Let's Get the Introduction Stuff Out of the Way
So, first let me introduce myself. My name is Tiffany and I'm a 42-year-old femme who lives in the idyllic seaside village of Gulfport, FL with my beloved partner of eight years and our 14-month-old daughter. What, you ask, is a "femme"? Butch/femme is a small subculture of the gay community. As Wikipedia states: "Butch and femme are terms often used in the lesbian and gay subcultures to describe a person's approximate adherence to traditional masculine and feminine gender roles respectively, within a same-sex relationship, or to describe an individual generally."
It's as good a definition as any, I suppose, although somewhat limiting. And no, butches do not want to be men and femmes do not want to be with men - there is a lot more to the subculture than gender stereotyping. There is a dynamic there I could never, ever, ever explain in writing. In any case, I'm a femme, or a queer woman who exhibits primarily feminine traits. My partner is butch, a queer female who is more masculine in hir appearance and actions. By the way, "hir" is not a misspelling - we have our own personal pronouns within the community and I use some of the alternate spellings when I write about hir.
But this isn't a discourse on the B/F queer community, so enough of that for now. "Strutt" (my partner) and I have a 14-month-old daughter named Katherine Carolina (Katie), who was born on December 9, 2004, and is the light and love of our lives. It's actually Katie's fault I'm in this obsessive-fitness-freak-from-hell cycle. When I got pregnant with her, I was in decent shape - overweight, which I have been for a great deal of my adult life, but in really good health and following a fairly regular exercise program. Then came pregnancy and childbirth, which involved nasty words like pregnancy-related carpel tunnel syndrome, preeclamsia, pregnancy-induced hypertension, possible kidney failure, and premature birth. I was in the hospital for almost a month on complete bed rest before she was induced three weeks early, and ended up having a c-section after 18 hours of labor. Wanna know the chances of this kid getting the car keys any time before she's 18?
Anyhow, when I got home from the hospital, I was a wreck - absolutely physically destroyed. I became short of breath just walking to the bathroom. Then, post-partum depression set in ... for nine months. I won't go into the details, but you need to understand that if there was a Butch Medal of Honor, Strutt would have earned about six of them. I always thought I knew how much my partner loved me until I came out the other side and looked back at what I put hir through - with no words of recrimination or blame or anger from hir, ever. Trust me, s/he really loves me, probably far more than I deserve.
When I started to come out of the PPD and my head was a little bit clearer, I realized I had to do something. I had gained 80 lbs. from the pregnancy and all its complications - 80 pounds!!!. It took me a full five minutes to get up and down off the floor to play with my daughter. I was achy, creaking, and uncomfortable - I couldn't sleep well, eat well (oxymoronish though that may seem), or seem to enjoy anything. I still had high blood pressure. Sex? What the hell was that? Oh yeah, something people who are in shape do. It was ridiculous and I had had enough.
But there was something more, too. One day, when it took me another five minutes to get my fat, tired, sick and grumpy ass up off the floor, I vowed my beautiful girl would never know what it was like to have a mommy who was too old or too fat to play with her, or to join in group activities. She wasn't going to have a mommy who was angry and grumpy and cranky all the time. I was 41 when I had Katie - I am already behind the 8-ball in some respects and I need every advantage I can grab. So, that's why I'm here and that's why I started this journey in the first place. My baby girl was the catalyst that kicked this all into gear. So, I'm doing this for Katie, for Strutt, for all of us.
But mostly for me.
It's as good a definition as any, I suppose, although somewhat limiting. And no, butches do not want to be men and femmes do not want to be with men - there is a lot more to the subculture than gender stereotyping. There is a dynamic there I could never, ever, ever explain in writing. In any case, I'm a femme, or a queer woman who exhibits primarily feminine traits. My partner is butch, a queer female who is more masculine in hir appearance and actions. By the way, "hir" is not a misspelling - we have our own personal pronouns within the community and I use some of the alternate spellings when I write about hir.
But this isn't a discourse on the B/F queer community, so enough of that for now. "Strutt" (my partner) and I have a 14-month-old daughter named Katherine Carolina (Katie), who was born on December 9, 2004, and is the light and love of our lives. It's actually Katie's fault I'm in this obsessive-fitness-freak-from-hell cycle. When I got pregnant with her, I was in decent shape - overweight, which I have been for a great deal of my adult life, but in really good health and following a fairly regular exercise program. Then came pregnancy and childbirth, which involved nasty words like pregnancy-related carpel tunnel syndrome, preeclamsia, pregnancy-induced hypertension, possible kidney failure, and premature birth. I was in the hospital for almost a month on complete bed rest before she was induced three weeks early, and ended up having a c-section after 18 hours of labor. Wanna know the chances of this kid getting the car keys any time before she's 18?
Anyhow, when I got home from the hospital, I was a wreck - absolutely physically destroyed. I became short of breath just walking to the bathroom. Then, post-partum depression set in ... for nine months. I won't go into the details, but you need to understand that if there was a Butch Medal of Honor, Strutt would have earned about six of them. I always thought I knew how much my partner loved me until I came out the other side and looked back at what I put hir through - with no words of recrimination or blame or anger from hir, ever. Trust me, s/he really loves me, probably far more than I deserve.
When I started to come out of the PPD and my head was a little bit clearer, I realized I had to do something. I had gained 80 lbs. from the pregnancy and all its complications - 80 pounds!!!. It took me a full five minutes to get up and down off the floor to play with my daughter. I was achy, creaking, and uncomfortable - I couldn't sleep well, eat well (oxymoronish though that may seem), or seem to enjoy anything. I still had high blood pressure. Sex? What the hell was that? Oh yeah, something people who are in shape do. It was ridiculous and I had had enough.
But there was something more, too. One day, when it took me another five minutes to get my fat, tired, sick and grumpy ass up off the floor, I vowed my beautiful girl would never know what it was like to have a mommy who was too old or too fat to play with her, or to join in group activities. She wasn't going to have a mommy who was angry and grumpy and cranky all the time. I was 41 when I had Katie - I am already behind the 8-ball in some respects and I need every advantage I can grab. So, that's why I'm here and that's why I started this journey in the first place. My baby girl was the catalyst that kicked this all into gear. So, I'm doing this for Katie, for Strutt, for all of us.
But mostly for me.
posted by Tiffany Anderson @ 8:17 AM
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