#nonbinary pregnancy

[queertility]

(image descriptions are available in tumblr ALT text)

⬇️More detailed infographics about...

★ An introduction to Queer Fertility

★ Egg Retrieval/Freezing

★ Intrauterine Insemination (aka IUI)

★ In Vitro Fertilization (aka IVF)

❓ FAQ

*You can also check out @gonkey for my personal journey as an agender person trying to achieve pregnancy!

[this-is-varsexism-transphobia]

I am transmasc non-binary.

I want to get pregnant someday.

If I were to be able to have the finances and mobility aids necessary to do so, and have a co-parent to do so, the only thing that would be holding me back is the fact that I know damn well people - even within the queer community - are not normal about men and enben being pregnant.

Be normal about masc, androgynous, neutral, null, genderless, xenine, outherine, aporine, multigender, and mixed gender people being pregnant.

Be normal about feminine-gendered enben being pregnant without treating it as them "being repressed binary women."

Be normal. About. Non-female. Pregnancy.

Trans people, non-binary people, and intersex people [link] (trans, cis, or cistrans) exist.

Be normal about us. I beg of you.

[generoustummy]

My kinda Dad Bod.

[dhddmods]

Male pregnancy is a real thing. Not only is it a real thing that some intersex or mulleripathian men experience (if they have a functional uterus), it is also not inherently feminine. Not all pregnant men will be feminine-presenting. Not all pregnant men will be submissive, either.

Non-binary pregnancy is a real thing. Non-binary people can also be intersex or mulleripathian (with a functional uterus). Not all pregnant non-binary people will have a feminine or masculine gender. Not all pregnant non-binary people will be submissive, either.

Pregnancy =/= femininity. Pregnancy =/= submissivity. Submissivity =/= femininity. All of these things exist as separate concepts. By treating pregnancy as feminine, and femininity as submissive, you are perpetuating misogyny.

You are also misgendering or feminizing people who have masculine, androgynous, neutral, null, genderless, xenine, outherine, or other gender experiences when you treat pregnancy this way.

If you have a breeding kink and personally enjoy the pregnant person being submissive, that is fine. But you shouldn't allow your kink to dictate your view of real people.

Additionally, if you treat pregnancy as a whole as feminine and submissive, you are equally treating people with prostates, seminal vesicles, and testicles as masculine and dominant. This perpetuates the same misogyny, and misgenders and masculinizes non-masculine people with the ability to impregnate others.

Not all pregnant people will have a vulva, ovaries, and a fully developed/present mullerian duct - they may have an underdeveloped or absent cervix, a unicornuate or hypoplastic uterus, absent ovaries, small ovaries, streak ovaries, testicles, ovotesticular syndrome, a penis, ambiguous genitals, urethral traits, agenital traits, bottom surgery, etc.

Not all pregnant people are capable of vaginal birth, simply because of their anatomy, and that doesn't mean they aren't valid parental figures (and even if they are capable of it, a c-section may be healthier or preferred, and you shouldn't view c-sections as any less of a birthing experience than vaginal birth.)

The same applies the other way around, too. Not all people capable of impregnating others will have a penis, testicles, and a fully developed/present wolffian duct.

Please stop applying genders and traits to reproductive and genital traits. Please stop applying genders to any characteristics, actually.

[weiner-does-preg]

My 10 dollar comm for @cocktailpug ! Their oc cosplaying as Beira! (They/them)

[this-is-anti-masculinity]

a trans man i knew once said "we wouldnt be born without women", which is true to some point, but i also felt the need to ask "well, its true, but you know not everyone who can give birth is a woman"

his reply was "trans men and enbies dont give birth, its a woman only trait so it makes them dysphoric"

the transmedicalism?? the erasure?? hello???

This is transandrophobia, exorsexism, and varsexism.

Firstly - trans men and enben with uteruses can and do give birth. It happens a lot, actually.

Secondly - not all trans men and enben have gender dysphoria. They may have other forms of gender incongruence (disconnect, euphoria, fluiphoria, etc.) That doesn't make them invalid as men.

Thirdly - calling pregnancy a "woman-only trait" after acknowledging that men and enben can have uteruses is crazy. You're basically saying that unaltered pericis people are the default. It's also transgynephobic because it implies that the other way around (impregnating other people) is a man-only trait.

Fourthly - there are cis intersex men with uteruses, so this whole argument is ridiculous. A man can be cisgender and have a uterus. This entire argument is rooted in intersex erasure and treating unaltered perisexuality as the "correct" sex.

Fifthly - this is erasure of men born without uteruses who desire pregnancy. It's altersexism.

And finally - "we wouldn't be born without women" I guess everyone born from enben and men don't exist anymore? They just poof out of existence?

[its-crowning]

Too Late Roommate, pt. 1

having a roommate that—at first—you think is just gaining weight. watching their belly press up against their shirt, their appetite getting almost aggressive. watching them try and fail to fit into their clothes, watching them get more and more out of breath from doing things they used to do with ease. you think they’re just gaining weight…until you catch them standing with the bathroom door open, shirt lifted up, inspecting a very round swell in the mirror. you stop in your tracks. it’s an unmistakable bulge. there’s even the beginnings of a vertical line, running right down the middle. that’s…

you can’t help it. you speak before you think it through. “are you…pregnant?”

they don’t look at you. they poke their belly, and then cup it. there’s a bit of fear in their expression. “i’m too busy right now, but i’ll terminate soon. i can’t have a baby.”

one look at their ripe belly tells you they’re far beyond the time for that.

it’s two entire months later that they waddle out of their room and ask you, wide-eyed, if you can take them to the clinic. one hand is on their back, and the other cups their protruding belly. something tells you they just felt it kick—like a good, serious kick, not flutters they can call indigestion—for the first time, just had the reality hit them.

unfortunately for them, it’s long been too late.

you take them to the clinic anyway. you don’t know why you do any of the things you do—you act stupid around them, now. it’s like you’re sharing their denial, but all because you’re intrigued. how long can they drag this out? how long before they pop?

you darkly hope it happens in your apartment.

you touch yourself, in secret, to the idea. you touch yourself to the glimpses you steal of them struggling to bend over and pick something up. of how they jump whenever the thing moves a little inside them when you’re both watching TV, and then try to play it off. of the soft crying at night you can hear through the wall.

they shock you by coming right back out of the abortion clinic and getting back in the passenger seat, head hung low.

their belly is still very pregnant, poorly hidden by their parka. their face is streaked with tears.

“so…”

“they wouldn’t let me.”

“okay.”

the rest of the drive home is in silence. the weight in the air—the shared knowledge you both have that this baby is real, and going to be born soon—hangs heavily, just like their belly lately.

you go back into the apartment, and your roommate is already out of breath. they huff and puff and sit down on the couch with a big “hooo…” kind of noise, groaning at their pregnancy. you just start making the two—or three of you, rather—some sandwiches in silence.

“i’m sorry,” their quavering voice breaks the tension at last. you eye them, but don’t speak. they can’t meet your eyes. “i know…i know this…it’s gotten out of control. but i didn’t think it was…”

“how far along did you think you were?” you ask, with a patronizing bite that slips out of your mouth before you can stop it. they wince a little, and look warily at their prominent bump. it gets really big when they sit like this, sitting high and jutting out. imposing. impending.

they’re terrified. “i don’t…l…”

“how far along are you?”

“I didn’t find out. they wanted to…give it…an ultrasound, but…i can’t…”

“do you have a plan? who’s the father?”

they don’t answer. you can tell they’re about to cry.

you should leave them alone. you hand them their sandwich, taking a bite out of your own. they take it tentatively, but then lurch a little bit. another big kick, surely. they seem to have lost their appetite, and try setting it down on the coffee table.

they struggle to reach. to sit upright at all. you have to help them.

this action seems to finally break them. they start softly weeping.

you sit down beside them on the couch, abandoning your sandwich as well.

“once it comes, you can give it up for adoption—“ you start to say.

“I didn’t know you could get pregnant on the first time,” they sob, holding their belly. “I don’t know anything. My parents…they’re going to…”

they haven’t shared much with you about their home life, but you know it was incredibly strict. perhaps religious, but they haven’t clarified. they just cry, and look down at their swollen womb. for the first time, you notice that they’re wearing their jeans completely unbuttoned and unzipped. they haven’t bought maternity jeans.

“I can’t have a baby.”

something in you snaps.

“But you will,” you say, standing up. they look up at you, teary-eyed, but don’t say anything. “You’re going to get even bigger, and you’re going to push that thing out—probably here, in our bath tub. You fucked, and now you’re going to have a baby. Soon. Stop denying it.”

There’s a heavy silence between you, until your roommate heavily picks themself up. you try to help, but they push your hand away.

“Listen, I’m sorry, but you need to make a plan—“

They waddle away, unable to control their sniffling as they begin to cry again. they carry the heft of their belly with both hands as if the baby will fall out of them otherwise. And they disappear into their room.

—

You don’t see them much after that. It’s clear they’re avoiding you. You can’t say you don’t understand. You try to put your nerves aside—this is their problem. Their burden in their belly. You’re not the one who’s pregnant, you shouldn’t worry about it.

The crying at night continues.

But in the middle of the night, maybe two or three weeks after the clinic visit, you wake up with a start. you don’t think anything of it at first, until you hear it again. the sound that woke you up. it’s a bit muffled, but it’s a low moan. Like a cow.

Dread spears through you. It’s time.

[jezunya]

Another scene from my omegaverse au, Organic Condition

TW: unexpected pregnancy, pregnancy loss, canonical character death. 2.0 very much haunts the narrative :'C

Background AU info: After running off at the end of All Systems Red, Murderbot learns that constructs do actually have secondary sex designations like humans do, and part of the cubicle maintenance routine was suppressing all those hormones and other organic things that come with it. It mostly learns to live with it, just like it learns to live with every other part of being an ungoverned secunit with humans who actually treat it like a person. Then Network Effect happens, and it seems the combination of code and organics that make up an omega construct still has more surprises in store...

This scene takes place at the end of Network Effect, after Murderbot has been decontaminated of the alien code and is now recovering the rest of the way in ART's medical suite. Now that they're both decontaminated, ART is able to use its medical scan on MB to search for any lingering physical repairs needed that the handheld medunits might have missed or been unable to handle.

.

.

.

«I don't wish to alarm you,» ART said, so of course threat and risk assessment both hit the roof for a fraction of a second. ART did a pretty good impression of an exasperated sigh in the feed, before continuing, «I found something anomalous in your medical scan.»

«And I'm not supposed to be alarmed by that?!» I demanded. Then the implications caught up to me. Oh fuck. «Is it more alien remnant contamination? Oh, fuck, did I pass it to you?!» Performance reliability decided to get in on the party too, taking a sharp nosedive of several percentage points. And considering I had barely been stable enough – and (we thought) decontaminated enough – to finally move from the deck in ART’s shuttle bay to its medbay, I didn't exactly have a whole lot of performance reliability to spare.

«It is not alien contamination!» ART said, breaking through my panic spiral, and if I wasn't already lying down, the force behind its feed voice would have knocked me over. Then, it hesitated, and my levels all spiked again. «It appears to predate our… reunion,» it said, and I couldn't help scowling. Not that I didn't get why ART had needed my help, or how desperate and terrified it had been to do what it did, or… Look, it was more that ART sounded like it was choosing its words super carefully, trying to be delicate about the fact it had kidnapped me and my humans and tiptoeing around whatever it had found. 

«Just fucking tell me,» I snapped, and didn't need to say, ‘before my anxiety fills in more awful options.’

«You appear to have spontaneously grown a functional uterus in the months since I performed your configuration change.»

Well. That certainly wasn't one of the awful anxiety-induced options I had been expecting. “No, I didn't,” I said out loud, stupidly, because honestly all of my other systems were stuttering or outright frozen. I was pretty sure I knew what the word meant and its basic function in humans, and I sure as hell was not going to try to look it up right now. ART was fucking with me. It had to be. 

«Unless you had it intentionally installed,» ART said, sarcastic and also sounding weirdly miffed – what, like it was the only one allowed to surgically alter my configuration? (I mean, yes, it was actually, okay? But I wasn't going to tell it that.) «It was not present on your medical scans prior to RaviHyral, and now it is. Ergo, without the influence of a cubicle suppressing it, your organic coding has continued to modify not only your hormonal levels, but your internal structure as well.» 

«But—» ART and I had altered my code to change how my skin grew around my inorganic parts, and I had used its code templates more than once to change how my hair grew. Bot code and organic parts working in tandem, that's what it means to be a construct. But. But! I resisted the urge to throw off the blanket covering me or start ripping my clothes away just to prove to myself what I already knew. «I don't have any sex parts!»

«I did say internal structure,» ART reminded me, and its tone conveyed what an idiot it thought I was being without having to actually say it. «At present, there are still no signs of external genitalia forming, nor a passage connecting the uterus to the outside. The organ appears to be fully formed, but it is only this one organ.» 

I squeezed my eyes shut. This was way too much information about disgusting human anatomy. I didn't want to think about external or internal sex parts, or passages connecting anything to anything else, or—

Another thought occurred to me. One I also really didn't want to think about, but once it was there, I couldn't stop.

«You also said it was functional,» I said, and yeah, that came out pretty accusatory without me really meaning for it to. It's not actually ART's fault that my stupid hormones latched onto it and decided it was my— Yeah, no, not thinking about that. But then ART got all hesitant and cagey again, and I felt my face scowling even harder. «ART.»

«There is—» ART started, then rephrased. «There was… evidence… of something growing. Inside your uterus.»

Did I say threat and risk assessment hit the roof before? That was nothing compared to now.

It took several seconds of me freaking out and ART trying to smother me in the feed before it could tell me anything more.

«It was not alien contamination!» it said, not for the first time in the last few seconds, and then added, «If my calculations regarding the rate of cell division are correct, it began growing before you even went down to the planet.» 

It was really a testament to how freaked out ART was that it would even contemplate the possibility that its calculations of anything could be less than perfect. That realization actually made me calm down; if ART was freaking out, I couldn't be. One of us had to be the adult.

«Why do you keep saying ‘was’?» I asked.

ART rippled, or— contracted, or something, in the feed. Winced, maybe. «Cell division appears to have ceased,» it said. «The growth is beginning to break down. If your body does not simply reabsorb the tissue, it will need to be removed surgically to avoid infection.»

«When?» I asked. 

«Within the next cycle, if we do not see your body automatically reclaiming the material—»

«No, I meant…» I felt weird asking this, or maybe just weird overall. I had a horrible suspicion I already knew the answer. «When did it start? Growing?»

ART was silent for two entire seconds, and then it simply sent me a timestamp. It attached a caveat with the margin of error, plus or minus a few hours, but… Yeah, it was exactly what I had been afraid of. 

The feeling of ART pushing inside me, so slow, so gentle, but still so, so much, feeling it cradle my kernel, roll it back and forth, examine it, examine me from every angle, so it could make a perfect copy, then finally beginning to withdraw, so slow again, so incredibly carefully, and it was so much but I didn’t want it to go but it had to and it was taking a piece of me with it…

My eyes felt weird, hot, and sort of gritty. I don't have to use my eyes to see, especially now that ART was sharing its cameras with me, so I just kept them closed. «And when did it stop growing?» 

Another timestamp. ART said, quietly, «Shortly before Three managed to retrieve you.» 

«Right.» 

The weight of the table leg in my hand. Telling myself that they’re sleeping, they’re just sleeping, they won’t feel a thing…

ART had my logs of what all had happened down there, where the timeline of events matched up with what was happening on the surface, when they were planning and then threatening to blow the colonists away if they didn't give me back. That was still pretty fucking unbelievable, that not only ART but also its humans would risk that much for me – me, a banged up old rental unit, intended to be torn apart and ultimately discarded since the day I was brought online.

Pretty fucking unbelievable, but right now it was easier to think about that than about a voice blossoming inside my head, sliding right in like it belonged there, making itself at home in my system, in my body, watching my media, so much like me but different. Its own person.