Having to deal with all the “boy issues” because you’re the man of the family…

Read under cut thing.

In our family, gender roles aren’t really a thing. We just sort of fall into them – meaning my Wife is the better cook out of the two of us, so she generally does most of the cooking. I am better at fixing shit, so I generally do those things. If we are travelling somewhere as a family, my Wife will drive as she really enjoys it, whereas I see driving as a bit of a chore.
Despite this, we neatly fall into some categories of gender roles – most specifically the notion that I am the man of the house, therefore I must deal with the man things such as penis questions from K, all manner of male social shit, ridding the house of scary insects, checking outside when a noise is heard, mowing the lawn etc. This has mainly been due to my Wife just not being able to cope with these things on her own, even though she’s more than capable – she prefers if I tend to these things. 

This is all well and good, I don’t mind in the slightest.

Except for the part where it means I have to answer questions about penises, girls and general little boy inquiries.

As K has grown, he’s become more aware of his own body. As is normal. There’s been a plethora of penis related questions, and I’ve been able to answer them all accurately as they’ve popped up. That doesn’t do much to relieve the intense stress and dysphoria that also rears it’s ugly head alongside these little queries.

I feel, again, as though I am not one to be able to answer these questions accurately simply due to my history. As a direct result I’ve had to actually “step-down” in that particular role as “sole-penis-question-adviser” and relinquished part of that role to my Wife for when I don’t feel comfortable/able to answer myself.

I explained to my Wife why it made me uncomfortable; it’s a solid reminder that I myself never got to ask the same questions to my Father. That I didn’t grow up with the correct anatomy or socialization. And then it compounds in my head to things such as “I’m not an okay Father because of my history” – cue spiraling self-accusations.  My Wife, of course, was mortified that I’d taken this long to speak to her about something that had made me so uncomfortable. She apologized for flippant remarks such as “Well I don’t have a penis, so how would I know?! Better ask your Father…” – because she forgets that I’m trans. 

That’s really awesome, I wish more than anything I could forget too.