In 2008, I was 20 weeks pregnant; I was scared but feeling happy. My husband and I were finally going to find out if we had a boy or a girl.
We brought both our moms with us to the ultrasound. We had been married for just over three years and were both 24. After three painful miscarriages, this baby felt like a miracle. I was scared every day that something bad might happen, but we had made it to the halfway point. It meant a lot to us.
When the ultrasound was performed, we saw that we were having a baby boy. My husband looked so proud. Our moms were thrilled. It was the first grandson on his side and the first grandchild on mine.
When I called my father, he was so happy. He had three daughters, and now he finally had a grandson to take fishing and teach riding a motorcycle.
Our little baby boy, Samuel Thomas, entered the world on April 21, 2009. He measured 21 inches in length and weighed 8 pounds, 6 ounces.
The pregnancy was challenging; I underwent surgery at 25 weeks because one of my kidneys failed, and I eventually had to go on bed rest later due to elevated blood pressure.
But the delivery went smoothly. When I saw his face, I felt something I cannot explain. It really was love at first sight. He had dark hair and bright blue eyes, just like his dad.
The first night at home was tough. Sam cried nonstop, and I called the hospital several times. I did not know what to do. I was always the type of person who planned everything, but I quickly learned that parenting did not work like that.
Sam was stubborn from the beginning, and I knew that being a mom would be hard for me and the most important job for me.
As Sam grew, he became a curious and happy child. He liked to observe me in the morning whenever I get ready. He would reach for my makeup brushes, so I gave him one of his own. At daycare, while other boys played with trucks, Sam loved the dress-up corner.
He wore feather boas, hats, necklaces, and carried a purse. He still liked trucks and superheroes too, but sparkly things made him smile the most.
At first, people thought that it was cute. But when he started to grow up, people do not understand. During a preschool event, his teacher said that nail paints are only for girls and not for boys.
That hurt him, and I support him. I made sure he got to have his nails painted just like the other kids.
Now Sam is 10. He is bright, kind, and confident. He still uses “he” pronouns but identifies as non-binary. He enjoys cosmetics, vibrant outfits, and showcasing his personality.
People ask me about him all the time, and I always say: Sam is just a little cute kid. I just want him to be happy. That is the most important thing for us and our family.
