I loved becoming a mother. It took until my late thirties/early forties for it to finally happen, and my husband and I welcomed three beauties into the world. Cradling our first young baby was a mixture of pride, a sense of accomplishment, joy, love, and the utmost terrifying fear. With time, practice and wisdom cultivated over the years, children numbers two and three were far easier additions to our growing family: welcomed with slightly less panic, and a less terrified and more comprehending love.
Motherhood has been fun, trying, exhausting, expensive, limiting, expanding, and exhilarating all at once. It is the hardest job I have ever done, and I have had to learn many new skills. Parenthood, for me, has so many rewards, both the obvious and intangible.
I acknowledge that I haven’t done it all on my own — my spouse has been very involved, present, and hands-on, but there is a certain level of accomplishment, that I feel I have earned. As someone who has had several career changes, Motherhood will be my longest serving, and most enduring career. I am a Mum, and I am damn proud to be.
What happens then, when one suddenly has another mother — a biological mother at that — living in the household? Without precedent. Without warning. Without any knowledge, my spouse, announced that they were, in fact, a woman — a trans woman.