The Other Knot

Trans men are erased from discussions about abortion. Undoing that erasure left me stranded between selves.

My life was cut in half, like a… list of words, I guess? Sure, why not. Photo by Pro Church Media on Unsplash

I wrote my second book the year my daughter was born. We had no money for day care, and no desire to send our newborn to one; my husband worked from home several days a week, and while he sat in the kitchen, a sitter came over. If I was in the apartment, the baby needed me to hold her. She was my baby, and that’s how it works. I had to leave home to write.

I wrote in loud, crowded coffee shops; I wrote after my daughter’s late-night feeding, when I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, as the baby got older and more independent, I wrote at the public library. This was quieter, but also riskier, because it involved a 10-minute subway ride, and someone might need me back at home.

I knew that having a baby would be hard. I had no idea how it would consume me. My whole life was suddenly restricted to the few blocks around my apartment; my time was no longer my own. It became difficult to schedule a shower or a trip to the corner store, let alone respond to a 3:00 PM email asking for a piece someone could run by 5:00 PM that day. I owe my career to being a work horse; I’m no great talent, but I hand in clean copy, on deadline, no matter what. That year was the first time I struggled to meet a deadline. It…