If you follow me on Twitter, you probably noticed a heated argument between me and a follower, who is actually my oldest IRL friend, after I posted a picture of my son, used male pronouns, and called him a “little man.” They asked me how I could gender my child so early.
I found myself so taken aback because my husband and I talk often about how we would KILL IT in the parenting department if any of our children were gay or transgendered. We would love them. We would support them. We would try our best to understand them and to protect and guide them. And if we needed help doing that, we would ask for it.
My son will have a fighting chance in this world just because we love him so much. But our unconditional love, our promise to support his every decision short of compromising our own boundaries, will not spare us from making mistakes as parents. It will not save our son from having his own baggage because we all have it.
Personal development just fascinates me. Watching a shit-ton of Intervention (which I dooooo) and becoming a parent makes me almost constantly evaluate my own childhood and the relationship I had/have with my parents. They made mistakes that I can see clear as day because they happened to me. Some I have forgiven them for and some I still have to work through. I am trying my best not to make these particular parenting mistakes and while I’m busy doing that, I will fuck up my son in some other insidious way I never even imagined.
I’m not going to raise my son as gender neutral. I’m not going to talk calmly and reason with him when he’s a toddler. I’m not going to cut out all processed foods. I am not going to keep him from watching TV as a baby (he’s watching Anderson Cooper right now). I’m probably not going to watch my mouth much in front of him. I am not going to break my back being everyone’s collective ideas of a perfect parent because I will be too busy doing the million other things that I think he needs most. Including loving him until my last breath and beyond.