Queer Parent
Layla wore four month old Georgie in a tie dye rainbow wrap she had bought especially for the march.
“Good on ya sister!” A drag Queen called out to Layla from amongst the crowd.
“I never did that when our kids were young,” said a nearby dyke mother.
A surge of pride rose inside Layla as she began to feel seen. A feeding baby, a male presenting partner, and the niggling voice inside her head that was at its loudest at 3am, had made her feel invisible. Not as a human being, but as a queer person in a sea of heteronormativity. She couldn’t bear being seen as a straight mother. She wasn’t.
The marchers moved along the street lined with onlookers. Pride flags hung from windows and draped over balconies. Above, a sea of rainbow, of Pride flags, banners and metallic streamers, moved in the breeze.
Half an hour passed and the throng of marchers reached their destination, one of the city’s most popular parks. The park, set on the banks of the meandering river, was decorated with rainbow, progress and trans pride flags and filled with market stalls and food trucks.
As marchers dispersed Layla saw a gathering of adults and children. A banner propped against a near by tree bore the name of the group - Rainbow Parents.
“Hello!” A woman called to her, “come join us.”
Layla eagerly approached the group and the woman stepped forward.
“Can I take a peak at your bub?”
“Sure,” Layla replied as she pulled back the wrap to show off Georgie.
Georgie’s face was snuggled against Layla’s breast, eyes closed, mouth open. Rocked by the constant movement, Georgie had fallen asleep.
“Adorable,” said the other woman meeting Layla’s gaze with a smile. “My little one is about the same age.”
She gestured to a pram nearby.
“I’m Billie.”
“I’m Layla. I haven’t heard of this group.” She sighed in relief. “I’m so glad I found you.”
Billie led Layla over to the group, promptly introduced her and invited her to a picnic lunch. As Layla stood eating, so as not to wake Georgie, she told her story, finally exposing the rainbow infused flesh beneath her skin.
Diverse, difficult and heart warming stories from the group followed. A myriad of journeys to planned, accidental, and donor parenthood were described, accompanied by laughter and a few tears. The children played nearby. Music from a drag show blared in the distance.
Layla experienced none of the uncomfortableness she had felt at the Mum’s Group, even the name had irked her, that the local health service had urged her to join. She had found her tribe.
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