David Minerva Clover

David Minerva Clover

Bio

David Minerva Clover is a queer and transgender writer, covering everything from parenting to why dinosaurs are awesome. His work has appeared in The Washington Post, New York Mag, The Establishment, and many other places. He lives in beautiful Detroit Michigan with his spouse, one child, and an embarrassment of animals. Check out his blog at Postnuclear Era or follow him on twitter at @dm_clover.

David Minerva Clover Articles

"Can you be a parent and still be a person? Can you still have whole and complicated experiences? Maybe the answer is yes." Image: Thinkstock

Dispatches From The Camp-Out Punk Festival To Which I Brought My 1 Year Old

For those of you just tuning in, my wifespouse wanted to go to this weirdo punk festival in the middle of nowhere, and I, a chronic pessimist, decided it would be a good idea to go as a family. That means me, her, our 1-year-old child, and one incredibly intense weekend.

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In two days, I am taking my 1 year old on a road trip, and camping with him in the middle of Indiana to listen to a bunch of weird punk bands and hang out with a thousand strangers. Image: Thinkstock.

I'm Taking My 1 Year Old To A Camp-Out Punk Festival

[W]hen tickets went on sale for a DIY punk music festival that my wife had attended several times before we were married, and she lamented that there was “just no way” that she’d be able to go, a light bulb went off in my head. “What if we just all went together?” I said.

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I’m fat in my wedding photos, and I also look damn good. Image: The Clovers.

The Summer I Got Fat: A Love Story

I had always considered myself to be extremely body positive. I loved my body! I had several close friends who were fat activists, and I was working hard to be a good thin ally. But despite all of that, I wasn’t ready for the changes that were happening in myself.

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He's a baby, not a "man."

Please Stop Calling My Child 'Little Man'

We’re trying to raise him with a lot of options and very few assumptions, but I won’t be mad at you if you call my kid “handsome little boy” or something. It’s fine. People have a hard time talking about babies without gendered labels. Even I have a hard time with it, and I’ve put a kind of ridiculous amount of energy into analyzing this stuff.

However, I do have one favor to ask. Please, for the love of everything that is good in this world, stop calling him “little man.”

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For now, I’m a boy, and I’m a mama, and those seemingly contradictory truths are things I can accept about myself.

When I Realized I Was Trans, I Still Wanted To Be Mama

When I finally realized I was trans, it was after almost a year and a half of therapy, a lot of trauma, and after becoming a parent.

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The baby is on the outside. Image: Thinkstock.

The Shower, PTSD, And My Traumatic Labor

[CN: PTSD, pregnancy, birth] Something snapped inside me and I was transported backwards in time.

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"We are counting it as a win. We left early, but it was still a huge win." Image: Thinkstock

I Took My 1 Year Old To A Punk Music Festival. Here's What I Learned

There’s just no getting around it, and other than one half-hour spell where he sat with a good friend of ours while both of his moms took a swim, one of us had to be with him the entire weekend. And let’s be honest, because I’m “boob mom” and he was nursing even more than normal, it could never really be divided 50/50. All of that was fine, but it was often just fine, and there’s just no denying that it was a very different trip than it would have been without a kid.

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Photo By Dr. François S. Clemmons [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)], from Wikimedia Commons

Things I Learned Binge-Watching Mister Rogers With A Toddler

I learned binge-watching Mister Rogers that he wasn’t just being comforting, he was rephrasing many of the things I was hearing in therapy.

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I mess up and do things very differently than I want to sometimes. When that happens, I have one rule for myself: I stop and apologize to my kid.

Why I Apologize To My Kid Each And Every Time I Screw Up

I mess up and do things very differently than I want to sometimes. When that happens, I have one rule for myself: I stop and apologize to my kid.

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Breastfeeding saved my life.

Breastfeeding Literally Saved My Life

Breastfeeding brought me back. It kept me in my body, forced me to hold my son’s body, and helped me stay connected to the physical reality of everything. What I remember are flashes of joy in the darkness, his tiny hands clenched in determined fists. His feet curled against my soft stomach. The release of the milk starting to flow. My arms wrapped up around him.

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