This is a story about love and acceptance, and about raising a very young transgender child: our daughter.
I never pictured myself raising a transkid. In fact, until my child was given that label by a specialist in Los Angeles, I didn’t even know what the word transgender meant. And I never imagined that this word, whatever it was, could apply to a young child.
Almost eight years ago, I gave birth to my second child. A boy! We were over the moon. We all congratulated my husband on the little rugby player to be, just like his daddy. I remember feeling so content — I had a 2½ -year-old daughter and, now, a newborn son. Bliss.