Dear Child,

I hate that I have to call you Child or that I even started this letter with ‘Dear’ like an ordinary citizen but I don’t want to assume your gender. What if you identify as a Tea Cup and you disregard my letter because of its obvious TeaCuphobia.

Well; Child, Child of mine, Seed of mine that blossomed into an expense, Tenant of your mother’s womb, Work of my hands ( You know what, I just realised, I can’t call you ‘Work of my hands’. If you truly were a work of my hands, I would’ve flushed you down the toilet). In truth, I give you all these titles because I know not whether you are a boy or a girl but I do know You definitely don’t identify as a teacup because your grandmother would’ve beaten that out of you at an early age.

Child, I write these words so they may guide you. I hope you find this when you are grown, so it may nurture you, comfort you and prepare you for what is yet to come. Help you find yourself and be the best version of yourself you can be. I don’t know how many new genders will have come up by the time you read this but I need you to know, you can be whatever sex you are born to be. I read about someone identifying as ‘Non-Gender’ and I really don’t understand it. When Non-gender people get married, does the priest pronounce them, “Organism and Organism.”?

I’m just terribly confused about all this and I am still quiet young, I hope I have gained an understanding about how it all works by the time you come along. This is how I look at it right now; You are free to be whatever it is you want to be, as long as it doesn’t stop others from being what they want to be. After all, you are my child (Unless your mother has something she needs to come clean about)

Yours with Confusion,

The Pen