom. One of the benefits of having an older kid is that I can really start to separate the mom version of me from the overall version of me. As I find my way back to myself, and figure out what a queer mom in her late thirties wears, I’m finding ways to combine comfort with fashion. I don’t have to give up wearing sweatpants, but joggers are a little more sleek, and I can pair them with a sweater or my faux leather jacket and boots just as easily as a hoodie and my Uggs. High-rise pants are my friend, and I mainly shop at Old Navy because they carry clothes specifically tailored for tall folks, which has changed my life.

Admittedly, I’m still trying to figure out how my queerness factors into my mom style. I have all the staples: flannels, a faux leather jacket, several jumpsuits, and more pairs of overalls than a 37-year-old woman probably should.

I know that in another couple of years, as I reach the next phase of motherhood and life that my style will expand yet again. That’s the thing about getting older. There are a few things I know I just won’t do (I’m looking at you low rise jeans), but I’m very curious about who I’m going to be then, and how it’s going to look.

Let’s talk about clothes. How do you figure out your style as a queer mom?

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. 

Queer Mom Chronicles: Happy New Year!

Happy New Year everyone! I just want to say thank you for being here and reading Queer Mom Chronicles. I love this little corner of Autostraddle that we’ve created, and I’m really excited to continue to grow it and be in community with you all.

When I first started writing QMC, so many people had excellent suggestions for topics they wanted to see me cover, and I haven’t forgotten about them! There are some I really do want to cover this year, including mental load and household chores, childcare, and how to afford kids in major cities. To do the best possible job, I want to speak to experts on some of these topics, and last year, I really dropped the ball.

2023 was a big year of transition and turbulence for my family. It was my first year freelance writing full-time since 2021, and it’s bleak out there in terms of work. I did find one steady gig, but it has changed my schedule in ways that are tricky. My partner works in the entertainment industry and was forced to take a customer service job outside of our home because of the Hollywood strikes. It was the first time she has worked outside of the home since we met, and her not being around as much was a huge adjustment for the household and how things run here. Honestly, it took both of us until about now to really get used to it, and there are still hiccups and disruptions to the routine.

As always, my kid remained steadfast in spite of all the turbulence his moms are dealing with. He’s getting older and school is getting harder (fourth grade math is kicking my ass y’all!) but he still pushes himself even when he doesn’t want to. After beginning to learn the cello in third grade, he is taking his lessons up to the next level, and we’re really excited to watch him continue to excel.

I mentioned in my last column that he was going out of state for a week, and I’m happy to report I survived. He was gone for five days, and I missed him desperately, but I knew it was important to let him have this experience. As much as I’d like to talk more about what it was like, the last time I got too in-depth about the struggles I face co-parenting with his father didn’t end well for me, so I’ll keep it brief. Putting your child in someone else’s care, even if they’re other family members, is really fucking hard. Giving up control is hard for me as a mom who was a single parent for so many years. It’s even harder when you don’t entirely trust your co-parent. But I was able to tamp all my fears down for the sake of my son, and he had a good time. Giving him opportunities to spread his wings is important for both of us. But that doesn’t mean that I have to like it!

He came back just in time for Christmas, and the holidays are always kind of a shitshow when you’re a parent. Christmas day was a chill family day, but the week between Christmas and New Year’s definitely weren’t! Some of my partner’s family is in town, which means I have to be sociable when I’m definitely feeling the fatigue most moms go through during the holidays. This is the last week of my son’s holiday break, and I’m silently checking the days until he isn’t glued to my side, playing Roblox while I’m trying to work. These three weeks have been an absolute fucking slog, and I’m ready to get things back to our routine.

Parents know it’s mostly moms who do all the holiday magic. Frankly, this year it was hard to muster until the last minute. We bought a tree at the beginning of December, but we didn’t decorate it until Christmas Eve. I had gotten my kid new ornaments in October, and I still can’t find where I put them. With my kiddo being gone the week before Christmas, I felt like I was even less prepared when Christmas Eve snuck up on me! That night, I was pulling our matching pjs out of the dryer right at bedtime. I had remembered wrapping paper, but I forgot to get more tape. We had just enough to get through all the gifts. It didn’t help that I was also getting over strep throat — I was just trying to push through most days. This year, I was not feeling my most merry.

With the New Year starting, my hope is that I find a way to feel more settled, but I don’t think that will actually happen. Life just keeps happening, and every day blurs into the next with breakneck speed.

When I was younger, I’d make New Year’s resolutions I would ultimately break within the first few days of the year. Last year, I tried setting intentions for my year, and honestly, when I didn’t feel like I was living up to that intention, I just felt bad about myself. I do that so much anyway that I don’t want to give myself any more reason for self-criticism. Of course, that doesn’t mean there aren’t things I want to do this year both personally and professionally. Truthfully, my intention for the year is to just survive. Every morning I get up is a gift — right now there are so many mothers who aren’t even guaranteed that. I don’t want to take it for granted.

My intention for Queer Mom Chronicles is to keep growing and being here for you all. If you have questions, or there are subjects you want me to cover, please don’t hesitate to leave a comment. I love getting to know fellow parents, so say hi sometime!

How do you feel about the new year? Are you setting intentions? What do you want to see from Queer Mom Chronicles in 2024?

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. 

Queer Mom Chronicles: Christmas With a Tween

By the time you all read this, my kiddo will be on his first trip without me. He’s going with his dad to visit his grandparents, and I’m having a lot of feelings I haven’t yet processed. He will be home right before Christmas, and I will be in absolute agony until he’s back under my roof.

I can’t believe it’s already Christmastime! How did we get here so fast? It feels like it was just summer, and now I’m sweeping up tree needles and trying to keep the dog from destroying the ornaments on the tree. Christmas is such a chaotic time of year if you’re a parent, especially if you’re the parent of a school aged kid. We had three end of semester performances (he killed it as always) and one mini class party. I made Rice Krispie Treats and baked chocolate chip cookies. I’ve bought all the gifts but haven’t wrapped them yet — there’s just a bunch of random boxes stashed all over my apartment.

Every year, it feels like the holidays sneak up on us faster and faster. I think it’s because my kid is getting older and time seems to be passing much more quickly. (It’s probably because I’m just so busy and overwhelmed I rarely know what day it is, but alas.)

Christmas is interesting with a big kid. My son is only 10 — he’s standing with one foot in being a kid and the other in being a tween. He’s still excited about picking out a Christmas tree and decorating it, but he tries to act too cool to watch Charlie Brown Christmas with me. His Christmas list is getting shorter in favor of one or two more expensive gifts. There was only one thing he really wanted for Christmas this year, a shed for his trains. I had to pick his brain for gifts his grandparents could get him, which has never happened before!

I work really hard to make sure my son gets whatever gifts he wants, because he’s such a good kid and he deserves it. When he was little, it was Thomas trains and LEGOs. I remember Christmas 2020, he wanted sets for LEGO Super Mario. We spent hours putting together Bowser’s Castle; it was over 1,000 pieces, and there are no paper instructions, only an app. Right before bedtime, my partner’s foot plowed through Bowser’s Castle, and we spent another handful of hours trying to put it back together. The following year, he put Bowser’s Airship together completely by himself. Last year, he wanted a Nintendo Switch, so my partner and I split the cost with his dad. To date, it’s the most expensive thing he’s ever asked for, but we both use it, so it was worth the cost.

Money has always been an issue for me — I was a single mom for the first six years, and I bought all of his gifts. I always made sure he got the things he repeatedly asked for, and if there were filler gifts, I would do my best. Luckily, I can also outsource gifts to his grandparents, who are always happy to spoil him the best they can. Usually he was asking for trains that cost $15, $20 bucks, so I could make my money stretch and get him enough so it looked like a lot. I’d get him a few small things that would be from Santa, like books or crayons or Play-Doh.

Once he was old enough to understand who Santa was, I decided that Santa wasn’t going to bring him big or expensive gifts. Part of it was selfish; I was working hard to make sure he had what he wanted, and I wanted credit for that. The other part of it was so that he wasn’t disappointed if Santa didn’t get him exactly what he wanted. I remember that there were years when my parents couldn’t afford the mountains of gifts I asked for, and it always made me sad when Santa brought me some shitty winter boots and my friend got Barbie’s DreamHouse. If I was going to disappoint my kid, I was going to own up to it. It also made Santa less important — he believed Santa brought boring gifts like books and went to his grandparents’ houses to pick up his gifts.

But just because he was largely uninterested in Santa doesn’t mean that we didn’t uphold all of the pomp and circumstance around Santa. We baked chocolate chip cookies in our pajamas before bedtime and then left Santa a cookie and a glass of water (I don’t drink milk, so I convinced him that it was important for Santa to stay hydrated) and a couple baby carrots for the reindeer. My boy would write a note for Santa, and then I’d tuck him into bed and watch The Holiday while I wrapped his presents. In the morning, the cookie and water and carrots would be gone, and he would be so happy.

In the last couple of years, he has still wanted to get in pajamas and make cookies and write the note and all that, but his belief in Santa was starting to wane. This year, I straight up asked him, “what’s the deal, do you still believe in Santa?” He thought for a second and said no, but then he asked “Can we still bake cookies?”

That interaction is what it’s like to have a 10-year-old in a nutshell. He may not believe in Santa anymore, because Santa is for little kids. But he’s not ready to give up the tradition of spending time with me in the kitchen, cracking eggs and stealing handfuls of chocolate chips while I mix the batter. There’s a constant battle of watching them grow up and wanting that, but then still seeing glimpses of them being little and wishing you could go back for just a second.

I wrote about this on Halloween, but I think it’s even more true right now. Santa is one of the last pieces of being a little kid, and when they give that up, it hurts a little bit. Of course I’m glad to not have to pretend Santa still exists, but if it meant that he was still my baby boy for a little bit longer, I’d suck it up. He’s growing up so fast y’all. There are no traces of baby fat in his cheeks anymore, and he’s wearing men’s shoes. I’ve gone from Mommy, to Mom to Bruh in what feels like five minutes. I give him a hard time about still playing with Thomas trains, but they’re one of the last hold-outs of his toddler years. One minute he’s watching old episodes of Peppa Pig, and then he’s asking me if I’ve seen the most recent episode of Family Guy. We only have one more year of elementary school; next year he’ll be 11. There’s already fine hair on his legs, and I have to keep haranguing him about remembering to wear deodorant. He still wants little kid bandages, but it’s because he slid across the asphalt playing soccer with his friends at recess.

My mother warned me that it goes by fast, but fuck. The constant back and forth of being the mom of a tween is breaking my heart. How can I be freaking out about puberty when the kid in question still sleeps with a bed full of Paw Patrol stuffies? I’m folding boxer-briefs, but right next to them are his little Minecraft undies. I can’t pick him up without feeling like I’m going to pass out, but he still grabs my face to give me a kiss on the cheek while we sit next to each other on the couch.
The magic of the holiday season just hits different when you’re a parent. I had stopped caring about Christmas, and then I had my son. And now I love sharing that magic with him. But pretty soon, it’s going to lose its shine for him, just like it did for me. I don’t think I’m ready, but if I’ve learned anything about being a parent, you’re never ready.

What are some of your holiday traditions? Matching pajamas? A special dinner? Tell me!

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. 

Queer Mom Chronicles: How Do You Handle School Stuff While Co-Parenting?

feature image photo by Carbonero Stock via Getty Images

I had a completely different idea for this week’s column, but I decided to put a pin in it. Sometimes things come up, and you want to talk about them in real time. Earlier today (it’s Thursday November 30 as I’m writing this), I was listening to the Coffee Convos with Kail Lowry and Lindsie Chrisley podcast and they were talking about something I found very interesting. For those who don’t know them, Kail was on Teen Mom 2. I didn’t watch the show, but I fell upon her social media, and now I love her. She doesn’t identify as straight and has talked about encounters with women in the past. Kail has a small army of children, and I commend her for it, because it could not be me. Lindsie is the oldest daughter of disgraced reality star Todd Chrisley, who is currently in jail for fraud. She’s mom to one boy named Jackson.

Anyways, both Kail and Lindsie are boy moms and co-parents, and we all have kids around the same age, so when Kail shared an episode of the podcast that dealt with co-parenting and school, I was curious to hear what they had to say based on their co-parenting experiences. The topic of conversation was how co-parents handle parent-teacher conferences at school. We just had parent-teacher conferences at the beginning of November, so it’s something still fresh on my mind.

I am a big advocate of parent-teacher conferences, and I always make it a priority to go, except for the times when I was told I didn’t have to. My son’s school sometimes makes that last conference optional for kids who are doing well. Parent-teacher conferences were always deemed important when I was a child, and I knew that it was imperative for me to show up. Kids are unreliable narrators, and if you want to know how they’re doing in school, you need to talk to their teachers directly. To me, it’s also a sign that you are present as a parent and you’re not only interested but invested in your child’s education. I know it’s not always easy for parents to show up, but many teachers will be accommodating if they know you’re going to show up.

The podcast conversation revolved around how you conquer parent-teacher conferences as co-parents. Do you do it together, separately, or does the default parent go and take notes. Both Kail and Lindsie agreed co-parents should be able to put aside issues for the good of your child’s education, which I also agree with. I also think that’s easier said than done sometimes, especially when parents don’t see eye to eye about the ways their kid learns, or their own approaches to schoolwork. I also think this only works if both co-parents are taking the same amount of responsibility when it comes to school and schoolwork.

I am the primary parent of my child and the sole decision maker when it comes to school. My son’s dad never took much of an interest in caring about that stuff. I picked out my son’s school, I fill out all of the paperwork, and he seems fine with that. He did come with me to that first kindergarten parent-teacher conference, and I was surprised. School wasn’t something he seemed to take much of an interest in outside of pickup and dropoff. There were never questions about things like homework assignments or stuff like that. As far as I can remember (and it was four years ago, so my memory is hazy), his biggest question was about my son’s sensitivity to noise and if it was normal. The only productive thing to come out of that conversation was that we agreed my son could use noise-canceling headphones while he went to the bathroom because he didn’t like the sound of the flushing and the hand dryers. I was the one who asked about things like reading, homework, and making sure he was at grade-level.

The pandemic happened halfway through kindergarten, and school was virtual for all of first grade. My son’s father moved out of state during the school year, but even before that he had kind of lost interest in my son’s education. Now, I’m not going out of my way to include him in the academic stuff, but if he expressed an interest in attending a parent-teacher conference, I would happily invite him to join in on the next one. On the other hand, my partner is incredibly invested as the other parent in the house. Maybe it’s because she’s the one who’s fighting the battle with fourth grade math (and also losing horribly) and coaching a reluctant kid through reading.

In their conversation, Kail and Lindsie didn’t get into too much detail about their co-parents and how they navigate school things like parent-teacher conferences, but they made it seem that it’s something they attend with their co-parents, which I find fascinating. I don’t know what kind of conversations were had about how present they were going to be for those things, or if their co-parents decided that as dads it was their job to show up and be present when it came to school. They also didn’t talk about how their current partners/co-parent’s partners play a part in this as people who are also directly involved in the kids’ lives, and I’m curious about that. But as someone whose co-parent isn’t super invested, I was fascinated by the idea of them showing up for conferences or taking an interest in school.

I guess for me, it’s not the end of the world if my son’s father doesn’t show up for a parent-teacher conference. Do I wish he took more of an interest in his son’s education? Sure, but he could do that by asking me how school is going. Doing conferences together means you’re on the same page about things, and I have no idea if we are.

Something else that struck me was Lindsie saying that she always did parent-teacher conferences alone when she was married. To her it “didn’t make sense” for both her and her then husband to both go if they were in the same house. My parents always did conferences together from elementary through high school. My partner and I always do conferences together; she will rearrange her work schedule to make sure she’s available. It’s more important to me that we be seen as a united front. We’re the two parents in my son’s home and the ones most invested in his education, so we need to show up.

It’s not even just parent-teacher conferences. I am the main school parent, and my partner runs a close second. We’re the names on all the forms, the point of contact if he’s sick or hurt or something happens. I chaperone field trips and volunteer at school. My partner jumps in too when she can. My son’s dad is busy, but I don’t think he’s ever thought about finding ways to support my son’s education and school years. Am I wrong for not asking him to make it more of a priority? Was I asking for too much when I assumed that as a parent, that would just happen for him? I dunno.

For those of you who co-parent, I’d love to know how you navigate school.

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. Also! I’m working on something for a future column and I would love to have your input as loyal readers of Queer Mom Chronicles. If you’d like to answer a few questions, let me know!

Queer Mom Chronicles: I Have Baby Fever, but I Don’t Want Another Baby

I have something to admit: I have raging baby fever. In the past year, several of my friends have had babies, which is probably contributing to my problem. Those little feet, the gummy smiles, and the smell. OH MY GOD THE SMELL. Sniffing a baby’s head is the kind of serotonin boost that is unmatched. Who needs therapy when babies exist? Just let Auntie Sai sniff all the babies and the world will right itself. See what I mean? Baby fever.

When my partner and I started dating, we talked about having more kids. She wanted the opportunity to raise a child from infancy, and I was open to the idea of another child. During my single days, I had decided I would be content with having my son unless I ended up in a relationship with someone who wanted a baby. My partner was a natural mother, and if she wanted a baby, I was happy to give it to her. She didn’t want to carry, so we decided reciprocal IVF would be the way forward. We were going to ask my older brother if he’d donate his sperm so the baby would look like both of us (my dad’s genes are strong; we all look alike). After we had been dating for a year, we made an appointment with a fertility doctor and she got a blood test and other tests.

Based on her age and a few other factors, the doctor said it might be hard to get viable eggs, but we weren’t deterred. It wasn’t impossible, and we would continue to explore all our options. I desperately wanted to give her a baby. I wanted us to be able to raise a kid together from the beginning; the sleepless nights, sore boobs, potty training, teething. Since I did all of that by myself the first time around, I was excited about having a partner.

We got a puppy that Christmas. One night, as he snoozed on the couch after destroying the Christmas tree for a while, I looked at her.

“I don’t want to have a baby,” I said, my whole body collapsing. It took her a minute before she replied.
“I don’t think I want one either.”

I cried as I told her I desperately wanted her to have that experience, but I was simply too tired to do it. A baby is a lot of work — the sleepless nights, the sore boobs, the potty training, the teething. She was already in her early forties, me approaching my late thirties. My son was closer to 10 than he was to 1. We would be starting from scratch, and as much as I wanted her to get to raise a child from birth, I was worn out. Physically, I could absolutely carry another baby, but I also knew the physical exhaustion would be 20 times worse this time around. I breastfed my son for almost four years, and I didn’t think I could handle my body being someone else’s again. We were already so tired. Could we really handle the level of tired that comes with a newborn?

She heard my concerns and understood them. Plus, there was the cost. I had a well paying job at the time and insurance that would cover fertility treatments to a degree. But it wasn’t going to be cheap, and was that really where we wanted all our money to go? Especially when we do have a kid already and want to do other things? Beyond that, kids cost money. We’re already stressing about how we’re going to put the kid that does exist through college. Did we want to have to think about two? After a very long and tearful conversation, we realized having a baby isn’t the smartest idea for our family. We realized we were content to pour all of that love into the kid we do have.

Just because I decided I didn’t want to have another baby doesn’t mean I lost all urges toward wanting another baby. Anytime I see a stroller, my uterus screams a little. But then my brain is like, “Aht aht! We already said no more of that!”

It’s hard sometimes, though, when I see a baby. A pair of baby feet? I am reduced to a puddle. Rolls of chonk that rival a can of Pillsbury biscuits? I want to nibble on every single one. The wrist creases of chubby baby hands? I am deceased. And like I said, there is nothing like the smell of a baby. I just want to sit and sniff them like they’re a candle. If everyone sniffed the head of a baby, the world would be a more peaceful place.

I can’t walk through a Target without finding myself wandering over to the baby clothes section. My hand skims over the tiny overalls and the little furry jackets and the giant hair bows for tiny heads, and there is an ache deep in my tummy. But again, my brain quickly reminds me of everything that comes with having a baby. The cuteness fades when you’re wiping up a blowout diaper and cleaning spit-up off your shirt. The cuddles during nursing sessions are sweet, but then you’re stuck under a sleeping baby because if you put them down they’ll wake up and scream. Tiny baby socks look a lot less cute when you can’t find the other one.

A couple months ago, I had lunch with my friend who had just had a baby. He is the sweetest cuddlebug, and I loved getting to spend some time with him. I cradled him in my arms, and he scrunched his little body up into my chest. I felt him relax into sleep as he found the sweet spot of my body to snooze. I sniffed his head, smoothing his soft baby hair and nuzzled his little face with my cheek. This is the stuff I miss, I thought to myself as we contentedly sat together in the sun. But then he stirred and started to cry, so I handed him off to his momma who nursed him with one hand while she tried to eat her lunch. The vision of her at that moment snapped me out of my baby-induced stupor and brought me back to reality. No thank you.

Knowing I don’t want a baby doesn’t stop the urges. My partner and I will sit on either side of our couch sending each other a million videos of tiny babies learning that they have hands or a compilation of newborns stretching. As we coo over the videos, I have to say it: “I don’t want a baby.” Whenever another friend sends me videos of her infant, I say it again. “I don’t want a baby.”

Some would say my constant need to tell myself I don’t want a baby means I do want a baby. I know I do. But I only want a baby in theory. That’s the thing. I want a baby I can hang out with and sniff and cuddle, but I don’t want the day-in-day-out responsibility of having a baby. I don’t want to have to clean up more poop or do more laundry than I already do. The thought of someone being wholly dependent on me makes my stomach hurt.

Look, my kid is 10 now. At this point, I’m counting down to the time when he will move out of my house. He asks me for a younger sibling until I remind him it wouldn’t be the fun he thinks it will be. We finally got to a point where he can fully shower without my assistance, and I don’t want to go back. I can sit at the playground and read a book or walk the dog and know he’ll be in the same place when I get back. He can pick out his own clothes, get his own breakfast, and clean up after himself. Why would I go back to wrestling a small person into pants, fetching snacks every hour, and constantly cleaning up spills? If we were all a few years younger when my partner and I met, things might be different.

For now, I’ll just be Auntie Sai and cuddle all the babies while I go home to my big kid, who will tell me how much he loves me. And when my uterus starts screaming, I’ll tell that bitch to shut up.

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. 

Queer Mom Chronicles: Halloween Is Just Another Reminder My Kid Is Growing Up

It feels like Halloween always sneaks up on me. After my son’s birthday, it’s a hop, skip and a scream into the holiday season, and yet, I forget that every year. Even though we call Thanksgiving into Christmas the “holiday season,” I’d argue it really starts at Halloween because Thanksgiving is the bridge holiday. We went to Target a week and a half before Halloween, and there were already Christmas decorations out! I picked up two Christmas tree ornaments for my kid alongside the four bags of Halloween candy we got.

As a parent, Halloween is always such a mess of a holiday. You ask your kid what they want to be, they tell you, you get the costume, and then they change their mind or want to wear the costume before the holiday and you fight about it. My son is incredibly picky and also incredibly indecisive, so picking out a Halloween costume is a literal nightmare. There were a few years when he wasn’t really interested in celebrating, and they were my absolute favorite. But now that he’s in school, dressing up is important, even if we’re not going to celebrate. If the holiday falls on a school day, then the kids can wear their costumes. And more often than not, Halloween has fallen on a school day since he started kindergarten.

In kindergarten, he decided he wanted to be Spider-Man. I bought him a costume online that was going to get to us in time for the actual day, but not for the Halloween party we were attending the weekend before. I found him a super cheap Spidey costume and had to fight with him to wear the more expensive costume to school. There was screaming and crying, and somehow I still managed to get out the door with my dignity intact. Two years later, I was less successful trying to get him to wear the Power Rangers costume he picked out. Moral of the story: My son doesn’t like costumes with fake muscles. That means most superheroes are out. Last year, he went as Ash Ketchum from Pokémon, which was cute. This year, he’s going as some Minecraft character. Please don’t ask me which one; he has told me a dozen times and it does not compute. All I know is that it’s not Steve, and the ax we got should have been a sword.

This year is the first time in a couple years that he can go trick or treating. He usually has his afterschool program on Halloween and has had to skip tricks and treats. This kid was so excited that he picked out his Halloween costume the last weekend in September. More importantly, he hasn’t changed his mind! He has been asking to wear it while he plays, and I keep telling him no. We’ll both be happy when he can turn it into a dress-up costume.

Halloween is one of those holidays that remind me that even though I have a “big” kid, he’s still just a kid, and he’s clearly not in a hurry to grow up. He was so excited to walk through the costume section of Target, giving us his commentary on why he likes or dislikes costumes. His eyes lit up when he saw that there were Minecraft costumes, and I have never seen him make a decision so quickly and definitively. He’s already talking about taking his McDonald’s Boo Buckets with him to collect all the candy he’s going to get, telling us he’s not willing to share with me or his stepmom. I reminded him that he only likes a couple kinds of candy, so the rest of his bucket is fair game. Even though he’s 10 and theoretically the days of wanting to trick or treat are winding down, he’s so excited about dressing up and going out to knock on strangers’ doors for candy.

He may be 10, but he still needs a grownup with him, and I’m happy to oblige. We’re going trick or treating with my friend and her four-year-old son, but her neighbor’s kids are my son’s age, so he’ll have some big kids to hang with. I’ve convinced my partner we should dress up too, even though her dreams of a family costume never came to fruition. She desperately hung on to the dream of us being Alvin and the Chipmunks for YEARS, but my kiddo just wasn’t that into it. It would have been perfect — the three of us naturally identify with a specific Chipmunk, but we missed our opportunity. A 10-year-old doesn’t want to wear matching costumes with his moms, and that’s fair.

Right now, I’m trying to enjoy this as much as I can. He is 10, and I know we only have a couple more years of trick or treating and wanting to hang out with his moms and not his friends. I still remember dressing him up as a pumpkin for his first Halloween, and now he’s dressing up as some sort of game character that carries a sword (not a pickaxe, as he not so gently corrected me). Gone are the days of pushing him in a stroller or holding his hand as he walks up to a house and plucks a lollipop from a bowl. Now I stand on the sidewalk and yell at him to grab me a Snickers if they have one. I still have to monitor the amount of candy he eats, but that’s because I don’t want him to eat all the Tootsie Pops.

These moments are fleeting, and of course he can’t understand why I want to take a million pictures of him in his costume before he goes to school. I can still remember dressing up and going trick or treating when I was his age, and now I’m the mom who’s combing through the candy bucket. The only thing that is still the same is that I don’t understand fruit flavored Tootsie Rolls or why people give out Good & Plentys. Pretty soon, I’m going to be yelling at him to not cause trouble with his friends while I drop him off and eat a 150 piece bag of Hershey miniatures while I cry about my son not needing me anymore. Honestly? I’m not prepared for it.

In two years, he’ll be starting middle school, and in three years he’ll officially be a teenager. I feel like Halloween is one of those things that marks the end of childhood and the beginning of everything that comes next. I don’t know if this year is going to be the last one where he wants to trick or treat and watch It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown with me, so I’m going to enjoy it as much as I can.

What are y’all doing for Halloween? Do you dress up? I want to see!

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. 

Queer Mom Chronicles: Why Do I Constantly Have To Explain Our Family Dynamic?

One thing I had forgotten to consider when my partner and I got together was how people were going to perceive our family when we left the house. I know — it seems like a basic part of being a two mom family. But I genuinely didn’t think about it.

My son looks like he’s mixed race (his dad is white), so I’ve spent his entire life having to tell people I’m his mom. When he was just a tiny baby, I had people ask me how I could have made such a “white” baby. Look, I asked myself that question sometimes too, but it was still jarring to hear a stranger ask me that while I was walking down the street. As he got older, especially before he could talk, I had a lot of people ask if I was his nanny. I would politely say that no, I wasn’t his nanny, that he came from inside my uterus. It was especially hilarious when people would give me a quizzical look as I latched him on to nurse while we were on the bus or something.

For a while when he was a toddler, I was working as a nanny, and that was a trippy experience. Once, I had another nanny scold me for not keeping a better eye on my charge as I let my kid climb a jungle gym. “I’m his mom, my charge is right here,” I said, and she left me alone.

Once he could talk, people were less inclined to think I was anything other than his mom, mainly because of the way he talked to me. My friends and family swore he started to look like me as he got older, so I don’t know if that had anything to do with it. For years, it was just the two of us, so I had just accepted our dynamic. Yes, he was my son, I was his mom, and our skin colors didn’t really change that.

I’ll never forget the first time someone thought my partner was my son’s mother. We had to rush him to the hospital because he was complaining of severe stomach pain. It turned out he was having a terrible asthma attack, and his lungs were so inflamed that breathing was pushing down on his stomach. When he was admitted, we explained I was mom and she was my girlfriend. I explained he also had a dad, but he would likely just come visit for a bit. My girlfriend was going to be the second parent. Every time a doctor came in, they would talk to my partner like she was the mom and completely ignore me or my concerns. She had only known him for a month at this point and knew absolutely nothing about his medical history. But because she’s white, they automatically assumed she was the bio parent by virtue of her skin color. The same thing happened when his dad showed up the next day. Again, he knew nothing about my son’s medical history, so they were wasting their time talking to him.

Aside from my son being mixed race, our family dynamic isn’t the typical two-mom family dynamic. My son does have a dad who is a part of his life, and while my partner and I are the default parents, his dad isn’t someone we pretend doesn’t exist. Sometimes it’s a real pain in the ass, mainly because I don’t feel like I need to explain to the lady in the Target elevator that no, my son doesn’t get his curly hair from his white stepmom; he has curly hair because his dad is white and his mom is Black, and that’s what happens. (Yes, someone really said this to us in a Target elevator. We just laughed it off.)

There was the time I felt compelled to explain our family to a random woman in Petco while I pet her dog. It felt weird to be standing there admiring her pug while I was like, “no my partner didn’t carry, it was me, he has a dad.” All I wanted to do was pet a cute dog, not have to explain my whole life story. But I think I feel compelled to explain because every family’s story is different, and I don’t want people to make assumptions about two-mom families. Of course that doesn’t make it any less weird or frustrating when it happens in a time or place I’m not expecting it to, like the Petco or Target.

Maybe it’s just because I have an atypical two-mom family that I feel like I need to educate people on what that looks like. I think it’s easy for people to make assumptions because they see the three of us out running errands or spending time together, and they think they know everything about our family. Just like when I felt it was necessary to correct people when they didn’t assume I was my son’s mother because of his skin color, I feel it’s necessary to do not just that, but to explain that he has a dad, not just a sperm donor.

Just because his dad and I aren’t together doesn’t mean I ever want to devalue his place in our family. My son loves his dad, and it’s important to me that we make space for that and honor it. While I’m not going around with a sign that tells people he has a dad, if it comes up, I will quickly mention it, even if it’s just to get ahead of my kid saying something and causing confusion.

That’s why I have to make sure I have a conversation with his teachers at the beginning of the school year and explain our dynamic to them. Since first grade, it’s been me and my partner doing the day-to-day parenting. His dad lived out of state for two years, but it wasn’t “out of sight, out of mind” for us. I still explained to his teachers that yes, my kid has a dad, and while he isn’t the default second parent, I don’t want his contribution to our family to be discounted for any reasons. Plus, I didn’t want them to be confused and try to argue with my son about who’s in his family. Since his dad has moved back into town, I’ve had to explain who he is so that nobody questioned him if he ever did pickup or drop-off or attended a performance. I didn’t want him to feel alienated because he doesn’t live in our home.

Sometimes it feels like including my son’s father means that I am excluding my partner in some way. That by giving him his rightful space as the dad, I’m downplaying the contributions my partner makes to our family. For all intents and purposes, she is the second parent, and my son’s father is the third. She’s the one who’s doing homework and helping with bedtime and fighting with the kid to clean his room. So it’s hard when we encounter a heteronormative world where she is excluded by default. For example, school forms or medical forms say “mother” and “father,” and then I have to put her as the emergency contact, even though based on the paperwork’s reasoning, she’s the father.

I know I will be explaining our family dynamic until I die, and while it’s frustrating sometimes, that won’t stop me from doing it. We live in a time when the “traditional” nuclear family isn’t necessarily the default family structure anymore. But beyond that, not all queer families are made the same way either. It’s so easy for people on the outside to see us while we’re out and think they’ve clocked how our family was created. Just because we look one way from the outside, doesn’t mean that’s who we are. As much as it’s important to educate people about more “typical” two-mom families, it’s important to educate them on the ways that some of us might differ.

How often do you find yourself having to explain your family to strangers? Have you just said “fuck it” and given up?

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. 

Be the Queer Aunt You Wish to See in The World

I have eight niblings and one great nephew. That’s what happens when your dad was married three times. I was an aunt for the first time when I was six-years-old, and my last nibling was born my freshman year of college. We all grew up together — I was more like an older sister than I was an aunt. I was usually too busy living my life to be present for them, but I would try to pop in for birthday parties and the like when I could. As they were moving through adolescence and early adulthood, I was navigating early motherhood, and it became important for me to try and step up to the auntie plate. A few of them are queer themselves, and I feel an extra sense of responsibility to them.

Being queer is actually one of the things that bonded me and my youngest nibling. I often post a lot of memes on my Instagram about being queer, and they always like or comment on it. They turned 18 earlier this year, which is killing me because that’s how old I was when they were born. One time they posted about how embarrassing it was to have to go suit shopping with their dad, and I wished so much that I could have been there to take them shopping. It’s cool that their dad would take them… but it would be way cooler to shop with your queer aunt. I’m desperately trying to convince their parents to let them come visit me so we can have some time together.

My sister is a total PFLAG mom.I absolutely love it. She is super supportive of both of her queer kids — my mom could take a lesson from her, but I digress. She understands the importance of showing up and making your kids feel loved and accepted. My sister and nibling were in this year’s NYC Pride parade. But as accepting as she is, it doesn’t replace having someone in your life who gets it. When I post about loving boobs, my nibling feels seen in a way they will never be seen by their mom. There’s a shorthand we’ve developed and I really love it.

Honestly, it’s been the development of my relationship with my nibling that made me understand how important it is to continue living my queer life out loud. During a visit to my hometown, my partner and I took them and their sisters out to bowling and dinner. We didn’t talk about being queer, but I know we left an impression by simply showing up. They get to see me and my partner sharing a life: raising a family, hanging out with our queer friends, just being two queer people in the world. When the idea of living a queer life seems elusive, they can scroll through my Instagram feed and see me living my life and remember it is possible for them too. And that I’m never too far for a pep talk or advice. It’s true that queer teens now have more access to more queer visibility than I had as a teenager. But there’s so much to be said for having direct access.

Growing up, I had queer people in my orbit. Mostly close friends of my mom, but they were people I was around a lot. While I saw their lives as normal, that didn’t translate into me understanding that I could also live a queer life as an adult. My mom’s best friend (my honorary godmother) is a lesbian — we were close when I was young. But it was before I truly understood queerness; at seven or eight, I accepted her life as normal, and we never talked about it. My mom didn’t sit me down and explain that Aunt Janice was a lesbian and what that meant. I’d spend the weekend with her and her girlfriend knowing full well that they lived together and slept in the same bed.

As I got older and started to understand my sexuality, my Aunt Janice came around less. Gone were the sleepovers at her house, the outings with her and her girlfriend. I probably wouldn’t have asked her questions about being a lesbian because I was way too private about my romantic life. But I needed to be around queer women so I could try and make some sense out of the feelings I was having. Maybe she would have seen my burgeoning queerness and indirectly given me some advice. By the time I came out, we had no relationship, and I was no longer interested in pursuing one. She did comment on a few of my early Instagram posts insinuating that life would be better now that I was out of the closet. It felt like she was trying to make a connection with me, but I felt it was too late — I had already built my queer support system.

My partner has two young nieces. Because both my partner and her youngest sister are queer and in relationships with other women, those girls have an abundance of queer aunties. They haven’t really expressed romantic interest in any gender, but because they see us, they don’t think twice about loving another woman. Both of them are into things like princesses and mermaids and pink, and now that I’m part of the family, they finally have a femme auntie who will talk to them about nail polish and buy them Barbies with multicolored hair.

It’s an honor to be there for my niblings as the queer aunt I never had. I’m proud that they get to see me living my most authentic life and get to be a part of it. Creating relationships with them has been so important to me, so that they know they can trust me and confide in me. I want them to be able to ask me questions about what it’s like to be queer so I can demystify things for them. I want to show up for them, make them feel seen and heard and valued by someone who gets it. But ultimately, I just want to be their cool, queer aunt who lives LA that they tell their friends about.

Queer Mom Chronicles: Why I Never Put Anyone in My Family “First”

feature image photo by dragana991 via Getty Images

Since I’ve become a parent, I’ve seen debate after debate about whose needs should be paramount in a family. Moms should put themselves first, their children first, their partner first. I’ve always wondered why it matters who’s first. As long as everyone is having their needs met, isn’t that what matters? Do we always need to make it such a big deal?

To me, the concept of anyone being “first” in a family feels weird. We all have a hierarchy of needs, right? There will be times when my kid needs more of me than my partner, or maybe I need more attention from her because I’m feeling some type of way and I need my person. Or maybe she needs me to acknowledge the fact that she’s been working hard and love on her a little more. Families shouldn’t have a hierarchy of who is more important. That creates dynamics that can potentially hurt people.

I was a single parent for six and a half years. When my son was young, putting him “first” felt like the right thing to do. I didn’t have a partner to worry about, and I could devote all of my time and energy to making sure he felt loved and cared for. Honestly, my life was in such turmoil that it felt good to pour everything I had into him. Making him happy felt like a great way to deal with my own unhappiness. If he was happy playing with a new toy or having a treat at Starbucks, I could distract myself from the fact that I was exhausted and lonely.

I think there are sacrifices we as parents have to make sometimes, and I don’t think it means we’re putting our kids at a higher position than we are. If my kid needs a new pair of shoes, I can wait to buy myself the jacket I saw online and liked. Either it will still be there when I have the money again or it won’t. But it’s not the end of the world. If getting him the birthday present he wants means I have to skip Starbucks for a few days, then so be it. That toy will make him happy way longer than the drink served me.

Our kids didn’t ask to be here; that was our choice as parents. I don’t think that means we have to ignore ourselves to serve them, but I do think it means that a lot of the time, their needs and wants take precedence over ours. While it’s true that your kids never stop needing you, there is a finite amount of time where they will be children, and I’m all about making the most of that time.

Now that it’s not just me and my son and he’s getting older, spending quality time together is more important but also requires more of an effort. He’s quickly approaching those teen years, and I know he’s not going to want to hang out with me, so I’m trying to make the most of it. For us, it looks like spending one on one time with each other. Sometimes it’s out of necessity, but I always try to find ways to make it fun. If we have to go run an errand, I make sure there’s time to stop for a treat. There was a period in the last couple of years where I was working so much there wasn’t time for me to be the hands on parent I was, and I realized how much I missed him and how to him it might have felt like I wasn’t prioritizing his need to be with his momma, so now I’m making more of a commitment to giving him that time and energy.

When my partner and I started dating, she understood my son and his needs were always going to be a little higher up on the list. She entered our relationship not only knowing that but understanding it and respecting it. She would never ask me to choose between them, but she also knows that if she ever did, I would choose him with no hesitation. I’ve known him longer, and he is the most important person in my life.

My relationship with her is also incredibly important to me, and I will always make the time to cultivate it. But when you’re adults, there are a lot of different ways to make sure you’re giving your partner what they need. It’s not always about going on dates or out to dinner, even though that’s always a nice thing to do. Sometimes it looks like sitting on the couch all day on a Sunday afternoon watching TV together and telling the kid he has to wait until we’re done to watch his shows. Sometimes it looks like making something she would like for dinner even though you want something else. We may not get a lot of date nights out, but we try to spend at least a couple of nights a week watching TV or whatever after the kid goes to bed. For me, quality time isn’t about going and doing, it’s about being together. And honestly, my favorite way to spend quality time together is to just be in the same place. Whether we’re on the couch watching TV or holding hands in the aisles of Target, being around my partner makes me happy in a completely different way than spending time with my kiddo does.

I know there will be many more years where it’s just the two of us and we need to maintain a solid relationship so that when the kid is gone we know how to be around each other, but that doesn’t make our relationship paramount to anything else.

Admittedly, carving out time for myself isn’t always the easiest thing to do. When you’re the default parent, that’s just how it happens sometimes. When I was a single mom, I stole moments when my kid was at school or with his dad to go grab dinner out or sit in bed and eat olives out of the jar while watching several episodes of Say Yes to the Dress. When I could, I would have dinner with friends or go to a book event and be around other adults. But for the most part, I had to be last, simply because there weren’t enough hours in the day or because I didn’t have the money to pay for a babysitter.

Now I have my partner, and my son is older, and that gives me more time and resources to make time for myself. Sometimes all I need is a solo trip to Target or to run to Sephora and pick up new face wash. Other times, it’s buying myself Starbucks three days in a row. Prioritizing my needs is still something that requires active practice for me, because for so long I couldn’t. I still don’t see it as putting myself first; I see it as making sure my cup is full enough to be able to care for myself and my family the best way I can.

Sometimes prioritizing my needs is the last thing I want to do because I’m so fucking tired from making sure everyone else is okay. But it’s in those moments where I realize why I need to make sure I’m making the effort to check in with myself and see what I need. Maybe it’s just having my partner handle bedtime so I can snooze on the couch for a few minutes or making sure I have time to read a good book. I recently started teaching myself how to do handlettering, and it’s been nice having a thing that is just for me.

There are so many ways to make sure everyone in your family is feeling happy and healthy without having to put anyone on a higher pedestal than anyone else. Do you feel like you have to put someone in your family “first?” Why or why not?

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. 

Queer Mom Chronicles: 10 Things I’ve Learned in My 10 Years of Motherhood

By the time y’all read this, I will have a 10-year-old boy living in my house.

Even though I begged him not to age, begged time to slow the fuck down, neither listened. My kiddo turned 10 this past weekend, and I have been having feelings.

The feelings are a mix of fear, elation, apprehension, unmitigated joy, utter despair, and a hefty dose of exhaustion. (I truly have not had a good night’s sleep in 10 years. I wish I was kidding, but I feel like I need to warn you all that haven’t gotten here yet.) They probably started this spring as I realized we were quickly tumbling through the calendar and, before I knew it, September would be here. Much as I wanted to, there was nothing I could do to stop the cruel hands of time from turning.

I was watching my favorite show The Golden Girls the other day, and Blanche has a line that felt too real at this moment in time: “I hated my kids getting older. It meant I was getting older. They’re like noisy little alarm clocks.” Amen, Blanche.

If he’s 10, that means I’m 37. But how is that possible? Wasn’t I just 25 a few weeks ago? Now I have a kid telling me I’m almost 40, and I’m afraid I’m going to throw my back out when I sneeze.

Ten years ago, I woke up around 6 a.m. because I was having contractions. It was a Sunday, and I had plans that afternoon to go shopping with my friend for all the things I would need for the hospital: an outfit for the baby, nursing bras, etc. I got a glass of water and laid on my couch to watch I Love Lucy on The Hallmark Channel. About four hours later, the contractions were more consistent. By one o’clock that afternoon, I realized we weren’t going to make it to Target that day.

I labored at home as long as I could physically stand it. Earlier that afternoon, I took a hot shower, and it helped with contractions for a while. I was doing my breathing exercises and spent a lot of time on the floor doing cat/cow stretches. As I walked out to meet my friend who was driving us to the hospital, the contractions were so strong I had to stand still when I had one. As we cruised down the 110, I felt the urge to push for the first time. By the time we got to the hospital, I couldn’t walk. I was fully dilated and ready to push, which I did for about an hour before a screaming little boy was placed on my chest.

That little boy changed my life in the best way possible. Things haven’t always been easy for us, but I wouldn’t change any of it; it has shaped both of us into the people we are today.

For the first six and a half years of his life, it was just me and the dude. Yes, we lived with my parents, but I was the center of his universe, and he was mine. We went everywhere together. I didn’t leave him alone for more than a couple hours at a time until he was four. It genuinely didn’t bother me, I loved hanging out with him, and it made my life easier to have him with me. He was the Robin to my Batman, and we were the most dynamic duo.

I always say my son is my broke little best friend, and I mean it. He is always down for a trip to Target, going for ice cream, or going some other place where he can spend my money. When he was younger, we used to take the bus to The Grove just to watch the fountain and get a snack. But even though he’s getting older, he still wants to hang out with me. And not just when I’m going to buy him something — even in the house! When he gets up in the morning, he always comes in and gives me a hug and a kiss. He’s too big to sit in my lap, but he’ll sit next to me in bed or on the couch for hours. When my partner has to work early in the morning and we don’t have anywhere to go, he’ll climb into my bed for snuggle time while we watch old 90s shows on my laptop.

He is truly the kindest, most sensitive boy — he wears his heart on his sleeve. He loves animals, especially dogs, hippos and giraffes, and lovingly refers to our pets as his brother and sisters. I have never met a 10-year-old with so much empathy and such a strong moral compass, even though sometimes it bites me in the ass. He is also insanely talented; he started teaching himself songs on the cello BY EAR six months after he started playing, and he’s really good at math. I’m already falling behind and he’s only in fourth grade.

My boy is a Virgo king, or as he tells people, “a regular Virgo,” which means stereotypical. He is neurotic, meticulous and definite. But he’s an Aquarius moon, which means he’s also aloof and a little emotionally detached. The kicker is his Pisces rising, which also makes him hyper emotional and prone to bursting into tears at the drop of a hat. He’s a walking ball of contradictions, but we love him so very much. Everyone gives me credit for how great he is, but honestly, it’s all him. I just hold on and try to keep him on the right track.

I always say he is the greatest thing I will ever create. This kid is going to change the world one day, and I can’t wait to watch him do it. The only thing I hope is that he knows how much I love him and how I will fight like hell to make his dreams come true. If that means literally fighting someone, I will absolutely do it. No one messes with my baby. I love you JWG, and I’m super fucking lucky to be your mom.

Here are 10 things I’ve learned in my 10 years of motherhood. Take them and do with them what you will.

1. You will never know what you’re doing. Seriously. Just when you think you have a handle on it, they’re going to enter a new phase of life, and you’re gonna have to start all over again. The best thing you can do is try and keep up.
2. Pick your battles. You can fight with your kid — or you can retain a small piece of your sanity. Have your non-negotiables, but also know where it’s easier to surrender. My son eats pretty much the same dinner every night because it felt easier to do that than to fight with him to try new foods. He’s nearly five feet tall at age 10, so I think he’s growing just fine.
3. Always pack fruit snacks. Whether they’re for you or the kid, it’s always good to have a pack (or three) in your bag. It staves off hunger, keeps them quiet, keeps them occupied, whatever. It’s always so nice to find a pack in my purse when I need a quick jolt.
4. There are people who will only know you as your kid’s mom. Embrace it. It’s a messy dance when it comes to motherhood and identity, but whether you like it or not, your kid’s identity is tied to yours in the outside world.
5. There will never be enough Band-Aids. Kids are obsessed with them, even if they don’t really need them. I swear, we buy them every other month. Sometimes I think my son is eating them, they disappear so fast.
6. The bathtub water will never stay in the tub. You can ask them to stop reenacting the scene in Free Willy where he jumps out of the water — or you can just throw some extra towels down and keep it moving.
7. At some point, you will end up with a pet you don’t want in the house. Last year, all my son wanted for his birthday was a guinea pig. To be fair, he had been asking for five years. I told him we could get one, and we ended up with two. I’m still mentally in a fight with the Petco employee who convinced him he needed two.
8. LEGOs will end up between your toes at some point. Yes, they feel like a thousand tiny knives when you step on them, but the super tiny ones will just wedge themselves between your toes and you won’t even realize it.
9. There will never not be laundry. It’s truly amazing how quickly my son goes through underwear and socks. Again, I have to ask what he’s doing with them. It feels like I’m constantly washing them. And his pants. And pajamas.
10. Time really does fly. It’s a total cliche, and I hated when moms of older kids told me that when mine was little. But I still vividly remember swaddling him in the hospital, and now he’s almost looking me in the eye and calling me “bruh.” Smash Mouth wasn’t kidding when they said “the years start coming and they don’t stop coming.”

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. 

Queer Mom Chronicles: Tips for Navigating Back-to-School Time for LGBTQ+ Parents

Can you believe it’s already almost fall? It feels like summer flew by, mainly because I spent the whole summer working, which was not part of the original plan. Somehow we made it through, and we’re in back-to-school mode.

My kiddo has actually been back in school for a month now, and as much as I love the languid days of summer, I love the routine of fall. There is comfort in the routine of the day. Get up, make his lunch, walk to school, come home and work, pick him up, make dinner, homework, bath, bed. From 7 a.m. until 8 p.m., my day runs like clockwork. After the long summer, I miss fighting with my kid about doing homework (for a little while anyway!) and leaving his lunchbox in his backpack overnight. We both find comfort in not having to fight about clothes because he wears a uniform.

The beginning of a new school year is one of my favorite times of the year. This year, my kid opted not to get a new backpack because he had gotten one not too long before the end of last school year. But of course he had to get a new lunchbox and water bottle. He’s decided that everything had to be Minecraft-themed this year. I love that he knows what he wants, but Minecraft is incredibly popular in elementary school. It turns into a nightmare if something gets lost. We’re lucky because he doesn’t come with a massive supply list, so all I had to buy was some new pencils and erasers. Even though I always buy him boxes of pencils, they all disappear, or the erasers somehow end up detached.

As much as I love a new school year, they can also be stressful. What is his new teacher going to be like? Are there going to be kids in his class he doesn’t know? How do I get my kid to like reading? (I’m not actually looking for suggestions on this one!)

Thankfully, my son is in fourth grade this year and has been at the same school since kindergarten, so I don’t have to worry about some other things queer parents have to deal with at the start of a new school year. All the administrators at his school are the same, so they already know us and our family dynamic. But for parents who are dealing with a new school environment, waiting to see how they will accept your family can be a lot. Hopefully you’ve gotten to meet the administrators, but there’s always the anxiety about individuals at school — teachers, aides, outside contractors — that you have to worry about.

Establishing a good relationship with your child’s school when you’re a queer parent is incredibly important. Just because we’re not there for eight hours a day doesn’t mean our needs and desires as parents aren’t also important. There are many ways you can foster a relationship between you and your child’s school depending on your availability. The biggest thing is just making your presence known. Even if you can’t be at every school meeting, showing up when you can helps. Make a point to introduce yourself to any and all school staff. Tell them about your child, about your family. You don’t have to go all out, but being visible really does make a difference.

Last school year, I had a lot more free time, so I was constantly at my son’s school. I volunteered with the dance program; I went and read to first graders; I chaperoned field trips. At drop-off or pickup, I said hello to everyone, so even if they didn’t know my name, they knew my face. Since I was so involved, I got to be part of the community, which means I got to have more of a hand in things happening — not just at school but also within the school’s broader community. I was asked to be part of a panel to hire the new principal, and because of that I got to be on a call with the CEO of his school community. (My son goes to a public charter school.) These experiences now give me more opportunities to create change in our school community.

During the interview process, his new principal made it clear she was open to parental feedback about how the school can be a better and more inclusive place. I knew I was absolutely going to take her up on that once the new school year started. There are a lot of things I wanted to talk to her about and ideas I have to make the school more inclusive, and I didn’t want to inundate her, but I also wanted to act early enough in the school year that she could still begin making those changes happen by next school year. We actually talked last week, and here are some of the things that I brought up:

1. Make school forms more inclusive. When I was filling out my son’s school paperwork, it drove me nuts that everything said “mother” and “father” instead of “parent” or “guardian.” My partner and I are my son’s primary parents, and I hate that she has to be relegated to emergency contact when she’s so much more important than that. I also asked the principal to include pronouns on forms.
2. Create more space for queer kids. Before the pandemic, the school had a GSA for the middle school kids, but their programming changed and the GSA went away. I even volunteered to run it as an after school club to make sure the queer kids who need that kind of community have it.
3. Be more intentional when teaching lessons about inclusion. I have volunteered in my son’s class to teach lessons on Black History or Pride, but the school should be making sure those kinds of lessons are part of the regular curriculum.
4. Make sure each classroom has an inclusive library. The school doesn’t have a central library, but each classroom does. I want to make sure kids at every grade level have access to inclusive, grade-level books. There are organizations that will help with resources if school’s can’t. Pride and Less Prejudice is one that I recently worked with. They provide LGBTQ+ inclusive books for grades K through third. It was also important those books go beyond gender and sexuality to include race and disability as well.
5. Teach inclusivity as a matter of fact and not a special lesson. This goes hand in hand with the books. It’s not just enough to have them in the classroom — teachers have to engage with them. But they don’t have to be special lessons, it’s about empowering teachers to pick up a book about a trans kid for read-aloud time and feeling prepared to answer questions that may pop up.
6. Make these resources available to other parents and families. It’s great that the kids will learn these lessons, but parents need to be educated on inclusion as well. My son’s school is largely dominated by one ethnicity, which means it’s even more imperative to make sure everyone in the community is being educated.

My son’s principal was super open to everything I suggested and assured me she will make the moves to start enacting changes. I didn’t just give her a laundry list of ideas; I gave her resources to make it happen as well. I also told her I would make myself available to answer any questions or even come in and talk to the staff if needed. Not everyone has the interest or capacity to help educate, but if you do, I encourage you to do so. It’s a really great way to create visibility and to get to know your kid’s school community.

If all of this seems daunting, start small! We usually have a meeting with my son’s teacher at the beginning of the school year to introduce ourselves and explain our family dynamic. I do ask how they plan to be inclusive in their classroom, and most times, they do have a plan in place. Again, I’ll share resources with them to help if they need it. I’ve found that creating this open dialogue really sets the stage for a very successful relationship and school year!

What worries do you have about the beginning of the school year? What are some tips or tricks you may have for other queer parents?

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. 

Queer Mom Chronicles: How Do We Engage With Queer Mom Influencer Culture?

I know I’ve talked about queer mom-fluencer culture before, and it’s something a lot of people have expressed interest in talking about on a deeper level. I’ve found it’s something that takes up more space in my mind than I’d like to admit.

I’ve previously written about why I have literally no interest in becoming a queer mom-fluencer. It’s too much work, and I have no interest in doing that much heavy-lifting for free. I also don’t want to open my family up for the hate and vitriol that is known to follow queer people around on social media. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like to follow other people who have made the decision to make this a part of their lives, mainly because I like to see what kind of information they’re putting out there about two mom families. It’s interesting to see the spectrum of what these mom-fluencers decide to put out into the world. Each one maintains their accounts in the name of visibility and education, and that’s great, but I feel like social media isn’t really a place to have the nuanced conversations that are necessary when you’re educating the masses on something they don’t know much about.

One of my biggest issues with mom-fluencer culture in general is that there is a lack of ability to create meaningful conversations around the issues that plague motherhood. When you only have 4,000 characters, how much can you really say? And in a world where people are swiping through and not necessarily even reading your content, how can you use that space to get into the nuts and bolts of an issue? So we get these pithy posts that accompany a picture of a dirty house or a woman with purple circles under her eyes that say something like “I yelled at my kids today…a lot.” Then you get a mini diatribe that essentially ends with a “you got this mama” and a high five. Never mind the fact that there are a million reasons why you may have yelled at your kids today. A post like that is never going to dig into the systemic or socioeconomic reasons mothers feel extreme stress or pressure. That’s not what Instagram is for. But I think many of us are looking to engage in something that does go a little further under the surface.

Queer mom-fluencers have it doubly hard when it comes to creating meaningful conversations. Not only do they have to try and navigate around the intricacies of motherhood, but then they have to add on the level of explaining queer identity. The odds are stacked against them from the beginning, and I get that. But therein lies the problem. You cannot meaningfully educate when you don’t have the space (or desire) to dig into the nuance of the subject you’re trying to educate people about. Being an educator, especially when it comes to doing it via social media, means you have a certain amount of responsibility to your audience. It’s one of the biggest reasons I don’t use my social media to educate or build a platform — I cannot have the kind of deeper meaningful conversations there I can have here with you all. I can write a 1,200 word essay about this subject, and then you all will get in the comments and we can share our ideas and engage on the subject in a way you can’t when you have character limits.

If this is the life you’re going to choose, then you have to be ready to really dig into what you’re “teaching” people.

One of the queer mom-fluencers I follow recently posted something that gave me pause because of the lack of nuance to the conversation. I think she’s really great, and I respect her and her platform a lot, so please don’t take this as me ripping her down or anything. I just feel like it’s important to provide a specific example here.

Her kiddo is around the same age as mine, which is why I was intrigued to see how she was presenting the back-to-school conversations she has to have with her kid before a new school year. She shared that bullies were a topic of conversation, and of course they are. In the video she made, she role-played with her kiddo “bully” questions versus “genuine” questions kids may ask about having two moms.

I was immediately struck by the use of the word “bully” in this situation. A bully is someone who is constantly and consistently tormenting someone, not a kid who asks a question in a tone that could be considered combative or rude. One “bully” question was something like, “You have two moms? Weird.” That’s not bullying! It’s simply asking a question in a tone that isn’t particularly kind. There is no way to know if that kid has any sort of malicious intent. Another example is “You don’t have a dad? Everyone has a dad!” Again, not bullying! It’s true that a lot of kids with two moms don’t have a dad. But what about a kid like mine? He has a dad that is still present in his life, even though he is primarily being raised by two moms. Now that there are women who are coming out later in life, I would suspect there will be a lot of kids like him who may have a dad that’s still around.

Look, I wish we lived in a world where everyone asked questions about our personal lives in a respectful way, but that’s not how the world works. This is even more true for kids. They have to be taught how to appropriately ask questions and what kind of questions might make someone uncomfortable. It shouldn’t be the job of kids of queer parents to have to educate their peers, but there’s a chance that will happen. And honestly, it’s okay. Sometimes things make more of an impact when they come from a peer. Kids see the world largely in black-and-white terms. What they know is true and right, and things that deviate from that are to be approached with a heavy dose of skepticism. Instead of teaching your kid there are certain words that trigger a negative response, teach them to recognize a pattern in behavior that constitutes bullying and when they need to get an adult involved.

Yes, there are going to be kids who find it weird that your kid has two moms. Kids don’t know what they haven’t seen before. You can provide them with examples, but sometimes they need something in front of them to fully understand. For example, I told some of the littles I volunteered with that I had a wife, but they were still shocked when they saw us together. ”THAT’S YOUR WIFE?!” they asked. I reminded them that we had this discussion previously, but they had never met her before.

In the caption of the Instagram post, the mom-fluencer in question did try to be more direct with the notions of bullying, but then you have to make the assumption that people are going to read it. And we all know that doesn’t always happen. They’re seeing the video, and they’re going to make their inferences from what they just watched. Therefore, they will take the way she’s framed these conversations to heart differently.

Seeing a quick snapshot or a 30 second video doesn’t allow a random person to get the full breadth of the queer experience. But they may think that now they can fashion themselves an expert on all things queer mom because they follow a couple of accounts on Instagram. In reality, they know the way those couple of people think and feel. There is no way social media can paint a full picture of what all of us face as queer moms, and it’s hard when only a small number of people get to share their stories.

What do you all think about queer mom-fluencer culture? What does it get right or wrong about our experiences?

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. 

Queer Mom Chronicles: What’s Up with TV for Kids?

feature image photo by FG Trade via Getty Images

When the TV writer’s strike started, I talked with my dad about it, and he told me he thinks I could and should be a TV writer one day. I scoffed, mainly because he’s my dad and thinks I can do anything, but I did tell him it was something I had considered.

TV writing is incredibly time consuming, and even if I wanted to, I can’t at this season of parenting I’m in. My son is older, but he’s still young enough to demand a lot of my time. Plus, I want to be home at night to make dinner and tuck him in, to be able to volunteer in his classroom and to chaperone field trips. He’s the only kid I’m ever going to have, and I want to make sure I am there for everything.

I went to a Writer’s Strike picket and ran into a friend. I told her my feelings about wanting to be a TV writer one day, and she asked what I would like to write for in the future.

“I want to create a children’s TV show,” I said without hesitation.

Children’s television has always held a special place in my heart. As a middle-aged millennial, TV was a huge part of my childhood. We had cable when I was really young, and the Disney Channel and Nickelodeon were the only two channels I watched from when I got up until dinnertime. Shows like Eureeka’s Castle, Under the Umbrella Tree and Shining Time Station were some of my favorites.

Once I became a mom, I was thrown right back into watching children’s television, but I quickly learned it was a much place than it had been when I was younger. Shows for toddlers and preschoolers were a lot more literal with the lessons they taught; you didn’t subtly learn a lesson about sharing or empathy. Shows like Paw Patrol teach kids the importance of being an upstanding citizen through service. My son is a loyal devotee to Thomas and Friends, which teaches lessons about empathy and being a good friend and citizen, but people find issue with the totalitarian rule of Sir Toppham Hatt. I’m sorry, but the man runs a railroad — if something goes wrong, there are dire consequences. Maybe it’s because I’m from NYC, but you need a railroad ruled with an iron fist.

Besides Thomas, my son really loved Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood as a toddler and preschooler. I loved it because it taught really important lessons that could be reduced to a pithy little song.

”When you’re feeling mad and you want to roar, take a deep breath and count to four…”
“If you have to go potty, STOP and go right away. Flush and wash, and be on your way!”

He learned a lot, and I did too. Because I was the adult watching these shows, there were things I noticed. One of them is how many shows for preschoolers enforce a very cisgender, heteronormative binary lifestyle for kids. As a single mom, I noticed a severe lack of single-parent households on the shows my son loved to watch. There’s also a real lack of racial diversity in many of these shows — unless they are about animals. Those seemed to be the most inclusive spaces, and I have a lot of thoughts about why that may be true.

Of all the shows he watched as a kid (and he’s almost 10, so keep that in mind), Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood was one of the most inclusive shows. Daniel, Prince Wednesday, and Miss Elaina all live in two-parent households, but his friend Katerina Kittycat is being raised by a single mother, and his friend O the Owl is being raised by his uncle. Miss Elaina is biracial: Her mom is white and her dad is Black. I loved seeing that as a parent raising a mixed kid. A newer character, Jodi Platypus (who was introduced after my son grew out of the show) lives in a single-parent, intergenerational home with her mom, twin brothers, and grandma. Prince Wednesday has a disabled cousin named Chrissie who comes and hangs out in the Land of Make Believe.

There are more shows that are inclusive to varying degrees, but many of them are more racially diverse than anything else. My son loved Doc McStuffins, and I loved that he could watch a show for kids that featured a Black family where the mom was a doctor. I remember how significant it was for me to see Black families with strong moms on sitcoms when I was kid, and I was glad he was getting to see that on a show made for the intellectual level he was on at the time. Disney Junior really had a time where they were cranking out racially diverse shows for kids, including Sofia the First and Elena of Avalor. Kids really do need to see reflections of themselves.

In those early mom years, I didn’t realize how much I was looking to children’s television to validate my own feelings about being a parent. Even though I knew it wasn’t the job of a show for toddlers to tell me it was okay to find being a mom hard, I still craved it, because that’s what I was watching the most. If you find that feeling relatable, then I can’t recommend Bluey enough. I wrote something longer about TV moms, and I had to shout out the creators of Bluey for keeping it real about parenthood. Chili Heeler is a real one, and it amazes me that I can find kinship in a cartoon dog on a show for preschoolers, but I’ll take it. The show never shies away from the fucking hard parts of being a mom, including burnout and even miscarriage. It’s really one of the few shows that remembers adults are usually also watching shows for kids.

Queerness is something still severely lacking on shows for the five and under crowd. You get the occasional same-gender parent families, like the lesbian mom polar bears on Peppa Pig or a two dad family on the Netflix show Chip & Potato. But those characters don’t usually become consistent recurring characters. I still remember when there was a family with interracial lesbian moms on Doc McStuffins and the controversy it caused. The creator of the show, Chris Nee, is a lesbian and a parent. She was just trying to give kids like her own a glimpse into their reality. As far as I know, that’s the only time you’ve seen a human same gender couple on a preschool show. (Please correct me if I’m wrong!) Chris Nee also created the first nonbinary character on a preschool show: Fred the bison on Ridley Jones, which is on Netflix. Fred was voiced by Iris Menas, who is also nonbinary. Netflix didn’t make an effort to promote the show and, following backlash due to Fred’s existence, they quietly canceled it after five brief seasons.

It’s frustrating that shows that are more inclusive largely feature characters that aren’t human. Sure, it’s cool to see a little Black girl being besties with a cat or a dentist that’s a platypus. But how much more impactful would it be to have those characters also be human? I don’t want lesbian polar bears; I want two moms who look like the moms I see on the playground.

Now that I have an older kid, we’re in totally different TV territory. Shows for kids over seven become more niche, which creates an entirely different set of issues. It’s harder to find shows that appeal to everyone; they’re usually tailored to kids of a specific gender, which is frustrating when you’re trying to raise inclusive kids. They’re also tailored to specific interests like Power Rangers or Lego Friends. I’m lucky that my son has a broad set of interests, but he definitely leans more towards “boy” shows like Dino Trucks or Lego Ninjago. I don’t remember that being as blatant and pervasive when I was a kid as it is now.

One show that stands out as pretty gender neutral is Ada Twist, Scientist, which was also created by Chris Nee and is based on the popular book series. Ada and her friends Rosie Revere and Iggy Peck are a curious group of third graders. Rosie is being raised by a single mom, and Iggy’s parents are divorced and co-parenting. Those topics aren’t deeply discussed, they’re just presented as fact. As much as I love that for normalizing different family structures, I would love more conversations about it between the characters to tell kids that their families are okay.

Children’s television is an ever changing landscape that reflects the world those in charge of creating it want to see. I do truly hope that in the future, that world is more reflective of more kids and their experiences. And if I have to be the change, I’m willing to take that on.

What kind of shows do your kids watch? Do you love them or love to hate them?

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. 

Things They Don’t Tell You About Becoming a Non-Carrying, Queer Mom

Illustration by mikroman6 for Getty Images, art by Autostraddle

Things they don’t tell you about becoming a non-carrying, queer mom.

When my wife and I first decided to have a baby, I assumed it would be a fairly straightforward process. Not easy, but simple enough: pick a sperm donor, pick a healthcare provider, and put the sperm where it needed to go. Rinse and repeat as needed. My wife had always wanted to get pregnant, so it was an easy decision for her to carry.

In practice, getting pregnant was a bit more complicated than I expected – spending my lunch breaks on the phone with our insurance company, trying to figure out if sperm from a Cryobank is a qualified HSA expense (turns out it is!) wasn’t on my baby making bingo card. Awkward conversations with customer service agents aside, our journey to getting pregnant was relatively (blessedly) uneventful.

While I wasn’t the one getting pregnant, I always saw myself as a mom, just as much as my wife. I knew I was going to be this child’s mommy, and I conducted myself accordingly. I attended every single doctor’s appointment – even during the pandemic, when my wife had to call me in on her phone. I looked up all the top practices in the city that were recommended for high-risk pregnancies, and found an amazing Black maternal fetal medicine specialist to be our doctor. Between Covid and the Black maternal health crisis in this country, my wife’s pregnancy was high-risk by default. I designed the nursery, set up our registry, and consumed way too much ‘mama-to-be’ content on social media.

It wasn’t until our baby was born that I realized just how ill-equipped the world around me was to deal with a mom like me.

***When you become a non-carrying queer mom, they don’t tell you how much taking your kid to the doctor is going to suck. My wife and I sat in the ENT specialist’s office, a squealing toddler between us, and one of the first things the doctor asked was, “does she have a family history of ear infections?”

The answer is yes. I had chronic ear infections for the first two years of my life, and ended up needing tubes put in. Right as I opened my mouth to answer her question, I had to stop and correct my response.

“No, she doesn’t.”

By “family history”, she meant genetic history. In other words, did my wife or our sperm donor have a history of ear infections. The doctor wasn’t curious to know if the child’s parents had ear infections when they were kids. She wanted to know if the genes my daughter inherited made her more prone to infections, or if frequent pacifier use was the culprit. Nature, or nurture.

***They don’t tell you about the guilty pleasure you’ll feel when you and your toddler are out, just the two of you, and someone remarks on how much you look alike. Once, when we were going through airport security, the TSA agent looked at me, then at my daughter, and said, “well you’re certainly your mother’s child – you look just like her!” They don’t tell you the guilt outweighs the pleasure more often than you think.

They don’t tell you that sometimes you’ll be secretly relieved when carrying moms you know start complaining about the aches and pains of pregnancy, and the havoc it wreaks on their bodies. That relief will be immediately followed by feelings of shame and guilt.

They don’t tell you how hard you’ll work to show what a good mom you are. That you’ll go out of your way to manage doctor’s appointments, organize playdates, and throw beautiful birthday parties, not just because you enjoy doing it, but because – on some level – you feel the need to prove to everyone that you’re just as much as your kid’s mom as your wife is, even without the C-section scar.

They don’t tell you how lonely it gets sometimes, to feel like you’re on the outside looking into the experience of motherhood. When my wife was pregnant, I was desperate to feel a sense of connection with our growing baby. I bought a fetal Doppler and found an excuse every day to check for our baby’s heartbeat. (This is the part where my best friend, an OBGYN, reminds me that Dopplers are medical equipment, not designed for parent use).

I was afraid our baby wouldn’t know me. That she wouldn’t bond with me. I was afraid that no matter what I did, I’d always be seen as secondary to my wife in our child’s life.

***The most important thing they didn’t tell me was that those fears wouldn’t last forever.

Sure, there may always be a part of me that worries, but that part keeps shrinking as time goes on. Those fears get smaller every time I pick up my daughter from daycare and she cries, “Mommy!” and wriggles her little arms above her head, asking to be picked up.

Every time she looks for me when I’m not around, and constantly says, “Mommy? Mommy!” asking for my attention at every turn.

Those fears are virtually invisible when my toddler, after kicking and screaming through bedtime, fighting me at every turn, finally falls asleep with her face nuzzled into my neck.

And they all but disappear every time my daughter curls up in my lap on the couch, wraps her arms around my neck and says, “I love you, Mommy.”

Queer Mom Chronicles: How I’m Approaching the “Sex Talk”

feature image photo by Alex Tihonov via Getty Images

“Mom, why do people have s-e-x?” my son asks, stopping me dead in my tracks.

If you’re a parent or have regular contact with kids, you know that they will ask you questions that’ll stop you in your tracks randomly. There is rarely any rhyme or reason to it. My kid does this all the time, and I’m never ever prepared for what may come out of his mouth.

“Um, because it feels good,” I say, trying to be casual. I figure if I don’t act like this a big deal, then he won’t act like it’s a big deal.

I can’t say that I’m surprised he’s asking me about sex. He’s almost 10.

“Where did you hear about sex? From one of your friends at school?” I ask. I know some of his friends have older siblings, so it’s not an off-base question.

He shakes his head and says he heard it from something he saw on YouTube. While I monitor what he watches, I allow him to watch shows that are made for adults. If I find it inappropriate, I will tell him to turn it off, and he’s really good about complying. He’s not a sneaky kid, but I will go back and make sure the offensive content is scrubbed from his YouTube account. Also, he’s an only child, and for his whole life it’s been him and adults at home with one TV. He watches shows like The Golden Girls, Bob’s Burgers, Frasier, and King of the Hill with us and he likes watching Family Guy and South Park clips on YouTube. (I do not need any comments on my parenting decisions. I know my kid, and like I said, I will deal with anything I deem inappropriate accordingly.)

My son is pretty innocent. A few months prior to our conversation, a teacher on the playground brought him over to me because he was making “inappropriate” sounds. It took several hours and lots of tears to get him to admit to his stepmom what kind of sounds he made. He didn’t know the sounds were sexual in nature; he had heard other kids making them first and repeated them. Not only was he incredibly embarrassed, he was scared about getting in trouble. I didn’t get to talk to the teacher, but I would have told her that shaming a child is not the most effective way to make a point. It should have been space for a conversation, not making a kid feel bad. And if she knew my kid, she’d know that she did so much more damage with her approach.

Talking to young kids about sex is uncomfortable and weird and awkward. I have been worrying about having these conversations with my kid since he was about five and asked me where babies came from. The “sex talk” isn’t even just one talk, which is the worst part! You have to meet them where they’re at, which means you have to do it again as their understanding grows. Sex will be no different. What I tell him at nine is going to be a lot more basic than what I tell him when he’s 12 or 13. I can tell you now that I’m not looking forward to it. Not because of the content, but because I have to grapple with the fact that my son is growing up.

Because of my son’s age, I’ve been doing some lowkey preparation for exactly this situation. If I was caught off guard, I wanted to have some idea of what the heck I was talking about so he didn’t think I was totally useless. I started following Sex Positive Families on Instagram, and through them I found a few other great resources, including Amaze. When it was time to sit down and write this column, I knew I had to reach out to these two places to get answers to some questions about the process of talking to kids about sex.

I was curious to know some of the biggest misconceptions adults have around kids and what they want to know about sex. Victoria Ogunleye, Digital Sex Education Manager for Amaze, explained that one common misconception is kids don’t want to hear about sex from their parents. “Young people actually crave that open and honest dialogue with their parents or trusted adults,” they shared.

This might sound weird, but I was honored that my son asked me about sex — it means that he really trusts me, which is a big deal. He may not fully understand what sex is, but he has enough foresight to know it’s something an adult knows about. Even though I’m the adult he trusts the most, he is a very shy and private kid; he doesn’t even like talking to me about relationships or feelings unsolicited. When I was his age, I didn’t talk to my mom about feelings or relationships, and I definitely didn’t want to talk to her about sex. I genuinely don’t remember ever talking with my mom about sex, whether she offered or I asked.

“We find ourselves confronting our own truths and our own pasts and our own histories around these talks or lack of talks,” Melissa Pintor Carnagey, LBSW, founder and lead educator of Sex Positive Families told me.

“That is where we can draw our motivation, our ‘why’, why does it feel so important that we break these cycles of silence or shame or taboo? When we can be clear about that for ourselves, it can help us do what can feel like the hard thing of saying the truth or just showing up.”

Unlike when I was his age, there are so many resources for talking to your kids about sex. There’s so much that it can be overwhelming, especially when you’re trying to find age appropriate, inclusive resources. Sex is a great thing when done with consent, and I want him to know that. I want him to feel as comfortable in his body as he can and understand that sex has a lot of different functions, and not all of them are positive.

“Childhood is such an exciting and confusing time filled with countless questions and changes, so adults need to make sure there’s a safe space where kids can learn about what they’re experiencing or will experience in the future,” Victoria shared.

Amaze.org is an incredible resource, especially for tweens and younger kids. Their videos are colorful and animated, and that really does make a difference. I watched one of the videos with my son about what happens to bodies during puberty, and we both learned a lot. There is another one that specifically addresses pleasure, and it was a great companion for my answer that people have sex because it feels good. The video doesn’t just explain pleasure in the context of sex, but it gives additional context for things that can be enjoyable like a cupcake or dancing to music.

It’s really important for us as the adults in our kids’ lives to break down and confront our own issues when it comes to talking about sex. Creating a safe space for our kids to ask us about sex starts with working through our own bullshit. That doesn’t mean it won’t be a little nerve wracking — these are still our kids. But Melissa swears that our own desire to get it right will allow us the space to do the work on our own. The earlier we start talking to our kids about sex, the earlier they learn these things aren’t taboo or shameful to talk about.

“It’s truly most important that they [parents] know that it’s completely normal and typical for your young person to be curious about sex, about bodies. There’s nothing weird, bad or wrong about your kid asking about sex,” Melissa said.

As scary as it may be, we must be the first line of defense when it comes to providing our kids with information about sex. Melissa reminded me that parents can’t rely on outside sources like schools to teach our kids about sexual health. Sex ed (which absolutely needs to include sexuality and gender) is so lackluster in most of the country, and in places like Florida, parents can opt-out of sex ed on their kids’ behalf. Things like the “Don’t Say Gay” bill means that kids are expressly forbidden from learning about sexual orientation and gender identity. She also made a great point that all kids need to learn about these things, not just kids who are or may be queer.

The internet and their peers are sources of so much misinformation that it’s irresponsible to allow that to be how they learn. One incredibly common misconception when it comes to talking to kids about sex is that being armed with accurate information will encourage them to go out and have sex. Both Melissa and Victoria emphatically denied that there is any truth in this.

“Open and honest communication about sex can actually help children develop a healthy understanding of sex, relationships, consent, and more. By having these conversations, we’re empowering them to make informed choices in the future and even potentially delay sexual activity,” Victoria explained.

When I started thinking about how I wanted to talk to my son about sex, I knew that the most important thing to me was being sex positive. I asked Melissa what it means to be a sex positive family, and they had a beautifully simple answer: “Creating a home where young people and the adults talk about these taboo things that have been made taboo by our culture. It starts early, and it’s an ongoing journey.”

Have you started talking with your kids about sex? How’s it going? Let’s talk about it.

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. 

What To Expect When Your Friends Are Expecting (as a Childfree Queer)

feature image photo by Francesco Carta fotografo via Getty Images

On a snowy Sunday while my sister was in labor with her first baby, I was drinking Bloody Mary’s at drag brunch. I thought this was where I wanted to be: somewhere queer and childfree. In the name of celebration I took shots, a thing I never do. It felt like happiness was the only thing I was allowed to express, but it was hardly all I felt. An odd mixture of fear and grief overwhelmed me. Sweat and glitter reigned as the contrast between our roles in the world sharpened.

I’m not having kids. There are a lot of reasons why, but the most uncomplicated one is it’s never been my desire. I think a lot about desire and how I can live a life that honors my cravings. At twelve, I identified my first instinct that I was gay, but out of fear and spiritual abuse, I buried it for years. Now, I am committed to cultivating a life that has abundant room for my desires. And the longing to become a parent has never emerged.

But I’m at a point in life where many people I love are starting to raise children. With each friend who initiates parenthood, I feel the same complicated feelings. Where does that leave me? One of my absolute favorite writers, Melissa Faliveno, describes this perfectly in her book Tomboyland. She says, “As more of my friends become parents, like the majority of the people in my life eventually will, I’m reminded that it’s an experience I’ll likely never share. And when it’s someone with whom I’ve always felt a deep kinship — a fellow writer or musician; a person dedicated to their career; a queer person who once said they’d never have kids and who I felt, in this way, would forever be part of my childless tribe — there’s a feeling that I’ve lost someone like me…Each time another friend has children, I feel a little more alone” (188).

So how is a childfree lesbian supposed to cope with that loneliness? As my community transforms, I’ve developed a curiosity on how to transmute isolation into connection. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any queer elders who could guide me here, to the point where I could understand how to share community with friends across differing desires. I’m certainly not pretending to be that queer elder for anyone else. But I have a good therapist and a patient partner who have helped me learn how to stay connected. So I’m sharing a few things I’ve learned with the hope that another queer childfree person might find refuge and feel less alone.

First, when someone you love has a child, you should prepare to be the one putting more effort into the friendship. It won’t be like this forever, but when a new human is brought into a family it’s a huge adjustment. Whether your loved-one realizes it or not, they won’t have the space for friendship like they once did. That’s okay! Expect to stoke the fire of friendship for some time, and remember just because they aren’t able to give as much, it doesn’t mean they don’t love and care about you. It means their world has rearranged and honestly, you checking in with them probably feels soothing amongst the change.

Second, normalize your feelings, no matter how intricate they are. Joy, sadness, excitement, disappointment — all are okay to feel! This doesn’t lessen the happiness you feel for your friends, it only enriches the interconnected beauty of being in community. It’s natural to grieve when a relationship once built on mutual desires shifts. Share what you’re feeling with a trusted friend who can honor emotional nuance. Someone other than the new parent! They are processing their own adjustment to parenthood, so it won’t serve your friendship to immediately flood them with your feelings too. Be patient. A time will come when you both have the capacity to share, and you’ll be glad to have waited for the right conditions to truly connect.

Third, identify the role you want to play. This is so important because loneliness calcifies when we believe we don’t belong. But the truth is, you absolutely belong and have the agency to decide your involvement. Maybe your role is making your friend yummy food or cleaning their house, thereby showing you are invested in supporting their immediate domestic space. Maybe your role is taking them out for tea, going on long walks, or grocery shopping together — reconnecting them to the world outside the home. Maybe your role is making playlists, buying gay baby books, or sending memes — infusing their life with art, representation, and humor. Your role could be anything! As a childfree queer person you have the enchanted quality of understanding the world differently. The antidote to loneliness lies in allowing that enchantment to guide you in discovering the unique, community role you offer.

Personally, I find myself continually drawn to the role of nourishment. Providing food makes me feel like my own aunts, bringing family together over beautiful, live-giving meals. Cooking for people also satisfies my ancestral Jewish instinct for nourishing community. I make my sister’s family a meal every week. My sister’s favorite is roasted veggies. Each time I make it she texts me about how good they are. Once she even texted, “I think I could eat those veggies every day for the rest of my life.” I love hearing this 1) because I am a glutton for praise, and 2) because it affirms that my role has a meaningful impact and I do, in fact, belong.

At home, in our kitchen, my fiancée sears shrimp in a buttery sauce for tacos while I read at the breakfast nook. She pours me a glass of rosé and makes a heat pack for my back. Joy Oladokun plays softly from our speaker as we decompress from the day. Our space is peaceful, a lesbian sanctuary for plants and cats. I put down my book to watch her constellate the kitchen when she stops to ask, “What if we had to put a baby to bed right now?” I laugh because I’m obviously really glad we aren’t putting a baby to bed at this moment. She is too. I know what she means by the question though. She means, what if we didn’t have this every night? What if we couldn’t follow our desires? I get up to kiss her and help chop the vegetables. “I’m glad it’s just us, nourishing each other. Plus, I love being the fun gay auntie.” She agrees and we stay up late, doing whatever we want, content with the company of only each other.

Queer Mom Chronicles: School’s Out for Summer

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Happy summer!

After literal months of gray skies and lackluster weather, the sun is finally out! I’ve broken out my trusty flip flops, painted my toenails, and even shaved my legs. It can only mean one thing: Summer vacation is here and in full-swing! This is my favorite time of the year — life slows down a little bit because we’re not beholden to the hullabaloo of the school year, and the weather is nice enough to want to be outside. But as much as I love it, summer vacation is not quite as relaxing when you’re a working mom.

I’m extremely lucky to work from home, and as a freelancer, I can *kind of* make my own hours. Because of my flexibility, I don’t stress too much about making sure my son attends summer camp (also, camp prices are ridiculous!). He has a packed schedule during the school year, and he needs a break. Of course, that doesn’t mean we’re having easy breezy summer days laying by the pool and eating popsicles. It just means I’m dealing with a different kind of stress honestly. This is the first summer since the pandemic where I’m the one who isn’t working a bunch and can have some time with my kiddo around my work schedule. This is also the first time since we got together that my partner is working a job outside of the house, which presents a new challenge!

For the last two summers, I’ve had jobs where, even though I was working from home, I was expected to be at my computer during typical working hours. That meant I didn’t really have the luxury of lazy summer days or getting to spend time with my son. My partner became the one to take him to the playground or swimming class or summer music. She was great about it, making sure that he was entertained, but also listening to him when he said he just needed a day at home playing with his trains or LEGOS. We got to do stuff as a family on the weekends, and I cherished those days. I do have to admit I was very excited to have more time to spend with him this summer. He’s getting older, and he’s not going to want to hang out with me much longer, so I’m trying to enjoy it! But as excited as I am, I do still have to work, and it reminds me how hard it is to work at home and keep a kid entertained all summer!

Right now, I have a couple of freelance gigs that require a few hours of my day Monday through Friday. I’m lucky to have gotten to a place where I don’t have to work weekends anymore. My work day usually starts between 9 and 10 in the morning, and I’m usually done by mid-afternoon. I have had to impose some sort of structure into his days, or else he would become a slug. Since he still gets up around 7 a.m., he’s not allowed to use his tablet or Switch before 8 a.m., which means he will watch some TV or come in bed and cuddle with me. He is required to spend three hours not on his tablet, but he can still play his Switch or watch TV, and must do a half hour of reading. His guinea pigs are on a strict feeding schedule, and because his room is a disaster zone, he’s going to spend the next few weeks cleaning it. I don’t require him to get dressed every day, but he does have to brush his teeth and take nightly baths.

Thankfully, there is still some flexibility to my days, so we can go to the playground or a movie or to get ice cream. I know he gets lonely as an only child, so I will try to make some playdates for him to see his friends from school. He is still a little kid though, and most days just wants to sit around and complain that he’s bored. I’m not the mom who jam packs our schedule with activities to keep him occupied; he has a million toys and other things, so he can absolutely find ways to entertain himself.

That’s the hardest part of being a mom who works from home on summer break. Since it’s just my son, he doesn’t have someone to play (or fight) with all day while I’m working. I hear a lot of “Mom, I’m bored,” but I can’t always drop what I’m doing to take him to do something. And he loves rejecting my suggestions of things to do. There are times when he’s perfectly content sitting next to me on the couch while I write and he plays Roblox or watches YouTube. I’ll let him take over the living room to build his elaborate train tracks or watch Power Rangers on Netflix and do his “moves.” But then there’s the times where he is constantly in my face wanting hugs or complaining I forgot to buy more blueberries, and I have to exasperatedly remind him I’m working and that if he leaves me alone I’ll be done faster. The only good thing is that he’s old enough to fetch his own snacks, so I’m not being interrupted seventy thousand times a day to open something or pour a cup of juice.

I will always feel like I’m being pulled in two directions. I would love nothing more than to not have to work and spend our days laying around in pjs and just going out when the mood strikes. I wish I had the luxury of time to spend hours at the pool reading a book while he splashes around. He’s used to me working, because this is how his life has always been, and he truly doesn’t complain about it. And when my partner is off, she will shuttle him to the playground or sit at the pool so I can get some uninterrupted writing in or run errands without him. We have a friend who offered to do swimming lessons with him, and we’re making plans for him to do some cello lessons with his teacher. There will definitely be beach days and maybe even a weekend getaway!

I am extremely grateful that this summer we do have more opportunities to spend time together. I’m going to take him to see a musical, and we’re both excited about going to the movies to see Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken. There’s an immersive Disney experience coming, which should be fun, and I’m even looking forward to reading a book at the playground.

How do you all handle summer vacation? Anyone doing anything fun? Tell me about it in the comments!

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a monthly column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. 

You Need Help: My Sister Loves Me, the Sinner, but Hates the Sin

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Q:

My sister and I have been through a lot together. We grew up in a hardcore evangelical church with an abusive dad and a mom that enabled him. My sister and I have leaned on each other through leaving the church, starting therapy, cutting off our parents, her getting divorced, and me coming out.

Our parents did the scapegoat-and-golden-child thing. She’s a classic type-A person: ED nurse, highly controlled, makes decisions quickly, and never changes her mind. I’m the family fuckup: I’ve had lifelong mental health issues; I’m a wishy-washy artist; I have a non-traditional career. I’m also very queer, and that’s a problem.

My sister didn’t fully leave the church. She left the church we grew up in, but she’s still an evangelical Christian, and she still carries a lot of beliefs that are harmful to me. She’s always “supported” me, and yet she believes being gay is a sin. It’s mostly OK — she doesn’t go out of her way to make negative comments, she’s even gone on double dates with me. Classic “love the sinner, hate the sin” situation. But it hurts. It feels like her love is conditional. It feels like she’s secretly judging me, even if she isn’t saying horrible things to my face. It feels like she’s waiting for me to realize the error of my ways. It feels like any pain I go through is “proof” that my lifestyle is wrong, being queer is the source of all my problems, or etc etc etc.

It’s been like this for years. Every so often we fought about it, and then it’d end with, “Whatever, I’m tired of fighting, I love you”, and we just wouldn’t talk about it anymore. I love her. We know each other better than anyone else on earth, she’s the only family I’ve got, and I want her in my life. I’ve been willing to put this aside and accept the love she’s willing to give me. But it’s all come to a head now that my health insurance finally approved my top surgery.

Being gay was one thing, being trans is another. She “supports” trans people, but she is completely against this. First, she just had a lot of medical concerns; now, she’s trying to convince me that I’m not mentally stable enough to make a life-changing surgical decision. I disagree, my therapist disagrees, the countless doctors who’ve approved my paperwork disagree. But because of the scapegoat-and-golden-child thing, I’m the fuckup, she doesn’t trust my choices, and I’ll never convince her.

It all comes back to religion. My sister says I’m being judgmental of HER for not accepting her non-acceptance of me. She’s incredibly hurt by how much I dislike the church (and doesn’t seem to care how badly the church has hurt me). She’s comfortable being in my life, talking about my dating life, possibly helping me out post-surgery, and disapproving of me the whole time. She thinks it’s crazy that I’m hurt by that.

Am I crazy for “not accepting her non-acceptance”? Is that a fair ask from her? I don’t know where to go from here. How do I keep someone in my life when our great loves are so opposed? Is it worth building up an extensive list of things (critical, beloved things — queerness for me, the church for her) we can’t talk about, to keep the peace between us?

The general consensus from my therapist and friends is to give up and look for support elsewhere, but god, trying to fill the void of this relationship is unimaginable. Although I’m trying to make more connections, I don’t have a ton of close relationships. She’s been my anchor for many years. How do I love this person in a way that doesn’t hurt me anymore? Is it even worth trying?

Thanks, Straddlers. Love you guys.

A:

I’ve thought about your question so many times since you asked it, and every time I come back to feeling a really deep grief and pain for you. I’m sorry. I really am so, so sorry.

Our backgrounds and experiences are very different, but your bond with your sister resonates really strongly with me. I, too, grew up in an extremely conservative family, and my sisters and I have leaned on each other our whole lives: first, to escape the grasp of that family and its religious institutions and second, to make our way into the world, trying to make sense of who we are and what we want after a childhood of repression. There’s a depth of connection we share that most people simply can’t understand. These relationships are intrinsic parts of who we all are, and I get the feeling (based on what you shared) that this is true for you and your sister as well.

And so, to read that your sister has taken a “love the sinner, hate the sin” approach to you is heartbreaking beyond words to me. I really am so, so sorry.

It’s so painful and so complicated. At the end of the day, the best advice I can give you comes down to two things. First and foremost, take all the time you need — years, most likely — to name and hold and feel and process the grief of this situation, regardless of what you decide for your relationship with her. And second, know that any decision you make around this is not permanent. You are allowed to make a decision today and change it tomorrow or in a month or a year or a decade.

Whether you choose to keep her in your life or not, accepting that despite everything you have been through together, the fact that she so vehemently rejects who you are as a person is a profound loss of the kind I think most people simply cannot understand. In some ways, I think, it’s easy for people outside of these situations to say things like, “She doesn’t really love you, she’s hurting you so much, so why are you keeping her in your life?” And those things are all true, but, at least based on what I’ve observed in my own experience, there are so many ways in which she has shown you real love and support in the context of a family and community that is so bereft of it. That’s a hard thing to let go of. You share a history and a bond that truly is irreplaceable.

That said, it also sounds like your sister has internalized and adopted some of the manipulative behaviors and conditional approaches to love that you were both raised in. When I read how your sister views you as “judgmental” for not being ok with her rejecting you in the fullness of who you are, including your queer and trans identities — I don’t know, there’s something in there that feels related to gaslighting to me. She’s hurting you deeply and at the same time turning the situation around on you as being the one who “can’t accept.” What you described feels reminiscent of the toxic dynamic in abusive relationships where the abuser blames the person they are abusing for being abused. Pointing this out to her is probably not going to be helpful, but I just want to affirm to you that you really are not at all crazy or judgmental for not accepting her non-acceptance of you.

This might not be a useful answer to you, but at the end of the day, I think only you can really decide what is best for you in terms of a continued relationship with her, and your answer to that may change over time. You may find that you need to take space from your relationship so you can reassess the conditions of her love and whether or how you want that to be part of your life. You may find that you can no longer make allowances in your life for her bigotry. You may also find that you simply can’t let her go, which in many ways is the much harder road to take. In the case of my own relationship with my parents, I can’t say I’ve really figured this out, but in the 12 years since I became independent, I only recently really realized what it meant to really accept their love as conditional and have no expectations of them at all. And I only arrived at this point after years of really facing the extent of their own manipulations, self-serving neglect, and abuse and being able to name those things as such. I imagine that if you choose to keep your sister in your life, you’ll need to come to terms with something similar for yourself and your relationship with her, as well.

I do think, though, that continuing the work you’re doing to expand your network will be really invaluable to you, regardless of whether you keep your sister as part of your life or not. Part of what makes your connection so strong is the shared bond over what you’ve been through together. And while no one outside of her can really know the specific dynamics of your family history, there are many people who share comparable experiences.

In a recent A+ Advicebox, Meg shared a number of helpful reading resources that I want to pass along: an essay by Christina Tesoro on healing from purity culture and two booklists on purity culture and evangelism. You may find these works incredibly resonant, but I also would encourage you to seek out community from them: perhaps consider following some of these writers on social media to see if there are events, forums, or other community-centered activities that they host or promote that could help you meet others who share your experiences. It will likely take time, but this slow process might help you find others that you can connect with so that you’re not relying so closely on just your sister as your connection to and means of processing your past. It’ll also, hopefully, help you feel less alone in your experiences.

Additionally, I asked a friend about resources for folks getting top surgery, and he highly recommended the Top Surgery Support Facebook Group. My friend found this community invaluable for not only navigating the process but also having additional support, connections, and affirmations every step of the way. Joining a group like this, if you’re not already part of one, might fill some of the gaps of genuine, loving support and affirmation of your surgery that you know you won’t get from your sister, even if she provides the physical support of picking you up and helping you out after the procedure.

Ultimately, whether you keep your sister in your life or you seek out support elsewhere as your therapist and friends are encouraging you to do, I think you’ll have to do the deeply painful work of accepting that there will always be a void in your life around her. It’s a deep connection, which makes her betrayal of you and the loss you’re feeling around the relationship more acute and feel even more insurmountable. But as with all things, given time and space and through forging new connections, new relationships, I really believe that the gap will feel less all-encompassing.

Wishing you all the best with your top surgery! This is an exciting moment in your life, and I hope that in spite of everything going on with your sister, you’re able to find real joy in this act of self-affirmation.

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You can chime in with your advice in the comments and submit your own questions any time.

Queer Mom Chronicles: There’s No Manual for Navigating Co-Parenting

I know I write about our experience as a two mom family, but here’s the thing: My son has a dad. And he has been sleeping on my couch on and off for the last four months. Yes, you’re reading this correctly. My ex boyfriend has been living with me and my partner and my kid for the last four months. It has been a truly eye-opening experience that has forced me to examine how we co-parent.

My son’s father has always been inconsistent in his parenting, but I didn’t truly understand how much until he was under my roof and I could see it all the time. One day not too long ago, while my son got ready for bed, his dad turned to me and asked, “do you think we should send him to speech therapy?” to which I asked why. “Well, he stutters sometimes and can’t talk,” he said. There’s nothing “wrong” with his speech; his brain thinks faster than his mouth can talk, which I explained. If you tell him to slow down and take a minute, it’s easier for him to talk.

He has never come to doctor or dentist appointments and has no real interest or investment in his son’s education. He would show up for the first day of school or a parent teacher conference but wouldn’t ask about what he was learning or help with schoolwork. This hasn’t changed since he’s been staying with us. But over the years, he’s suggested that my son needed to be “tested” because he was sensitive to loud noises and maybe a little emotionally immature. Or he gives me a hard time because I don’t force him to eat foods he doesn’t like. The boy is now almost ten years old and damn near five feet tall. The way my son’s dad showed up is never consistent and has never made sense to me, which has become more apparent in the last four months.

But how did we get here? Allow me to tell you the story.

His dad and I started dating when we were 23. He was my first (and only) boyfriend, and we were together for six and a half years. I got pregnant when I was 26, and it was a complete accident. By the time I found out I was pregnant, it was too late to terminate the pregnancy, but if I’m being totally honest, I only would have because he wasn’t ready to be a dad, not because I wanted to. Would it be difficult? Of course, but we would figure it out together; we were a team. Or so I thought.

Our relationship started to change while I was pregnant, and when my son was two months old, my boyfriend put us on a plane and sent us to live with my parents in NYC. This decision was made behind my back and without my consent. I was unemployed, and didn’t have much of a leg to stand on, so I had no choice but to go. Despite my best efforts to end the relationship, he gaslit me into staying in a long-distance relationship for two and a half years before I finally ended things. We could parent our son even if we weren’t together; I was always committed to co-parenting however was most beneficial to our son. My dad has strained relationships with my half-siblings, and I didn’t want that for my son.

Long-distance co-parenting isn’t really co-parenting, especially when you’re dealing with a toddler. I was the primary parent; I made any and all financial and medical decisions. I was the disciplinarian. I called myself a single parent, because all his dad did was video chat with him a couple times a month and buy diapers. We saw each other as many times as we could before my son was two, because he could fly for free. But I was always the one doing the traveling; his dad didn’t come visit us in New York until his third birthday, and even then, we only saw him for a couple of hours.

When my son was three and a half years old, I was finally able to move us back to LA. I was excited to finally have a co-parent — mainly someone who could pick up the slack when I was too burnt out. Before I even got on the plane, I tried to stress to my ex the importance of communicating. I told him I needed him to step up. He immediately got mad at me and tried to make things my fault. It was then I learned my most important lesson about co-parenting with him: He was never willing to rearrange his life for his son. For example, he offered to take him to preschool everyday. Then it turned into picking him up. Five days a week went down to three, and eventually two. He would only keep him for a couple hours at a time; if I wanted time to myself, I had to ask and hope he’d say yes. There was never any spontaneous “I’ll take him overnight so you can get a good night’s sleep” or so they could spend some real time together. One night, I called him crying, begging him to take him more because I was so burnt out.

And then the pandemic happened, and it only made things worse. My partner and I were emotionally spent from having my kid home all the time. We played games and watched TV and did virtual school without any sort of a break. My ex told me his girlfriend (who he lived with) was giving him a hard time about my son being around, which affected how much he could see him.

In March of 2021, my ex had to move back to Missouri to live with his parents after his girlfriend broke up with him. The relationship needed to end; she had caused enough tension between me and my ex over the years. But losing my co-parent as a result wasn’t ideal. My son loves his dad and was devastated they wouldn’t be able to see each other. My heart hurt for him. (I would be lying if I didn’t say the karmic retribution of him having to live with his parents didn’t tickle me a little bit. I’m only human.) They set up weekly Zooms, but it wasn’t the same. At the end of 2022, my ex told me he was gearing up for a move back to LA. I know how hard it is to find a place, so I told him he could crash with us while he looked. I had no idea he would still be on my couch months later.

Him being in our home hasn’t changed any of the co-parenting issues we have. I still have to beg him to spend time with his son. During spring break, he didn’t once offer to have some one-on-one time on his day off. I gave him advance notice of our son’s performances so he could possibly switch work days, but he didn’t even try to come. He has told my partner and I to go have a date night without us asking, but then he let my son stay up late on a school night. Summer break just started, and I know I will have to beg him to spend some quality time with his son. But then, if my kid acts like a typical kid and gets mouthy with me, his dad will scold him and try to be a disciplinarian. I have to pick and choose my battles, because I don’t want to cause tension my son could pick up on. He constantly thinks I hate his dad because he might hear me and my partner talking, and I don’t want him to feel caught in the middle.

I stupidly thought that time away would change the way my son’s father would show up for him, but I’m beginning to realize I was probably wrong. In the three years my partner and I have been together, she has been the parent I was always hoping my ex would be. Having him in our home strengthens our relationship and how she parents my son. Every day, she shows up for that little boy, and I know his dad is taking notice. I only hope my ex sees what a real parent is supposed to be and steps up to the plate. Maybe it’s my fault for not saying anything sooner, but there is no manual for co-parenting. All I know is that my son now has an example of two loving parents, and however his relationship with his dad develops in the future is out of my hands.

Is anyone out there a co-parent? How do you navigate co-parenting?

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Queer Mom Chronicles is a monthly column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes.