ceo of lams

The last character in your camera roll is who is your child.

Yes... Your child. Not who you are marrying.

Below cut is mine and tags

YAY JUSTIE

Well this is interesting

Rem my actual son let’s go!!!!!! Lock in Haze, we’re co-parenting and I get him on whenever I want

I now have a pet chomik

I'm the original Starwalker's parent

Assuming ocs don't count ig I'm grace's parent now

We both have the same child! But I also have the Doritos and the meat ball yeah

Apparently Susie is my child now yay!!

YAAYYY now crowley is mah child :3

(Uhm, yes that's the last pic of a character i have lol)

Sure! 💗💗💗 i love my dead gay son

Johnson's Dictionary Online (thanks @yellowbelliedtoad!) – 1755 and 1773

Green's Dictionary of Slang – 1300s to today

A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue – 1788

We’re trying to decide which of these is a better option:

or

her life is, admittedly, in a lot of ways, a lot worse than mine. she transitioned older than I did, so she doesn't pass as well. she's older than me, which means she has less financial support from our parents. she has compounding diagnoses that may prevent her from accessing hormones in the future. the connective tissue disorder we both have is made less severe by testosterone and more severe by estrogen. our parents are better at using my name and pronouns than hers. she lives in a more conservative area than I do. undoubtedly, there are issues in her life that I cannot speak about because I do not know about them.

there is, though, more about our experiences with transness that we share than that we don't. we have the same parents, after all. we grew up in the same *house*

almost every time that one of us talks about a way someone is transphobic towards us, or a way that systemic transphobia affects us, the other can reply "oh my god, I hate that, it sucks so bad, right?" because we can relate. if not exactly the same, our struggles are usually very similar, mirror image reflections of the other's.

getting stares in public. being condescended to. infantilization and an ascribed lack of agency in our own actions (something more common in transandrophobia, repurposed to cut my sister because she's autistic, and ableism requires the assumptions that autistic people cannot possibly fit the transmisogynistic narrative of perversion, autistics can't know about sex, no). difficulty at the doctor's office. the struggle to find a bathroom that won't be unsafe to use. the list goes on longer than I could fit in any post.

there's also struggles I have that she is *horrified* by, or sympathetic to, but unable to relate to.

I came out publically in middle school. My open transness made a lot of my teachers less than sympathetic. My gpa was tanked by transphobic teachers in shop and photo. I was placed on a lower math track than I should've been. It discouraged me from following some hobbies I genuinely liked, but moreso, it meant I wasn't able to get a college scholarship for academic merit.

When I was beaten up for being openly trans in middle school, my guidance counselor, who had previously attempted to out me to my parents (they already knew), said it was just boys roughhousing. Boys being boys. This despite the fact that she never gendered me correctly in other circumstances. The other guys never touched me again, but they didn't face any consequences more than a warning either.

I'm still paying for this incident. Literally. I ended up with cracks in the enamel of all my teeth, especially the front ones. I have to use special toothpaste to combat sensitivity. It's more expensive. I'm still more prone to cavities. Next week, I'm getting four more filled. It will cost hundreds of dollars and a long time in pain. The same way it does every six months. It's an added cost.

In college, when I was accused of... something by a cis woman, they immediately believed her fully, and let her file what amounted to a restraining order against me. Despite my efforts, I was never able to find out *what it was* she'd accused me of. But because of it, I wasn't allowed in the pride center. I didn't have access to my college's resources for trans people, and every other queer person I met there thought I was *evil*. I dropped out of college. The stress was killing me.

My sister had help getting her name changed from her college's pride center. I was told by mine that I couldn't go to the dining hall during regular dinner times. That I should use the stairs instead of walking past the other person's room to get to the elevators in our dorm. As a full-time cane user.

Our HRT is both through planned parenthood. Even with my better insurance, mine is more expensive than hers. She can pick it up early to stockpile or go on a trip. I can't pick mine up early. Stockpiling is a felony. My blood tests are more frequent than hers. My local labcorp happens to be a lot more transphobic and a lot less competent than where she gets hers done.

We have the same parents. I have to live with them. They're better at gendering me correctly, but only because I'm there to flinch when they get it wrong. We came out at around the same time, in the same political clime. But she was older, which made our lives hard in different ways.

There is so much more that we share than that we don't. But there's a lot we don't share, too. We should talk about all of it. Not just the parts of her life that aren't part of mine, or the parts of my life that aren't part of hers. It's not an either or. I talk about my life more because I can talk about my life with more confidence because it's mine.