Hey, I'm CJ!

But since fetuses already knowing advanced medical sciences aren’t a thing, I figured I’d provide some more valid alternatives:

What if the cure for cancer lives in the mind of someone who has a “black sounding” name and gets their school application thrown out?

What if the cure for cancer lives in the mind of someone who accidentally becomes pregnant where abortion is illegal or very difficult to access and they are forced to quit the sciences to raise the child?

What if the cure for cancer lives in the mind of a fat person whose credibility in the medical field is destroyed because they are assumed to be “unhealthy” and a hypocrite?

What if the cure for cancer lives in the mind of a person who starves to death?

What if the cure for cancer lives in the mind of someone who is murdered by drones or police?

What if the cure for cancer lives in the mind of someone who is raped and cannot continue their research due to trauma?

What if the cure for cancer lives in the mind of someone who is killed in a shooting because some below average teen boy couldn’t get laid?

It doesn’t bother me that my son started his life as a female, no. It never could. All that has changed for me are a few pronouns and a name. Christopher is the one who has to undergo a physical and legal transition; it is my job as one of his parental-figures to be a source of unwavering emotional support, both for him and his mother. 

EDIT***:

[After]

edit

getting slightly too drunk in the middle of the afternoon and slow dancing to dumb cheesy old music and kissing in a way that’s more laughter than actual kissing, mouths clumsy and hands gripping tight and sunlight slanting over them as they move lazily together 

curling up on the sofa together, feet tucked under thighs and arms around shoulders, watch the kind of crap tv that only airs at 3am because they don’t want to go to untangle themselves to go to bed

hectic mornings when they each need to be somewhere and they’re rushing around each other, ducking into bathrooms and bedrooms and kitchen cupboards, pausing to straighten tops and press kisses to cheeks

going through old photos together and collapsing into laughter every three pictures, and zooming in on ones where they’re pulling awful faces or ones that were taken at just the wrong moment

getting ready for nights out together, standing shoulder to shoulder as they brush their teeth or get their faces ready or style their hair, knocking elbows and hips as they try and hog more space

Okay, but all of these with the crew.