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Jan. 14th, 2012
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Jan. 14th, 2012 01:28 pmThe Most Feminine Act
The Plan
(as of 1993)
Move Out: Late 1992 1995
Six months of therapy before hormones: Starting 1993 1995.
Five years of living as a woman: Starting 1994 1996.
Surgery: 1999.
It wasn’t long after Steph moved out of her parent’s house, and in with her future husband, that she announced she was pregnant with what would be her first child, Emily. During the pregnancy, I was invited over constantly by both Steph and her husband Walt. On their wedding day, shortly after her pregnancy was confirmed, I even spent the evening with them. Which was very sweet of them considering I screwed up the wedding music earlier that day.
For the next nine months, I spent nearly every other day with them. This was not about dressing, or going out. It was mostly just hanging out, but Steph had an ulterior motive – she was going to share every moment of her pregnancy with me. Her thinking was that this is the most feminine act a woman can experience. She wanted me to experience it with her, since I could not myself.
Every change she went through as her body rearranged, she shared with me. All the hormone fluctuations, the back aches, the skin stretching. Everything.
Despite the front row seat, the details that almost no male would ever know made me just a little jealous. This really was the Most Feminine Act, and I was experiencing it the only way I could – through her. Seeing her carry Emily reminded me, that in the configuration I was born in, it could never be me. It hurt, but it was also fascinating, and wonderful, all at the same time.
The moment I knew I melted into a ball of baby loving goo was when Emily had started kicking. Feeling her moving around, that there was another person growing in there, wiped away any envy and jealousy I’d had.
A number of months later, I got a call about three o’clock in the morning from Steph. Her water had just broken, and she’d entered labor. She wanted me to come to the hospital in the morning for the delivery.
I didn’t sleep a wink.
Once the morning sun came up, I left for the hospital, and after a brief runaround, found Steph’s room. She was lying in bed, deep into contractions, with her mother, father, Walt and two other close friends. She wasn’t very awake, and barely coherent through the pain, but she smiled when I showed up. She wanted me there, so I could be there through to the very end.
Her mother, however, wasn’t as keen on having me there. She wasn’t hostile at all, any animosity she had had at my being transgender was long since gone. Her concern was more of modesty. I was allowed into her room and to be there with her, but not allowed to see any of the cervical measuring or crowning. But I was there with her, experiencing it along side right until they wheeled her off into the birthing room.
I honestly believe she would have allowed me into the birthing room if she’d been able to.
Emily was born a few short minutes after Steph was wheeled out, but I was never told, despite waiting in the hospital for a few hours. They either couldn’t find me, or only came out of the birthing room after I left. Either way, we had a new addition to the family.
But the Most Feminine Act doesn’t end at birth.
I continued coming over as she also wanted me to know what it was like to be a mother. Or at least one for as long as I could visit. Parenting’s a full time job, I only visited for a few hours at a time. But it was nice taking care of Emily with Steph. Holding her while her mother did laundry, or having her shuffle to me once she learned to crawl. I even saw her first steps.
One of the things Steph also shared was her experience with breast feeding. Despite never allowing me to feel her breasts before, to find a good substitute for my own enlarged breasts, she finally did allow me (at her instigation) to feel the swollen milk gland underneath the skin, and how those swollen gland nodules actually spread up to her shoulders, and even around her ribs. She explained how painful it could be when she wasn’t expressing, and showed me how she pumped them when Emily didn’t need to be fed.
It was wonderful, and as close as I’ve gotten to motherhood, albeit in short measured doses.
A quick aside, because I love Steph, and cause she’s a nut.
I had showed up at Steph’s house early one morning, and Walt was on his way to work and pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“We’re out of milk!”
“There’s a lot in those bottles marked ‘Emily’ you know!” I joked.
“No…nonononono.”
He left with his black coffee, and Steph and I shared a little time playing Super Mario Brothers 2, while Emily slept. It was during one of my turns, that I noticed she was drinking from a very small glass of milk.
“Is that what I think it is?”
She took a swig. “Uh huh.”
“You’re drinking your own milk?”
“Yeah. Want to try some?”
I wasn’t sure this was going in a direction I wanted to go.
“It’s good. It really is.” She gave the glass to me. “Try it! It’s good!”
I looked at it quizzically…did I really want to do this?
“Jenn. I feed this to my baby. It won’t kill you. When has anything I’ve ever made ever hurt you?”
This wasn’t the kind of action I’d ever thought would be associated with a sentence like that. “Alright. I’ll try it.”
And I did. And…it was good. It tasted like a slightly sweet skim milk.
“So it’s good?”
I nodded and took another sip.
“Told you.”
She offered a shared sip or two every visit. I often had more than a sip.
The time eventually came, thought, that Steph had to make a decision that involved both Emily and I. We were spending a lot of time together, but Steph wanted to avoid any odd questions, or affect Emily’s formative years. Steph decided it was time I chose a gender to be around Emily. I couldn’t be switching back and forth. I had to be a woman, or a man around her as she grew up.
I chose woman.
But I couldn’t be one for a while. While we didn’t part ways, she’s much too close a friend for that, I didn’t see Steph for sometime, to keep that promise. At least until a fateful night.
But that’s a story that deserves its own chapter.
Emily has grown up to be an aspiring young artist, and an incredibly talented woman.
The Plan
(as of 1993)
Move Out: Late 1992 1995
Six months of therapy before hormones: Starting 1993 1995.
Five years of living as a woman: Starting 1994 1996.
Surgery: 1999.
It wasn’t long after Steph moved out of her parent’s house, and in with her future husband, that she announced she was pregnant with what would be her first child, Emily. During the pregnancy, I was invited over constantly by both Steph and her husband Walt. On their wedding day, shortly after her pregnancy was confirmed, I even spent the evening with them. Which was very sweet of them considering I screwed up the wedding music earlier that day.
For the next nine months, I spent nearly every other day with them. This was not about dressing, or going out. It was mostly just hanging out, but Steph had an ulterior motive – she was going to share every moment of her pregnancy with me. Her thinking was that this is the most feminine act a woman can experience. She wanted me to experience it with her, since I could not myself.
Every change she went through as her body rearranged, she shared with me. All the hormone fluctuations, the back aches, the skin stretching. Everything.
Despite the front row seat, the details that almost no male would ever know made me just a little jealous. This really was the Most Feminine Act, and I was experiencing it the only way I could – through her. Seeing her carry Emily reminded me, that in the configuration I was born in, it could never be me. It hurt, but it was also fascinating, and wonderful, all at the same time.
The moment I knew I melted into a ball of baby loving goo was when Emily had started kicking. Feeling her moving around, that there was another person growing in there, wiped away any envy and jealousy I’d had.
A number of months later, I got a call about three o’clock in the morning from Steph. Her water had just broken, and she’d entered labor. She wanted me to come to the hospital in the morning for the delivery.
I didn’t sleep a wink.
Once the morning sun came up, I left for the hospital, and after a brief runaround, found Steph’s room. She was lying in bed, deep into contractions, with her mother, father, Walt and two other close friends. She wasn’t very awake, and barely coherent through the pain, but she smiled when I showed up. She wanted me there, so I could be there through to the very end.
Her mother, however, wasn’t as keen on having me there. She wasn’t hostile at all, any animosity she had had at my being transgender was long since gone. Her concern was more of modesty. I was allowed into her room and to be there with her, but not allowed to see any of the cervical measuring or crowning. But I was there with her, experiencing it along side right until they wheeled her off into the birthing room.
I honestly believe she would have allowed me into the birthing room if she’d been able to.
Emily was born a few short minutes after Steph was wheeled out, but I was never told, despite waiting in the hospital for a few hours. They either couldn’t find me, or only came out of the birthing room after I left. Either way, we had a new addition to the family.
But the Most Feminine Act doesn’t end at birth.
I continued coming over as she also wanted me to know what it was like to be a mother. Or at least one for as long as I could visit. Parenting’s a full time job, I only visited for a few hours at a time. But it was nice taking care of Emily with Steph. Holding her while her mother did laundry, or having her shuffle to me once she learned to crawl. I even saw her first steps.
One of the things Steph also shared was her experience with breast feeding. Despite never allowing me to feel her breasts before, to find a good substitute for my own enlarged breasts, she finally did allow me (at her instigation) to feel the swollen milk gland underneath the skin, and how those swollen gland nodules actually spread up to her shoulders, and even around her ribs. She explained how painful it could be when she wasn’t expressing, and showed me how she pumped them when Emily didn’t need to be fed.
It was wonderful, and as close as I’ve gotten to motherhood, albeit in short measured doses.
A quick aside, because I love Steph, and cause she’s a nut.
I had showed up at Steph’s house early one morning, and Walt was on his way to work and pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“We’re out of milk!”
“There’s a lot in those bottles marked ‘Emily’ you know!” I joked.
“No…nonononono.”
He left with his black coffee, and Steph and I shared a little time playing Super Mario Brothers 2, while Emily slept. It was during one of my turns, that I noticed she was drinking from a very small glass of milk.
“Is that what I think it is?”
She took a swig. “Uh huh.”
“You’re drinking your own milk?”
“Yeah. Want to try some?”
I wasn’t sure this was going in a direction I wanted to go.
“It’s good. It really is.” She gave the glass to me. “Try it! It’s good!”
I looked at it quizzically…did I really want to do this?
“Jenn. I feed this to my baby. It won’t kill you. When has anything I’ve ever made ever hurt you?”
This wasn’t the kind of action I’d ever thought would be associated with a sentence like that. “Alright. I’ll try it.”
And I did. And…it was good. It tasted like a slightly sweet skim milk.
“So it’s good?”
I nodded and took another sip.
“Told you.”
She offered a shared sip or two every visit. I often had more than a sip.
The time eventually came, thought, that Steph had to make a decision that involved both Emily and I. We were spending a lot of time together, but Steph wanted to avoid any odd questions, or affect Emily’s formative years. Steph decided it was time I chose a gender to be around Emily. I couldn’t be switching back and forth. I had to be a woman, or a man around her as she grew up.
I chose woman.
But I couldn’t be one for a while. While we didn’t part ways, she’s much too close a friend for that, I didn’t see Steph for sometime, to keep that promise. At least until a fateful night.
But that’s a story that deserves its own chapter.
Emily has grown up to be an aspiring young artist, and an incredibly talented woman.