Reading Detransition Baby Changed How I Look at Modern Motherhood

I'm literally sitting on my hideous green velvet sofa at 5:43 AM, aggressively scrubbing a splotch of hardened spit-up off the crinkly plastic dust jacket of a library book. I'm wearing my husband Mark’s oversized college sweatpants—the ones with a questionable hole right near the knee—and drinking lukewarm coffee out of a mug that says "World's Okayest Mom." Classy. The house is completely silent, which is a rare miracle because Leo (my four-year-old menace) and Maya (seven, going on thirty) are actually asleep in their own beds for once.

The book I'm trying not to destroy is Torrey Peters’ novel, Detransition, Baby. You’ve probably heard of it, or seen it on some hipster’s Instagram story. I picked it up because I heard it was good, but honestly, I didn't expect a story about a trans woman, her detransitioned ex, and his cisgender boss trying to form a co-parenting triad to completely dismantle my entire worldview about motherhood. But oh god, it did.

I read the whole thing in like three days, sneaking chapters while hiding in the downstairs half-bath. And it just made me realize how ridiculously narrow my definition of a "normal" family used to be. Like, before I had kids, I had this whole perfectly curated Pinterest board of what my life was going to look like.

The ridiculous things I used to believe about families

I used to think parenting was basically a math equation. You meet a guy, you get a house, you put a baby in a nice neutral-colored nursery, and boom, you're a family. But reading about Reese—the trans woman in the book who just has this aching, visceral desperation to be a mother—it broke my heart. It made me realize that the biological clock isn't just for cisgender women. The desire to nurture, to ruin your sleep schedule, to love a tiny screaming human so much your chest physically hurts... that’s universal.

Looking back, my "before kids" mindset was so embarrassing. I literally believed:

• There was only one way to be a "real" mom. I thought if you didn't physically push a baby out of your body, or if you didn't breastfeed until your nipples bled, you were somehow cheating. What absolute garbage. Chosen families, adoptive parents, queer co-parents—they're doing the exact same exhausting, beautiful work.
• That a two-parent nuclear household was mandatory for a kid's happiness. Honestly, half the time Mark and I are just two deeply tired roommates arguing over who forgot to run the dishwasher. A kid raised by three loving adults in a weird Brooklyn apartment triad (like in the book) would probably have way more emotional support than some kids in traditional suburban mansions.
• That I could control everything. Oh, the arrogance of a pregnant woman with a birth plan. I thought if I just bought the right stuff and read the right blogs, my kids would be perfectly adjusted little geniuses. Spoiler alert: they're feral.

Anyway, the point is, families are messy. We're all just wildly guessing what our kids need while hoping we don't screw them up too badly.

What actually matters when they're tiny

When I had Leo, I was so obsessed with the aesthetics of motherhood. I wanted him to be one of those catalog babies who just peacefully slept in a woven bassinet. Instead, he was a colicky, red-faced screaming potato with the most sensitive skin on the planet.

I remember sitting in the doctor's office, crying because Leo had this horrible red bumpy rash all over his chest. I thought I was failing him. It turned out, putting a synthetic polyester blend on baby skin is basically a recipe for disaster if your kid is prone to eczema. We had to throw out half his wardrobe.

I ended up buying the Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit Sleeveless Infant Onesie from Kianao, and honestly, it was the best thing I ever bought for him. It’s made of 95% organic cotton, which means it breathes, and it doesn't trap heat against their little bodies. Leo lived in those bodysuits for his entire first summer. I washed them probably a million times and they never got weirdly stretched out or pill-y like the cheap ones from the big box stores. Plus, no scratchy tags. If you've a baby with skin that reacts to literally everything, you know what a massive deal that's.

If you're currently in the trenches of trying to figure out what you actually need for your own wonderfully imperfect family, you might want to just browse Kianao's organic baby clothing collection and skip the cheap plastic stuff that's going to fall apart anyway.

What Dr. Gupta said when Mark went down an internet rabbit hole

So, because the internet is a terrifying place, sometimes parents will hear about the book and search for the phrase detransition baby online, and instead of finding literary reviews, they stumble into these aggressive forums. People screaming about teenagers and gender identity and youth clinics.

Mark did this one night. I woke up at like 11 PM and he was sitting in the dark, his face illuminated by his phone screen, reading some deeply unhinged blog post about how gender dysphoria in kids is just a fad caused by TikTok. He was totally freaking out. Like, "Sarah, what if Maya decides she's a boy tomorrow because her friends are doing it?"

I just stared at him. Maya is currently obsessed with collecting dead bugs in Tupperware, I don't think she's plotting a medical transition for social clout. But his anxiety spiked, so at our next checkup, I cornered our doctor, Dr. Gupta.

I asked her what the deal was with all the terrifying articles online. She literally sighed, took off her glasses, and rubbed her eyes. She told me that the major medical groups—like the American Academy of Pediatrics—officially support gender-affirming care. She said the media completely distorts how this stuff works. Kids aren't just walking into clinics and getting surgeries on a Tuesday afternoon. It's a massive, slow, heavily monitored process.

Dr. Gupta drew a weird little squiggly diagram on the crinkly paper covering the exam table. I don't pretend to understand the neurobiology of gender—I can barely operate my air fryer—but she basically explained that when a teenager is reliably telling you who they're, the safest thing to do is believe them. She said that genuine, actual regret where someone physically detransitions because they made a mistake is incredibly rare. Most of the time, if someone stops transitioning, it's because society is being so incredibly cruel to them that they just give up.

That part shattered me. Imagine trying to be yourself and the world is just so mean that you've to stop. I looked at Mark and was like, "If our kids ever tell us they're different than we thought, we're just going to love them. End of story." He agreed. Parenting is basically just one long exercise in letting go of the person you thought your kid would be, and getting to know the person they seriously are.

Some stuff works, some stuff is a complete joke

Speaking of letting go of expectations, let's talk about baby gear. When Maya was a baby, I bought her the Panda Teether Silicone Baby Bamboo Chew Toy. I thought it was adorable. It's safe, it's food-grade silicone, you can throw it in the dishwasher. All the mommy bloggers swore by it.

Maya hated it. I don't know why. She would look at the little panda face, let out this demonic screech, and just aggressively chuck it at our golden retriever. She refused to put it in her mouth. My friend's baby used the exact same teether and loved it, gnawing on it for hours. But for us? Total waste of time. It’s a fine product, but my kid was just weirdly hostile toward it. Just goes to show you can buy the "perfect" thing and your kid will still prefer to chew on a TV remote.

On the flip side, we had massive success with things that just let them safely exist on the floor. We used the Wooden Baby Gym | Rainbow Play Gym Set with Animal Toys when Leo was little. I used to lay him under that thing when I needed exactly four minutes to drink a coffee and cry about my sleep deprivation. He would just stare at the little wooden elephant and the colored shapes, completely mesmerized. It wasn't loud, it didn't flash blinding lights, it didn't sing annoying electronic songs that get stuck in your head until you want to scream. It was just calm. And honestly, calm is the most valuable currency in my house.

The older my kids get, the more I realize that half the stuff we stress about doesn't matter. The nuclear family ideal? A myth. The pressure to have the smartest, best-dressed kid? Exhausting. The rigid rules about gender and parenting roles? So boring.

Whether you're a single mom by choice, a queer co-parenting triad, or just a deeply tired married couple trying to survive a Tuesday morning, you're doing fine. Your kid just wants you to show up.

Before you close this tab to go wipe something inexplicably sticky off your kitchen counter, take a minute to check out Kianao’s full collection of sustainable, organic baby essentials that can honestly survive the chaos of real, messy family life.

The messy, unfiltered FAQ

What's that book genuinely about?
Okay, so Detransition, Baby is a novel about Reese, a trans woman who wants to be a mom, her ex-partner Ames (who transitioned to a woman and then detransitioned back to living as a man), and Katrina, Ames's boss who accidentally gets pregnant by him. Ames pitches the idea that the three of them raise the kid together. It sounds complicated, but it's really just a beautiful, messy story about what makes a family and how much we all just want to be loved. Highly suggest reading it in the bathtub.

Did your doctor say anything else about gender care?
Dr. Gupta basically told me to stop getting my medical facts from angry Facebook groups. She said that for young kids, "care" is literally just letting them wear the clothes they want or use a different nickname. It's completely reversible social stuff. It's not the crazy medical interventions the internet trolls scream about. She made me feel like an idiot for panicking, which honestly, I deserved.

Do those organic bodysuits really help with baby eczema?
For Leo, yes, absolutely. I’m not saying it’s a magical medical cure, but synthetic fabrics trap heat and sweat, which makes skin flare-ups a million times worse. Once we switched him to the breathable organic cotton onesies from Kianao, he stopped scratching himself raw during his naps. Plus they don't have those terrible stiff tags that rub against their necks.

Why did your kid hate the teether?
Hell if I know. Maya has always been deeply opinionated. The silicone panda teether is totally fine—my best friend's son chewed his to pieces and loved it. I think Maya just preferred the taste of my car keys. Babies are completely irrational tiny dictators, you just have to offer them safe things and hope they accept your offerings.