Trans life: becoming an uncle hasn't triggered the broodiness I feared
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Version 0 of 1. I am newly an uncle and it’s awesome. Yet I owe my darling niece an apology. Before we met, the idea of her scared me. A year earlier I had gained a cousin and that tiny being had had a disorientating effect on me that threatened to derail my transition. We had met when I was days away from my first shot of testosterone (T) and suddenly I had felt overwhelmingly broody. I’ve always wanted kids but how and when felt like remote inconveniences. So did the minor detail of whether or not I’d use my own biological hardware. But my cousin – the baby in my arms – reminded me that transition meant potentially sacrificing my fertility. My emotions ran amok; had I thought hard enough about this? Was I making a huge mistake? The question of fertility has two strands. Trans men who go on T can come off for the duration of conception and pregnancy. However, there’s a chance that T itself will lead to infertility. Beyond that, if by transitioning I became the rugged vision of masculinity I so desired, could I really chose to carry my own child? Could I handle the social, professional, medical and perhaps psychological implications? I decided to take immediate and drastic action. I would put my entire life (including transition) on hold; move home from the big city; find a sperm donor; fall pregnant; be pregnant; have a baby; leave the baby in the care of my own fiercely maternal mother; formulate an ultra-modern parenting job-share; restart transition, restart my embryonic career; grow a beard; get ripped. I even discussed the practicalities with my mum and sister. But it didn’t happen. A week after encountering the newborn, I was back at emotional equilibrium and my panic felt like a distant fever dream. I knew I had to transition, not stand still. When my sister announced her happy news, the possibility that that urgent broodiness would return made me fearful. But it needn’t have. Transition itself was the key. When I met my niece I felt thrilled to be her uncle; to love her, teach her numbers in Arabic and to be a bad influence. I didn’t think about myself. I didn’t feel broody. The difference is not purely hormonal. Before, when I couldn’t be myself, it felt as if my future didn’t exist. Now, it feels like genuine potential. Plus, knowing who I am means knowing what I’m capable of, and that I’ll figure out how and when to become a good dad. |