Maybe it’s all part of taking care of the baby and having my mind scattered a dozen different places, but I haven’t had a specific subject I wanted to hash out on this blog for some time. Today I’m just going to go ahead and embrace the bits and pieces…
Ziggy is congested. The baby is congested. With the baby the problem is a submucousal cleft palate, which should hopefully go away on its own with time. With Zig it’s the cancer. I hate hearing her snuffling sounds at night, or when she’s trying to nap. I want to make things easy for her in the weeks or months to come. I wonder if I’ll recognize when it’s time to make the big decision. It’s not time right now, though. She still enjoys food, and walks, and all the normal things she used to enjoy.
The baby has been having bloody diapers, and I have been on an elimination diet for a whole month now. No milk, no soy. The soy is a real bugger, because it is in EVERYthing. Almost every processed food in the grocery store. It’s insidious. I may have to eliminate eggs from my diet in the next couple weeks, too.
J may have chosen a new name. I’m waiting to see if he changes his mind about it, like he has with other names. But inwardly I’ve been trying out the sound of it, and I think it might work.
Sleep is getting easier. Not that I’m getting more of it, I’m just learning to manage with the broken hours I get. And that’s a good thing. The mind does some funny things while it’s adjusting to tiredness. In the early weeks I would often wake up at some middle-of-the-night hour because Little Guy was crying to be fed, and in a muddle of exhaustion I would think that I had picked him up already and set him down on the bed near me. He would still be crying though, and I would blindly grope around the blankets and sheets, feeling for him. Where did he go? What if the blanket was covering his face and inhibiting his breathing? After a few seconds of fruitless searching I would realize that no, I hadn’t picked the baby up yet — He was still next to the bed in his bassinet. Another night a few weeks ago the baby was crying and I was convinced that he was presenting a very well-spoken argument about something I was doing wrong. Oh yeah, that was it, it was time to feed him again…
On another topic — Sex. Or rather the lack of it. This isn’t the kind of thing I feel super comfortable writing about on a public blog, but sometimes it feels like this dry spell is going to last forever. When I was about halfway through the pregnancy and it felt like I was wearing a watermelon on my belly 24-7 the thought of intimacy wasn’t very appealing, and by the end of the pregnancy it was just uncomfortable. Fast-forward to now, with a healed-up body (anybody else bleed until the eighth week after giving birth?) and a brain that isn’t totally panicking or in shock over our new lifestyle anymore… and I’m still feeling …flat. J acts as though he might feel the same way. Like, there’s this activity we liked to do once, and it brought a lot of fun and closeness to our relationship. I’d like to experience those things again, but it’s a struggle to be interested. Sleep is interesting. Sex… I dunno. Maybe if J showed more interest, I would. Maybe if I showed more interest, J would. Maybe we just need more time. Maybe I haven’t completely gotten over the whole I-just-pushed-out-a-small-person-down-there mentality. It’s a dreary sort of disconnect, particularly in light of the fact that J is going to start hormone therapy in the near future and I suspect that is also going to bring more changes and challenges to the bedroom. Or maybe it won’t. I’m hoping the latter.
Speaking of sex, there’s this movie that I always think of these days — “Kissing Jessica Stein.” It’s about this girl who always has bad relationships with men, and so one day she takes a chance and goes on a date with another woman. They begin a relationship, and it takes a while for this girl to open up to the idea of lesbian sex. But she does, and it’s good. Only the whole physicality of it never feels quite right to her, and eventually the two of them break up because she’s just never interested in sex, and the two of them have become more roommates than anything else. This plotline. This is my biggest fear for my relationship with J. I had him watch the movie with me once to try and explain my fear, but what he seemed to get out of the whole thing was that there was this girl who didn’t think she could be in a lesbian relationship, but she managed it. No, I’m not saying I don’t think I can manage being in a relationship with J — On the contrary, I can’t imagine us not being together. Or rather, us not being together is totally unappealing to me. I am, on the whole, very happy in our relationship. But I do wonder how well I’m going to manage the mental hurdle of having sex with him when he grows his breasts and has surgery. Most people in transgender relationships don’t talk about sex. If they do they either say they can’t get past even the basics of their SO cross-dressing, or else they say they were bisexual to begin with and they don’t have a problem with any of it. I’m somewhere in the middle. I have no problem with the cross-dressing, but I don’t see myself as bisexual. On the other hand, I’ve never been in any other relationships outside of this one, and so I can’t draw on a past full of even the most minor youthful experimentation to determine how well I will adjust to the coming changes.
Anyway. Forget the future. Right now sex is like a foreign country I went to once. I know it’s still out there, somewhere across the ocean. I just can’t see it for all that water.