We all have a few we either have done (hand in warm water, Vaseline on the doorknob etc) or others we have heard about (mercury in a tire – doesn’t work as well as you think it would by the way) and the list is endless, sort of, I think there are web sites devoted to listing anything from simple and harmless to stupid and deadly. ANYWAY…
My practical joke is simply this. God, in his infinite wisdom, decided to make me a boy at birth. And, for some twisted reason, also gave me a girl’s heart. Right next to the boy heart he put in there. Ha ha Jehovah, now enough is enough. Unfortunately God hasn’t decided to let me have the punch line yet.
All right. I am a big girl (6 ft 220 lbs for those counting – and yes, I am a 14 for those considering buying me a nice Anne Klein for my birthday, size 11 Christian Louboutins, no peep toes or sandals please) I can take it. I am not even going to shake my fist at Father. He has his reasons, I have mine. Mostly, we agree, when we don’t, he shows infinite patience and allows me to make up my mind, and when I am done screwing up he helps me figure it out. (I do love God, really, but he really trusts me far too much).
At issue here is a uterus, something I do not have, Well “DUH”, you say, “You were born a boy, you got a penis and a pair of testicles instead. Arent you enjoying that” ? Fact is I did enjoy it. It has brought me a lot of pleasure in the past. It has also cost me. Long sad stupid story, I’ll write it down on another blog someday. But back to my point.
I do not have a uterus because I was born with male anatomy. But at 3 yrs old (yes I remember further back than that even. Even to when I was 18 months old when my baby brother came home from the hospital) I knew I was more comfortable in a dress. Later, as I grew older, I was comfortable taking care of babies. By age 8 I watched them, babysat. As a teen I was recommended by others for watching mostly kids, but had a special knack with infants. They calmed around me quickly. I sang to them, cuddled them, changed them and felt something I was ashamed of. I felt feminine. I felt, motherly.
Okay, yeah, this should have told me something, but all it told me was I was probably a fagot. I was raised in a different era, where boys would be boys and if they were girls you were allowed to beat the shit out of them and they deserved it. Enough walking down memory lane, for now.
I wanted to HAVE a baby. I wanted to feel a little life grow in me, give birth to and suckle this young life at my breast. But, physically it wasn’t going to happen. So, I helped make babies. My first one, I was excited, I was seventeen, her name was Millie. She was beautiful and pregnant she was ethereal. The baby lived a few moments after birth, then died. A piece of me died that day as well. As a father, and being unmarried, and in the military, there was no time for mourning or anything. Besides, not a mans job.
I have hated myself for that. 30 plus years, and it still sits there, my first child, dead, a baby lost. And tears in my heart. Oh, with other wives I had other children. None of the marriages lasted but the kids have. They turned out really well too. I was there for the births. I helped. But that first child, born to only die within moments helped to secure in me that feeling that has haunted me for so long.
I will never be a mother. The one part of a woman I so longed to be, can never happen.
So, genetically born females out there, when your period comes around, I don’t wish to hear your complaints. I will happily get you a heating pad, make you tea or otherwise aid you in relieving your pain and discomfort. But do not complain to me abut being a woman, and I will not complain to you about never being able to be a mother.
Peace
