Ultimate ’90s MRI: A Fertility Playlist
“Musicals? Too weird. My favorite indie band? Too pretentious. Tegan and Sara? Too gay. C’mon, Jennifer, get it together!”
“Musicals? Too weird. My favorite indie band? Too pretentious. Tegan and Sara? Too gay. C’mon, Jennifer, get it together!”
Unfortunately, most parenting books weren’t written with queer moms, trans dads, non-binary parents and gestational carriers, and families that look like ours in mind.
I was only pregnant for seven and a half weeks before my miscarriage. There was no body, no breath; there was no measurable part of a lifetime spent together. I’d only known there was life inside my body for three and half weeks, and yet the experience seems to still have a heartbeat.
I hadn’t experienced transphobic violence in medicalized form before. But I’d experienced it in many others: in punches and pushes, through threats with weapons, or by being run off the road by cars while I was on foot.
“These drawings were done during the two year period that my wife, Sarah, and I were trying to get pregnant. So much has changed in my life since then. These doodles sat, almost forgotten, for almost a decade.”
A lot of terrible, overwhelming things are happening for our community, right now. Let’s hold one another and try to understand what’s going on.
I am not white, and I don’t particularly want white kids. I definitely do not want to pay for white sperm.
Welcome to the world, Remi!
Our Leo/Virgo cusp baby is definitely moving into Virgo territory.
It’s time and we’re ready-ish. Plus queer-friendly baby books, infant NFL jerseys, nightshade free living, and pregnancy acupuncture!
“I think you underestimate the amount of time I spend thinking about Remi.” – Waffle
I asked Waffle to curate a gallery of favorites from our very expansive dino-themed baby wardrobe. I didn’t have to ask twice.
Extreme itchy scratchies, body-positive parenting, fat pregnant femme feelings, nesting, dill pickles, Korean pancakes and more as I fly past the eight-month mark.
I started the 31st week of my pregnancy crying over the kitchen sink as I crammed my gestational diabetes breakfast into my mouth. It wasn’t the pregnancy hormones this time. It was the overwhelming grief and the sudden realization of what it means to be a parent.
Being an adoptee has made being pregnant all that much more strange and interesting.
“Instead, I jump back into the mind of the girlish woman I was at 28, the one who didn’t know enough about the consequences for unacceptable motherhood to plunge headfirst into the fire. It has taken me much longer than my mother to see the gift of my own naiveté.”
“Sometimes I turn to Waffle and randomly exclaim, ‘This is happening!’ I should probably stop doing that as we get closer to, like, the possibility of me going into actual labor.”
There is no chance I’m going to evade the Cult of Mommy-ness. My undercut can’t save me.
I’m not a crier. I really resist the idea that hormones affect me, but pregnancy hormones affect me. OMG.
Our panel answers your questions about getting knocked up, adopting, the challenges and rewards of queer mom life, and so much more!