I stumbled over the “they.” It felt clunky in my mouth. By Melissa Brand
Talking to Diana Whitney about her collection of poems for girls becoming themselves. By Daisy Florin
In 2021, it’s not unusual by any stretch for doctors, friends, and donors to have a hand in reproduction. By Jennifer Berney
I told my kids in McDonald’s. Because when you’re about to drop that kind of bomb, really you want them to be eating french fries. By Lauren Apfel
“What did you expect, Mom?” said my kid, laughing now, in her same boy-voice she’s always had. By Joanna Franklin Bell
“Ryan,” I say. “If you ever want to play with the girl dolls, we have them. In this house, you can play with whatever you want.” By Ann Wainwright
I wonder now why it came as such a shock to me that friends would get married, that wild nights out would become sleepless ones at home with a baby. By Claire Lynch
In the summer, I put my sunbaked arm down next to his hoping he will notice it’s not so different. By Adrienne Sciutto
I saw him as I thought he was, an elegant young man for whom I could buy something expressly male. How wrong I was. By Penny Wolfson
I told Mama to stop taking me to doctors when I was twelve. I didn’t want to be a burden. By SaraGrace Griffin
I was a singer. She was a groupie. We decided to have a baby together. By Stewart Lewis
There’s so much against you: the world’s cruel prejudices, its judgment.
By April Vázquez
Being an advocate for a cause in general is quite a separate thing from letting your own kid be different.
By Kimberley Moran
He’s passing as a boy now—as long as he binds his breasts.
By Katrin Grace
If my partner and I had been straight we might have all nodded to each other in recognition, but because we are queer, our difference is what stands out.
By Jennifer Berney