I was thirty-three when I realized I was bisexual. My daughter was ten. I waited a few months after my realization, not sure if I should tell her anything. I’d not dated anyone after my divorce.

I finally plucked up the courage to ask her what she would think if I started dating a woman.

My daughter’s eyes went wide as she responded. “Mom, I would be happy for you. I think you need someone.”

A smile immediately formed on my face. “It doesn’t matter that it would be a woman?”

“No, of course not. You know, my friend has two moms.”

I looked at her, surprised. “No, I didn’t know that. I’m glad you told me.”

“Yeah and if you dated a woman, whoa, that would mean I’d have three moms.” She looked in awe at the prospect.

Over the years my child has grown use to the idea that she has a sprawling family because of her father’s remarriage and how her step-mother’s family has embraced her. That she would have even more family was nothing but a happy concept for my daughter.

I had come out to the rest of my family before that, but none of them were quite so accepting or open about my revelation as my daughter was. I am reminded everyday of how lucky I am to be the mother to such a wonderful person.


Bisexual writer, crochet-er and gamer geek.