This story was written in 2013 and was originally published May 16, 2016, in Breastfeeding Today, a magazine of La Leche League International

I can hardly believe I've been nursing my child for 23 months. I wasn't sure if I would be able to breastfeed at all -- during my pregnancy, most people told me it wouldn't be possible. When my son, Jacob, was born, we took it one feeding at a time, and here we are, celebrating two years of sharing "nay-nay" [Jacob's word for nursing] and looking forward to more.

I am a transgender parent and a gay man. I was born female but transitioned to male in my early twenties by taking testosterone and having male chest-contouring surgery. These changes made me feel comfortable in my own skin and happy enough to settle into a loving relationship with my partner, Ian. When we decided to start a family, we consulted my doctors, who felt that I could safely become pregnant after stopping my testosterone treatment.

During my pregnancy, I learned through a friend of mine who was a La Leche League Leader (volunteer), Meran, about the possibilities of breastfeeding after reduction surgery and using an at-breast supplementer. My surgery was much more extensive than a woman's reduction surgery. Even so, I am able to make a small amount of milk.

From the baby's perspective, breastfeeding is breastfeeding. When my son was born, he didn't care that he had a transgender dad, but he sure wanted to nurse!

I had a healthy home birth, and with some hands-on help from a midwife and Meran, I was able to latch my baby, Jacob. The supplementer enabled me to provide all of Jacob's feeds at my own chest. We still make heavy use of it now, nursing several times per night and frequently during the day.

There are some aspects of being a nursing dad that are unique -- latching and milk production presented major challenges due to my surgery, and nursing in public is always an adventure.

Recently my son and I attended a crowded winter festival. Poor Jacob got tired and desperately needed to nurse, so I obliged, but (and I mean this literally, I live in Winnipeg, Canada) the only non-frozen place to breastfeed was directly on the woodchip floor of the heated souvenir tent, amongst the vendors. I couldn't have nursed in a bathroom stall even if I wanted to (perish the thought!) because the festival had only outdoor porta-potties.

Almost immediately, a festival-goer approached and said, "Since you are doing this so openly, I have to ask: Are you gay? Do you have a wife? What's this thing you're using?" She motioned at the supplementer.

I felt like clarifying that I was not, in fact, part of the display, but rather taking care of my child the way he needed me to.

I felt like clarifying that I was not, in fact, part of the display, but rather taking care of my child the way he needed me to. I explained how the supplementer worked but really just wanted to avoid her personal questions. She persisted, asking me, "But why is it so important for a father to breastfeed? Why would you do this?"

I asked her if she had nursed her own children. She said yes, that she had even nursed the second until age two. I told her I thought that was wonderful, and then asked, "Why was it important for you to breastfeed?"

I think she got my point: from the baby's perspective, breastfeeding is breastfeeding. When my son was born, he didn't care that he had a transgender dad, but he sure wanted to nurse! He knew what he needed then, and he still does.