Queer family with a family business: Velocitoddler. My blog takes the backseat to my unisex/gender neutral kids clothing line, but it’s important to write when words are congesting my spirit. My partner and I are raising our kids in a country with rapidly shifting gender dynamics. I am an actor, artist and seamster; she is a biomedical engineer.
I didn’t do this because I’m an expert on kids, and you shouldn’t trust my advice at all or even read it, probably. I wrote it because I enjoy reading about how other people are screwing up their kids and I want to share my own variety of irresponsibility. Flavors of life, man.
Read MoreWhat I want for my kids is for them to grow up and be helpful. For them to be able to see a problem in the world that needs fixing and be a part of the effort to solve it. Our current methodology in education doesn’t help develop an interest in community. American financial ideology teaches us to rise up on our own, be the best, make the most, take it all, let no one drag you down.
Read MoreTheir gendered names are things they can change if they identify differently as they get older. Chastise me, praise me, none of this affects people outside of our own family, so please respect our parenting decision and take comfort in knowing if we fucked something up, we will listen to our kids when they tell us we fucked up. My point here is that for this first part of my kid's life, we are calling them him/he because Felix was born with a tiny penis. As for Felix’ gender and his own chosen pronouns, he can figure that out later. Iris did.
Read MoreI was in on/off labor from March 18-March 26. Over a week. A couple of those days, absolutely nothing happened, but most of those included about 12 hours of increasingly painful, real contractions that would start in the evenings, stop mid-morning. I fell apart on March 24th from exhaustion and stress. Put self back together, had some orgasms, and kept a thing our midwife said in mind: “Labor needs oxytocin to start and to keep it going.”
Read MoreWe are moms with two kids.
One of them is sleeping sidecar next to our bed, three pairs of socks on to not get cold. The tiny one is wearing a Mumford and Sons t-shirt I cut and sewed into a nightgown. He smells like rotting flesh, his umbilical cord still hanging on and I can smell it through layers of blankets like I can smell the blood coming out of my body. The last time I wrote about birth, I wrote that I felt high for the week after.
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