However, the reception by readers has been encouraging. I’ve had positive feedback from a wide variety of people, including conservative Christians and LGBT book critics.
|At Easter, with a tea set in her basket.|
|At nine, the size of a six year old.|
Today, more families are delaying surgery and allowing their child to determine what gender they are and what surgery they want, if any.
I have visuo-motor and spatio-temporal deficits, so I got hurt when I played rough and tumble games. I wanted to be a boy sometimes—tall, strong, and agile, but I knew I wasn’t. I liked dolls and dresses just as much, and wanted to be a mom when I grew up. But I knew I wasn’t a girl either, because they wouldn’t let me grow my hair long.
But I had the body of a nine-year-old, was hopelessly uncoordinated, and was competing with twelve-year-old boys. In the first inning of the first game, a pitch hit my bat, then my head, and knocked me down. When I was playing outfield, a ground ball took a hop, went right between my outstretched hands, and hit me in the face. Mom didn’t like my getting black eyes, so I quit.
|At twenty nine.|
|At thirty two.|
My lack of sexual development meant no muscles or hair or deep voice. So I never experienced some of the physical things boys do. I was the one nobody wanted on their team. The one who threw like a girl. Sounded like a girl. Looked like a girl. Yes, my condition, and the things I experienced as a result of it, made living as a girl easier.
|With her dog.|
|At her wedding.|
|With her husband at a friend’s home.|
My puberty came out of a bottle. I had surgery to allow vaginal intercourse. But I’ve also learned to be content with the body God gave me, and to fight for proper treatment by my doctors. I’m unique. That’s okay. It doesn’t have to be the black hole around which the rest of my life revolves.