Six years ago, I gave birth to my first and only child, a boy.

Hello, I am 38. I am 28. I'm 29 and I really love you.

When he was two years old, my son began insisting on wearing only pink clothes,

preferably ones with lots of sparkles and ruffles on them.

Really, really.

She gets it so pretty.

She really love me.

When he turned three, he begged me to buy him some dresses and let him grow his hair long.

That made the grandparents a little nervous, but we went with it.

So her dress comes off?

It kind of hard. It would hurt.

That's a fairy and that was a princess. And that one's a princess.

Why is she a fairy and she's a princess?

Because fairs are magic and princesses don't.

That's the difference.

And also, they can't fly and they can't.

They're flying princess's walk.

And then one day in a conversation that I kind of knew was coming, but it still knocked the wind out of me.

My child told me that he was actually a girl, not a boy.

He looked me in the eyes and told me something had gone wrong in my tummy

that made him come out as a boy instead of a girl. He wanted me to

put him back. He begged me to put him back to fix this mistake. He was three years old.

...